I just published a number of posts, all at once, because I want to close down “My Days Matter.” I am putting all of my posts from that site into this one. Please forgive me if this is too much for you. I am working hard at figuring out where I want to go next. Eventually, I hope to have ONE site–CAWeStruck. And not the CAWeStruck that is out there now, but a new and improved CAWeStruck. Yes, I know you have heard that line before. Hopefully, my plans will work out. I am overdependent on some software right now that was supposed to be easy. Drag and drop. We shall see.
I’ve taken a number of courses lately to improve my figure drawing skills. Understand that I do not consider myself a portrait figure, abstracts are more my thing, but I am always drawn to figures on an abstract ground.
Do I want my figures to look hyper realistic? Not really. I actually prefer an abstracted figure, or one that is a little weird, off, strange. But it is said that you have to learn how to do something correctly before you can break the rules. I actually think that is hilarious. What rule breaker would ever abide such a rule?
Nevertheless, I have learned all kinds of methods lately, plus a few handy tricks. The kicker is that taking these courses has me all in a flutter over doing digital art. Oh, I’ve played with enhancing my artwork digitally for quite some time, but this is a whole other level. Call me excited. Call me highly enamoured. Call me motivated and difficult to rip away from my iPad.
Isn’t that how it often works? You go hunting for one thing and it either sweeps you in a different direction or way further than you ever anticipated.
Don’t you I LOVE it when something new takes wing in your life?
P.S. You may ask why I chose a painted painting rather than a digital painting to illustrate this post. It is because the whole painting was planned digitally. My whole shtick is a creative combination of digital painting and brush painting.
There is little room for the sacred in our culture.
There is little room for the sacred in our culture. People who have visions or “visitations” from “another realm” are often considered mentally unstable, delusional, and are derided rather than cherished for the perspective their experiences have afforded them. Perhaps you are questioning my sanity right now, for suggesting such things might even be in the realm of possibility.
How would you respond to a friend who claimed to have been visited by an angel, communed with God, felt the unity of the universe course through their being or been provided with unshakeable, inexplicable knowledge they had never before been aware of?
“Have a nice day.”
“I have a few requests you might pass on for me, if you see God again.” Ha, ha.
“Have you had your medication dosages checked lately?”
“I could recommend a really good therapist.”
“Stress manifests in different ways.”
“OMG, can I have your autograph? Do you have a book coming out?”
“Would you be willing to share your magic mushrooms?”
“Please tell me all that you can about what you have experienced. The mystery of the universe has always intrigued me, and your story sounds fascinating.”
“I am looking for a good hook,” she said. “The kind that lures people in.”
“People? What do you want to lure people into?” She had certainly caught his curiosity.
Now he was a little confused. “You want to lure yourself in?”
“Yes. I want to find something that really excites me, sends a jolt of electricity through me, lights me up. I’m just not sure what that is yet.”
“I was hoping I excited you a bit.”
“I said something that excited me, not someone.” She kissed him like she meant it. “But as important as a good relationship is, it doesn’t replace doing something where I can contribute to life, with a capital L, if you know what I mean.”
“Love has a capital L.” He grabbed her, held on tight. “But I do know what you mean. You are looking for a purpose to your life, THE purpose. It is a worthy goal. Laudable, with a capital L.
She gave him a push, pretending to be annoyed, but she knew he would support her completely. He was that kind of man. Which made her a lucky woman.
Everywhere she turned, she heard music. It took some time before she realized that it was coming from her. She was the source.
She had always known it was buried deep within her. Sometimes it almost surfaced, got loud enough so that she actually began to hear words along with the melody. Lyrics–they must be lyrics; part of a song, a story. A lyrical story. And she wanted, no she needed to hear it.
Perhaps she needed to sing it, but how could she, if the words were not clear?
She felt as if she was a bell just learning how to ring. Ring with a capital R. Add the word Right, to that. Didn’t she have the right to hear the music inside of her?
Why else would it be there, if not for her to hear?