Vietnam Jungle VII – III

DSC_5136First is a fresh look at the palette, with the trusty new bright brush to the far right. You can see also to the far right where I have set the brush at varying times to take many many breaks. What else can you see? Ida know. Ha.

Here is the canvas as it stands now, as well.

DSC_5135I have completed the middle third of the background, in about three shades of green? One is a Sap Green, then three mixes: the bright lime mix, a mid green I had a bit of from yesterday, and a dark green mixed with gray. I think there was also a green mixed with lime in there somewhere. Yay. Very expressive and lyrical, as well as some juicy, thick dabby painting in there, too.

I went to pt and she fixed my neck and back thoroughly. She said there are knots in the middle of my back from overworking to support the straight posture for the fusions in the neck and the lower back. So I need to be more loosey goosey and fluid, as I do in all things.

I’m working on that in other areas of my life right now, I told her, So that’s good timing.

She was like, Okay, good.

So the exercise ball, she can already tell a difference with my back from the loss of the kneeling chair at the computer for writing this and emails and such. So yay.

I have one more appointment.

Yay.

And my cold is almost gone, though still sounding froglike. Drinking throat tamer/soother tea, right? Yes.

Come ON, already with the frogginess. I’m supposed to sound like the wind and less, right, like I’m barely there. Not this. Ack.

I think that’s also a Southern Woman thing. To be harsh, to sound harsh, no. Non non, is my addition, and well, to sound like the wind, to be as subtle, if need be, to whisper, the most amazing things. Well, I wish.

I do. I aspire to be muse-like, because I think the world needs more muses. And I get bored. I seek like thinking muses.

I’m Tweeting Memiel backwards right now. It seems to be resonating but who can say?

Next will be Summer Thicket, damn me. That will be a lot of Latin and a great deal of abundant Nature to rejoice in. Ahhh.

So does anyone care? Ida know. Maybe there are some little Latin Plant name Linnaeus loving folks out there.

I love the randomness, and I also love how Twitter is like a bucket list for words, perfect for the long poem, really, a great format.

I opened Rebekah’s Closet the blank screenplay in Cloud something Adobe something on some very patient and zinged out software-capability-wise web server out there somewhere and it hangs there at the bottom of the screen at this very second. But even that is progress. I figure I need to start noodling around with the action on it before I go to Paris in October.

The Front Porch is open, too, immediately to the right of the foto from Vietnam in Photoshop, then to the left is Memiel open so I can tweet from it. I almost read the two poems from Alberto Blanco that I was writing about in the novel, you know the five thousand words I lost? Agh. I had explicated the first poem. Hmmm. I can do that again, once I get the vibe it will all come back to me. I need to stop being a pill and write the damn novel already. Ha.

So it’s open and I thought about it. Progress.

I was talking with another artist from ALOG at the reception on Sunday about how it’s a different thing to be in the painting mode/jag from being in the writing novel mode/jag. (different from writing poetry mode/jag (where are you Amy poet, btw? will you be coming back someday? hmmm)

And when I’m in the novel writing I’m in the novel.

When I’m painting I can leave it at the painting much more, although it does stay in my head visually. I think about it technically a lot when I’m away from the easel, what I like, don’t like, where I want it to go, etc.

A novel is so fricking complex it takes over my life, my heart, my personalities, my personalities’ personalities — ha — it triggers so much of so much of so much. Even The Front Porch with its relative distance from my life, in that it is complete and utter fiction, right? It is still LIFE and fraught. I can’t help me. I get involved in their issues, the characters, because I must WRITE from the HEART, MIND, SOUL. I must. I MUST. I must!

I realized some good things about me when I was reading the end of the Five Things We Cannot Change. At the end, thankfully, most gratefully and wholeheartedly thankfully (so much so that I want to try to read more of David Richo’s ten other books on being a virtuous adult in this cray cray world.

Kay.

So with all my, er, demons, as it were, with a little d, there and young as they are, I still deal with them a lot, and they are my responsibility to heal — I take that responsibility seriously

That is a good thing that I do — right? cool!

And, I also have a good work ethic, but it’s like a good people ethic, too — and stuff — well, I’m not going to toot my horn but it was nice that I had some of the stuff right on the virtuous urges in the end there. Yay. Because I have the demons to contend with, too.

So, way cool that I have the cool urges too.

Sigh.

And that in the Meditation for the Love of It book I’m reading, and you know how I love neuroplasticity of the brain, or being able to change the way you think/are? Well, think about that spiritually for a second. What if you could change your spiritual world by thinking about it differently as much as you want, and playfully, until you get it comfy? Cosi fan tutti. Meditate all you want, but remember to play and keep trying things until it feels right. Sally Kempton is ON it.

Oneness. Being comfy with oneness. With Nature and all things. With synchronicity and the music of the spheres. That we are made of stardust and atoms whirling at some kind of rhythm.

I wax poetic and real at the same time because it’s magical.

Time for bed. I’m up late! What’s up with that? Sleep well 🙂

 

 

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About amyjacksoncc

I am a professional artist, writer and musician creating from my home studio. To view my artwork, visit http://www.amyjackson.cc
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