Painting Chef - Cheaper Than Therapy

Call it a check-up. An open up and say “ahhh” sort of moment we’re going to have here. When you work full time and don’t have children, other than the weekends, summer kind of loses its luster. But in spite of that, I feel like the summer kind of kicked off my whole “New Attitude” (and if you don’t hear Patti LaBelle right now in your head, you are dead to me) and much unlike, um, pretty much everything else in my life, I’m trying really hard to make this one stick.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the being healthier or getting motivated to not be quite so ass on the couch-y all damn day even when it’s perfect and gorgeous in the out-of-doors that had me shaking in my boots. And that’s because despite my lack of self-motivation, I KNOW how to do those things. I KNOW how to swim and walk and run and work in the garden (oh lord… what a fucking fiasco THAT has been. The veggies are good, so are the herbs, there are just so MANY of them. And its not even that there are tons of vegetables, its just that these plants grow so many damn leaves for a few pieces of squash or peppers. Good grief!) I KNOW how to cook healthier and live actively. Those are things that I’ve done before and are ingrained somewhere in my subconscious buried deep under layers of cake, chocolate frosting and sourdough bread.

No, the one thing that terrified me more than anything else was telling myself that enough was enough. It was time for me to stop making excuses and empty promises and just get up and rediscover the artist side of me. I remember the feeling I used to get working in my sunny kitchen studio nook painting and grooving to the music on my ipod. It was the most blissful, free feeling I can think of. I would be just enchanted by the swirls of colors on my paper plate palettes (I tried so many things, wet palettes designed to make paint last, those cute wooden ones you see in photographs, but nothing works like a good old oversized paper plate! I blame the lazy housekeeper in me…). It was like this electric current of creativity and passion was flowing through my entire body.

I think that in procrastinating my return to art, I’ve been afraid of not being able to recapture that feeling. I tried to tell myself that it was because I’m scared that I’ll stand there in front of a blank canvas and nothing will happen, nothing will come out. In my previous artistic life, I called my work “happy art”. It was all bright colors and whirling dervishes and abstract shapes that were meant to do nothing more than evoke a smile and brighten a wall or maybe even the day of someone who saw it. But, in general, I live my life in a slightly darker place now and while maybe that very fact is part of what I’m trying to change, I don’t think its going to ever go away. There is a side of my psyche that, over the past 2 years or so, has been designated to house the loss and disappointment that has managed to sneak into my life. It doesn’t go away, I still miss her every day and that emptiness has just become part of who I am. I dream about her so often. She tells me that she is fine and when I try to explain how I miss her, she tells me that there isn’t a second of the day that she isn’t right by my side. But still… she’s gone. She’s gone and I can’t have a baby. These are my realities and they’ve changed me.

So I’m scared to try and create something because I don’t think I’ll recognize what comes out. But… scared or not… I think I’ve finally received the kick in the ass that I’ve needed. One of my FAVORITE internet girl crushes, Lindsey Smolensky (whose name I can’t even say without having to take a breath and be in awe of her balls-out creativity and dedication to making her art infuse itself into every area of her life, she is… her work leaves me speechless, I can’t even explain it, I ADORE her) has started a project that runs alongside Bravo’s “Work of Art” reality show and I’m taking a deep breath and diving in.

There are a group of artists, of which I am one, who are challenging themselves to follow along with the challenges on “Work of Art” (think Top Chef, Project Runway, the standard and HIGHLY addictive Bravo reality show format) and create one piece a week. Then we will post them online and share them with each other and have a discussion. No winners, no losers, nobody gets voted off. This is just a great way to be involved with other artists. She modeled the challenge off of Becky Cochran’s AMAZING Project Runway/Barbie project. (You must check that one out… it is GREAT! I think most everything is under the “fashion” tag).

