When I paint, I put a song on repeat that fits my mood. Last night, I thought I would try something different, playing my favorite radio station. It worked. Three of my favorite songs in a row that were fitting for my mood. I couldn't have asked for better.
I also felt the need to feel the paint, so I used my fingers and hands to played with my canvas. Engaging with the energy of the paint and my fingers. The brush was too constricting. I needed to be one with it.
There have only been 3 times that I have ever painted with an image or idea in mind that have actually went from my mind to canvas. Otherwise I start with a blank mind and a color that represent my most prominent feeling and then to the next and so on. It is the position and blending of these colors that give me my final product. Sometimes images begin to form, sometimes like last night, it wasn't until it was complete that I knew what it was.
It was my "cave". A cave deep within me that holds all my anger, pain and sadness. It is buried deep in my soul, protecting all my pain and anger that I spoke of in last post. It churns, it moves, it burns, connected to the darkness. The anger I have difficulty tapping in to "owns" the cave. It spews every where like hot lava. I am stunned at how much there really is. The sadness sinks in the heart of the cave. It is not as obvious as the anger, but there is no doubt it is there. The sadness, anger and darkness make the cave. They are the cave, holding it together.
This amount of childhood anger, is the high level of irritation and agitation that grinds on me in a mania or depression. Uncontrollable yelling and screaming with only a pin drop of reason, whipping out sarcastic remarks with venom and wanting to break and punch everything. Insurmountable regret as every word is released, but I can to stop. Which is nothing compared to the war in my head. The need to destroy myself is stronger than any word I could use. The heights and depths of these rages are usually only during manias and depression. And now I've got a visual image of what is brewing inside of me. I've looked at it long and hard today several times and now I want to destroy the proof. It is the key but it is also ugly and dark and it is me and I don't want to look at it anymore. I wish it was as easy as throwing away the painting and being done with it. It is not that easy. The process is just beginning. At least it is a start.
P.S. I don't just go around explode on anyone. lol This always happened with my husband and he knows that it goes deeper than when he does MY dishes and oversteps his bounds because I'm the housewife. Crazy, ain't it?