Aw shucks,

Because I did a favour for a friend and took some art of hers into the Gatton Show, I decided I'd enter the pastel drawing of our neighbour's feline, Alley Cat.  Cost $3 and I was going  there anyway. 
     Karen is a skilled artist, skilled in many mediums.  She had two pastel drawings, one of a friend's little girl and another of a possum.  She also entered a watercolour painting of  turtles from a photo taken while she was in SE Asia.  That watercolour was the best I thought.  It was realistic but because the turtles with the patterns on their shells were crowded and swimming above and below one another it was almost abstract. 
     While I was there filling in the paperwork I saw other work that had been entered.  Thought why in the world did I bring this painting of mine.  So many skilled artists, so much beautiful work.  The woman who was there before me had paintings of a green tree frog, a tortoiseshell cat and a mountain scene (painted on a new paper, yupo paper).  They were all good.  She talked freely of how she might win at one show but not at another, it all depends on the judge.  She knew Karen's work as well, 'she wins alot', she said.  I went home knowing I'd provided variety but with no hope of winning anything.
      You know what's coming.  I won first prize (and $20) for pastel paintings.  Can't believe it.  I shouldn't be proud but I am.  Years ago I'd entered a pencil drawing of a bearded dragon.  I thought then and still think it was a good work.  Didn't get a mention.  Sent it to Tam for her birthday, a little reminder of Australia as she was quite taken with our little lizard friends.  This painting, titled Glamour Puss because it reminds me of those l980's glamour shots women used to get which look so dated and sad now, is just another cat picture.  Enough skiting.

Wishing the Guilt Away

Was reviewing things I have wished for (with the sudden ownership of three Art Deco Club Chairs years after accepting I would never own one).  Found a notebook with a pretty cover entitled Day Dreams in which I'd started to write a short synopsis of my life, desires and wishes.  (There are many many notebooks with many many beginnings jotted down that never see a finish - a sad statement on my ability to commit).   Several times I wrote that I would like to have a published book, a strange statement because I no longer write.  Finished one novel and got halfway through another before being permanently distracted.  Another thing I keep referring to is the need for solitude.  I am my mother's daughter after all.   Went to a neighbour's 21st last night - didn't want to go, wanted to run home and play with a new drawing instead of making small talk perched on a bale of hay. 
     Yes, a new drawing.  I've felt the need to sketch.  The pastel isn't finished.  Haven't touched it for 2 days.  Feel it's safe to leave it for awhile as I've got a handle on where it might go.  Nevertheless I wanted a doodle.  Something which I could play with without so much at stake.  A pastel seems SERIOUS, while a graphite drawing is more PLAYFUL.  Which illustrates a basic fault in my perception.  There is no reason why a pastel can't be playful.  I know from past experience that seriousness, the thought of consequences (what if it doesn't turn out?) freezes my ability to do anything.
     At least something is being created. 
      Created.  Isn't that a miracle?  Making something from nothing, something which has never existed before and which will never exist again - whether it's a loaf of bread or the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.   That need to get something out which was in, even if what's in is only an itch which must be scratched and hasn't got a form as yet beyond the desire to do SOMETHING! 
     I beat myself up (what an odd picture that statement creates!) because I don't do more.  Have to remember that because I sleep so poorly now (a side effect of menopause I suspect) and am often tired, I won't feeling like doing much.  Despite this, when I stand back and look at what I accomplish I actually get quite a bit done.  Guilt is just a natural part of my make-up.  Where did it come from?  I'm not Catholic.  Sure would like to get shot of it.  It's not helpful. 
     Maybe that will be my new wish.  I wish to be free of guilt (not conscience, only guilt).  After all I got a couple of club chairs.