Seastorm … this was the beginning of many Undersea-inspired paintings, as you may already know from studying the paintings on my side. See, I’m a Scorpio (tempered a bit, just a bit, by being on the cusp of Libra, which I think makes me giggle more than most Scorpios, but what do I know?) and I’m somewhat obsessed with the effect of the Moon on the Earth, and the amount of water in our bodies, and the ocean and and … I could go on and on. You see.
And the colors of water, which has no color literally, but sometimes has extraordinary color, somehow, right? Right. So I’m beyond fascinated. And talk about POWER. Water power, Sun power, Wind power — hello, this I’ve known since my beloved indeed President Jimmy Carter and solar power fascination in the seventh grade. Hello indeed. Petroleum — bah. Get over yourself, already, Mr. Petroleum. I could go on, as I’m sure could you.
Speaking of which, with the election tomorrow, I cannot imagine that Romney/Ryan would be the compassionate duo to see us through such a delicate and complex and humongous (Mr. Petroleum, ahem, mind you, are you listening? I didn’t think so) global crisis with our global folk/fellows/brethren as the climate crisis. Hurricane Sandy? followed this Wednesday those poor folk will be hit with a Noreaster out in the cold on top of bitter cold? Somehow I don’t think the Romney/Ryan team knows enough about the pain of the streets, or cares. Come on, Obama/Biden. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
Seastorm was painted with somewhat angrier, harder strokes, to evoke the power of the sea, yet I did let pools of wet watercolor mix and dry together to express the lovely colors of the tropical blue-greens and truly inexpressible turquoises I had experienced when I had been in Jamaica. Lucky enough. Thank you. Indescribable. And although I sometimes feel escapist painting these tropical places far away, I also know these coastal spaces are rare, endangered as the fun Jersey Shore, Atlantic City, that little patch of scratchy rock where I sketched for days and days, indulged, graciously, painting my little watercolor fantasies, worried about the soapy runoff drain from the restaurant killing the turquoise plant beasties clinging the rock that gave the water its “color”.
Sigh. I guess I’m in an incontrovertible political mood. Can’t escape the times, and why not?
The chocolate claw coming up through was for sheer contrast, the claw of man, any man, any civilization, whether living with the Earth with his plot of garden or no. For contrast. We cannot escape our contrast. It is always with the yin and the yang. There is no perfection without imperfection. Water always has some taste, right? Something. Even if it is purity on your tongue.
Went to the doctor today because I was sick of the 99.1 fever here and there and taking Alka Seltzer Cold and Flu three times a day, etc. Sick of being sick since the 21st. Right? And she said it’s okay you’re here but give it another week. It’s my job to be here for you, no worries, but I can’t risk giving you an antibiotic if you’re already having an irritable bowel episode, and your fever isn’t high enough. If it hits 100.5 come back and see me. I love her, really. She was most sympathetic, I write, sitting here sweating, tired of resting.
What can I say? I must rest anyway. Ha. Meditate. Got us some clean flannel sheets for the bed and a higher bowl set early for Chipper’s Christmas that he ran rings and rings for already. He LOVES the deep water bowl and is at my feet as I write. I LOVE him back.
Rest now, write on the novel later. Come on compassion, win the day for me tomorrow, when I wake up Wednesday. This I pray in my own way.