Second Anniversary

The eleventh day of the twelfth month of the thirteenth year of this new millennium my husband and I wed. We celebrated our two year anniversary Friday. Sometimes I wonder if he really knew what he was getting himself into with all my health challenges these past few years.

 

I wasn't sure what to get him as a gift to commemorate the occasion. I recalled quite some time ago he mentioned wanting me to paint him a Mondrian style piece. We've seen quite a bit of his work together over the past few years. New York's MOMA has several I was able to see in May 2014.

 

One piece in particular I liked for its simplicity, especially if I was going to make any feeble attempt to create a knock off. The following piece is an original Mondrian, which I photographed at MOMA on that visit a year and a half ago:

So yesterday I spent a good portion of the day in our utility room making a go of it. I had a flat 16" x 20" canvas in stock along with all the necessary brushes and colors (mostly in acrylic). I went to work, and made quite a few discoveries along the way.

 

Doing this work gave me much more of an appreciation for the artist’s skill. Mondrian’s works appear so simple to achieve. If all his paintings were done completely freehand, well that’s nothing short of a miracle. It’s a very exacting style to replicate. I had to use guides, and mine were fashioned out of electrical tape. Not only did the tape’s gauge and color give me inspiration, this was somewhat of a challenging material to work with.

The tape’s elasticity made it so I had to carefully lay the strips down so as not to create any tension. I didn’t use anything fancy to measure the gauge, just another piece of electrical tape. My lines may not be completely plum or level either.

Of course I made several mistakes along the way. My greatest overall mistake was not having ample patience. Funny how art imitates life, even when engaged in the practice of creating it. Allowing enough time for the paint to dry is much like allowing things in life to settle down. If we rush, we often end up off the mark. That happened to my brush hand repeatedly. That happens to me in life when I fail to keep an even, slower pace.

So here's how my piece turned out:

I added my own story to it. I see this piece as a very abstract family portrait. My husband is the blue field at the top. I’m the red field. Millie, our 12 year old Daschund, is the gold. Hers and my husband's brush strokes go up and down, they’re in harmony together. Mine go side to side. Even juxtaposed in some way, we’re all still drawn together. Blue, the color of the sky, the sea and his gorgeous eyes, can represent tranquility. My husband is such the peacekeeper. Red can represent passion, fire, blood, war. Together they are quite yin and yang. Yellow is the color of sunshine, and Ms. Millie is such a ray of light in both our lives. She compliments us both so joyfully.

 

The traditional gift for one's second anniversary is cotton, which canvas is made out of. So I really felt like this was the perfect gift. Not to mention I really got quite a lot out of creating it.



Today my friend Cleo reposted to Facebook the following photo of Picasso in his home studio in Paris:

The photo was accompanied by the following quote:
"Inspiration exists, but it has to find us working." - Pablo Picasso

Both the image and especially the quote really struck a chord with me. It couldn't be more true. My process was meditative and enlightening. I was able to be creative, focused and introspective. This all felt really nourishing to my body, mind and spirit.

My husband is getting some materials today to mount my work. We're going to hang it in our media room, in which he wants the décor a primary color theme. I think it might just work. :)

The night before last we had company. My long time high school friend Aron and his fiancé Michelle. They are wonderful people, we love them so much. They're so easy to be around, the conversation flows, taking on a life of its own. There's much laughter and cheer.

At dinner I had some challenges. Sometimes my brain swells from the inflammation. It feels like there's just not enough room in my head. Not sure whether it was this intense cranial crown pressure sensation, I also felt light headed and ever so slightly dizzy at times. As the conversation roared on I naturally tend to meet others' energy levels. As I did, my body continued to recoil on me. Waves of fatigue washed over me a few times. My right shoulder began to burn in a strange way, as if my nerves were just tired or the front side of my should just felt worn out.

From where I sit in our dining room, a large portrait of my most dearly departed grandma smiles back at me. She reminds me not only of unconditional love and joy, also of strength and perseverance. My grandma was an amazing woman, who despite living with a herniated disk in her lower back for the last few decades of her life, wouldn't allow that to dampen her incredibly bright spirits.

I pressed on with a smile. For one thing I was genuinely enjoying our company and great conversation. I continued to drink water, thinking perhaps my system was just weighted toward toxic and that would help me flush out the bad juju. As our evening progressed late into the night, my discomfort lessened and I really became present to all the joy in our beautiful home.

Michelle and Aron brought some silly holiday hats for us to wear. We put them on for the tail end of the evening. Before they left we took a group selfie. Is that a gelfie? Anyway, here it is:

When I shared with them about my recent, definitive Lyme diagnosis, Aron said how much sense this made. It's a strange brand of validation. There have been times I've thought some of my friends have thought this whole thing was in my head or I was being some kind of a hypochondriac.

Michelle told me she has a friend who healed from Lyme. It took her two years. Apparently that friend of hers called her twice this week, and she regards it as a synchronistic sign for her to connect the two of us. I would love to converse with someone who has been through this, and welcome Michelle's introduction.

We heal ourselves.