My voice lives somewhere at the meeting place of Yellow Submarine and Victorian steampunk and lace.
Fire
We continued on with the theme of “The Elements” this week.
Just Jump
The theme was “water” and after all the trite and predictable ideas had played out, I was left with the fact that I hadn’t been swimming in ages and yet I love swimming. Sometimes other people’s ideas about what is allowable for a woman my age or my shape, shrinks my world or ends an activity before I am done with it. To heck with that. Just jump.
This is not a test
The task this week was to turn around a page you had started and abandoned. Although a lot of art journallers recommend using up paint randomly on pages, personally, I like to be more deliberate. But in working intuitively with the elements already on the page, in the end I was able to “find my niche”.
Have your cake and eat it too
Do we delay gratification out of a hope that we might be able to “have our cake and eat it too?” That rarely works out but hope springs eternal.
Onion
Pencil sketching everyday items.
Awake in the Night Forest
I think of myself as very much an “in the moment” type of person. I don’t over-plan much but I realize that I almost always have a plan for my journal page, even if it is vague or changes along the way. I really didn’t like how it made me feel to not think ahead and just do what felt good at the time. I made a bunch of mistakes. I’m happy enough with this page now but it’s not one of my favs
Fake it ’til you make it
Inner Child
There she is! I have a lot of sympathy and caring for my child. She was crazy tall for her age (the tallest kid in her class until half way through high school), skinny and serious looking. People always thought she was much older than she was. That’s why her mother kept her in ringlets and hair ribbons to try to signal to people “She’s 8 not 12” but it didn’t work. I just looked weird and old-fashioned. The only child of an older mother who was surprised to become pregnant after she’d given up hope, I lived in an adult world in the city with a working mother. My refuge was books (fantasy) and my grandmother’s garden which was tiny but seemed like a vast jungle to me. For a multitude of reasons my childhood was mostly stolen from me but “Imagination” speaks to the odd young/old/tall in body/very young in spirit child that I was.
Dream
I was channeling Chagall’s flying people in this page about dreams.