So… long story longer… (I know, are you exhausted, if you are even still reading, I so applaud you.) The project is going to be pretty fantastic. The first challenge is a portrait and I have to have it done by Monday. I am, of course, doing my grandmother but the coolest part? SO IS LINDSEY!! Hers will kick mine’s ass but they will both be beautiful because they will both be full of love and honesty. I’m scared shitless about this project. But I’m also totally grateful to Lindsey for coming up with it and asking me to be involved. If you want to follow along, I’m going to add a link in the sidebar somewhere at some point but for right now… you can find it here.

Wish me luck!!

Blogging is kind of like high school. Everyone has their little niches and groups. There are the mommy bloggers, of course. There are political bloggers, infertility bloggers, food bloggers, music bloggers, gossip bloggers, television bloggers, the list goes on forever. And the internet as a whole tries to fit everyone into one of these categories all nice and neat-like and when it cannot label you precisely, it becomes somewhat uncomfortable with you.

At times I’ve been close to being shoe-horned into the infertility blogger category but quite frankly, there is nobody that needs to hear about my busted uterus and punk ass ovaries on that regular of a basis aside from my doctor and my husband.

Were I reliable enough to take my camera out in the kitchen on a regular basis, I could probably be a food blogger but then what if I want to talk about my uterus and I’ve recently made a strawberry pie? Nobody needs those two things next to each other. That’s just messy. Besides… I’m not sure if I want you to know just how deep my loves for Velveeta Shells and Cheese is when I have a blog names “PaintingChef”.

And what of the painting? Oh internet… I am creatively tapped right now. I have not picked up a paintbrush in so long that it aches. My paints and brushes are becoming that friend that you NEED to call and you THINK about calling but eventually it has been so long that you just feel awkward and then it’s like… well what am I going to say? What’s my excuse?

But I digress… the internet is positively BURSTING with incredible writers who don’t fit into one specific category. What are we? Are we life bloggers? Are we here’s what’s on my mind bloggers? Well, someone brilliantly defined us. We are Indie Bloggers. We write about the things that move us. We write about the things that keep us awake at night, the questions that cause us to zone out, the situations and interactions we observe and try to understand. But what often moves us more than anything is the writing itself. We are people who are captivated by extraordinary writing.

Stacey Campbell of Jurgen Nation (fellow canine enthusiast, truly kick ass photographer and my long time MAJOR girl crush) once put together a website that showcased the very best of this long-overlooked genre. Sadly, life got in the way, as it has a habit of doing, and the website went by the wayside. However at the recent urging of those of us who regularly submitted our writing to the site, she has decided to revive it, provided we get off our slackerific asses and pitch in.

In preparation of the re-launch, comb your archives. Find your favorite post. Write something new. There are some people out there I FULLY expect to be involved in this project. You know who you are and you’ve been warned…

I heard a rumor from one of my new favorite blogs that today was “Blog Reader Appreciation Day” and so in lieu of showing you pictures of my new kitchen appliances I thought I would pen this little love note to you, my dear internet friends.

When I first started this little project over three (YES! THREE!) years ago, I had no idea where it would go and naturally I assumed that much like three-fourths of the things in my life, it would fall off my radar unfinished. But somehow that didn’t happen and I think that is because of you. Finding out that there were people somewhere, even just a few, that were interested in what I was dealing with… struggles with infertility, learning every day how to be one half of a whole, allowing myself to come to terms with the life I used to lead and reconciling that with who I have become. Throughout my wholly self-indulgent naval-gazing you have encouraged me. Comforted me. Helped me see that being just who am I am perfectly fine.

And I love you so much for it. This little corner of the internet has become so precious to me, as have all of you. This is my outlet, my therapy, my escape. Its one of the places I feel free to be completely honest and I cannot begin to express how grateful I am to each of you for listening.

But I will try… in the form of a little giveaway. Tell me in the comments what your readers mean to you. Or what the blogosphere has given you. Or post a link to your own Blog Reader Appreciation Post. And then I will put everyone’s name into one of Patrick’s non-smelly hats and someone will win a matted and framed P-Chef original photo. Or maybe a painting. I’ll let the winner pick. As I am much too brain-weary to make decision. See? Something else you pretty, pretty people with lovely hair and very thin thighs have done for me… you allow me to be lazy. And I’m not throwing names in the hat until Friday… because that is when the hats are clean. Because we are all too good of friends to mess around with pretending there are non-smelly boy hats around here.

