finding a balance

Well, the computer's color rendering on this kind of sucks, but I'm actually quite pleased with this piece. I spent quite a bit of time mixing colors, trying to get the exact shade of dull teal I wanted (not that you're getting that shade in this picture, sadly) because I've commissioned a painting from myself for my own kitchen, whose walls are a sort of sand color.

What pleases me here is that I wasn't just randomly making marks; I was doing my best to listen to the painting and respond appropriately.

There is (though you would never know it to look at either my desk or my studio) a part of me that likes things to be tidy, balanced, graceful but unobtrusive; to grant equal time to allow elements their own unique roles. Which is why the sort of scribbly stuff that so many artists do with such effect is so hard for me: I need a reason for something to show up on the page.

I believe that's my left brain at work, and, to be honest, I often wish -- when I'm in the studio -- that that part of my brain would just shut up. But with this piece I'm beginning to realize that it's possible the left brain -- the part of me that assesses the power of each ingredient and assigns it a role appropriate to its strength -- is what could put my unique signature on my work.

But I partly say this because I'm thinking a lot this morning about egalitarianism. We had some pretty significant riots in Seattle last night, complete with looting and breaking of windows and burning and gassing (my daughter is currently housing a couple of friends who got caught in the middle of things and were unable to get back to their homes).

My first inkling of all this was an emergency alert that was sent to me just as I was driving home, informing me that all of Seattle was on a 5pm curfew, which of course made me anxious: bomb? earthquake? Gas leak? My husband explained when I walked in the door, and we quickly texted our daughter to ensure she hadn't gotten caught in the fray, but when we turned on the TV later in the evening it was completely devoted to disturbing images of all that had taken place.

So this morning I was still processing -- as an empath, it's hard to shake images like those, even when they only cross your eyes for a second or two (I'm still trying to shake the image that triggered all this in the first place, of the policeman's knee on George Floyd's neck) -- and I can't help but think that the root of everything is inequality; that as the disparities in our society grow -- between the rights of some and the rights of others, the wealth of some and the wealth of others, the health of some and the health of others -- the likelihood of reaction, fury, chaos, rioting, etc. grows as well.  Which is incredibly disturbing.

And so I continue to try to do my part in whatever small way I can to correct that balance. But I will always wonder, until the day I die, if that's enough; if I might have done more. It's a conundrum.