When you make art, when you build a world, mundane details come alive and breathe soul into a scene. Dried paint on a fingernail, hairs out of place on top of a head, a bell that never seems to stop ringing, a hospital bed.
Hospitals have a smell: clammy hands when you slip off the latex-free nitrile gloves. I’ve spent a lot of time here looking after my Lolo while he recovers from a bad fall. He drifts in and out, his spirit is present but his eyes move from wall to wall from time to time, and I can tell he’s not always in the same room as I. So we sit by his side, swapping in and out, sometimes we cry, and sometimes we melt.
I’ve never lost an elder before, and today won’t be the day, but there’s something to be said about the way a family unit shakes and falls into place when someone’s life is at play. The things we’d typically fight about fade away and instead we offer up our shoulder to cry. Underneath all the drama is the love we all so craved; revealed only before it’s too late.
My upper back has been sore; at first, I thought it was the pain of skipping the gym as soon as the snow hit the ground, then I thought stress, but I’ve overheard the nurses talking about the pain they get from lifting patients out of bed. Some wince when they come to help. It’s 5:30 am in the morning now, I’ve been here since quarter past 12.
Time goes quick in the night when my Lolo sleeps, when I go home to my bed, I hope it slows down.
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Lately, I feel good about allowing my life to influence my art. For a while, my expectations of myself were rigidly high and the toll I paid was disappointment in my work and my style. Oftentimes (metaphorically) I feel like I’m wearing too big shoes, but every time I make space or give grace to myself, I inch up a size, sometimes two.
So this is loving the process. This is realizing that flow comes with practice and with time. Life is happening while the thing is being created, there is a constant flow of energy that brings us from one moment to the next. And I’m happy to be here right where I am, where I need to be.
I crave consistency but life isn’t always consistent.
I think I want consistency in how I respond to life’s inconsistency.
I miss going to the gym.