Rock on.

Taken entirely without permission from The Other Mother via Karl

“Good god. I look like I spent the weekend in an opium den!”

“Um, is this a look you have lots of experience with?”

“There was just that one time but I’m pretty sure I told you about it in the fine print of the marriage contract.”

“Ah. I imagine it was right next to that invisible, imaginary clause where you mentioned you didn’t do floors or windows, wasn’t it?

“Well. Yeah. Probably.”

And apparently the karmic retribution for messing with your husband before 7 am manifested itself in my coming to work with a dryer sheet in my underwear.

Today is AWESOME.

But do you know what really IS awesome? When the blogging community comes together for one of their own. Lisa, who I formerly knew as the Rock Bitch but then kind of lost track of because these things happen, has been diagnosed with ovarian cancer for a third time. This? Totally sucks. But Miss Ann Thrope is leading the charge to send Lisa, her husband and their two daughters to Disneyworld. You can donate through the button below (which links to a post that has been updated several times so please read it all if you can and make your way to the bottom) or directly on Miss Ann’s site at the bottom of any of the most recent posts. For every $10 you donate, you will be entered into a raffle for some truly fabulous prizes. This, incidentally, is also the result of the blogging world coming together and giving of their talents. I’ve donated a painting but there are over 20 other prizes and they are all wonderful.

You can meet Lisa here.

So if you are able to donate, please do. Lisa’s story is one of a truly strong and beautiful woman. Please help make this trip happen for her and her family.

I am what you might call woefully bad at things that good southern girls are supposed to be… not woefully bad at. Thank you notes. Christmas cards. Returning phone calls. Laundry. (Although I do promise that if you are on my back porch your glass of sweet tea will always be freshly filled with wine and I will tell you repeatedly that you look lovely in that outfit.) I kind of lump the whole internet-meme-award-what have you fuzziness in with this group of “Things at Which I Suck.”

Which is why I’ve been so remiss after not one, not two, but THREE fabulous internet bitches felt like hanging this little jewel on me.

Ladies? Thank you. You, also, rock. I suppose that technically I should… um… pick 15 of you? But that? Really isn’t going to happen? So my super-duper high-tech mathematical formula has determined that I will name 7(ish) of you instead.

The story goes that you if I say you rock then you must tell 5 other people that they also rock. Meh. Whatever. If you are so inclined then by all means, pull up your legwarmers, tie on your headband, yank that ripped sweatshirt off one shoulder and rock away. Love is a battlefield baby.

Oh. I should probably also tell you to please enjoy these rockin’ girl bloggers for a few days. Because I shall be locked away in the dark ages.

Well. If the dark ages took place in a sangria haze on the beach without internet access…

Hi.

So ladies? Rock on.

Zube Girl – Was there ever any doubt that one third of my internet love triangle would be on this list?

Bonanza Jellybean – Or the other third? Please. I love these bitches like new shoes. Also? Bonanza? The phone tag we’re playing? Makes Ptrick giggle like a girl.

Mist – She’s become my first stop every morning, it’s all about her and I love it.

Les Cadeaux – Rocks in more of a “you are my grown up girl idol and if I lived near you I would invite you to all my parties” kind of way.

Jennsylvania – Famous, incredible author, as you read this I’m probably re-reading one of her two side-splitting books for the umpteenth time. On the beach.

Statia – Never failed to approach infertility with attitude and plenty of profanity. That’s my kind of girl.

Jurgen Nation – Love. Wonderful photographer, always insightful. Also? Would probably stalk if I were to live near her.

There you go. A smattering of my 7 favorite, most profanity-laden and attitude-a-plenty spots on the internet. Two things I find to be most imperative for rocking.

Now I really must return to the beach. That sangria is NOT going to drink itself and the lack of dedication I have so far given to achieving the perfect shade of brown legs would make the baby jesus weep. I’m so ashamed.