Diary of an Art Journal - a creative series
I'm SUPPOSED to be her daily practice. I'm her Art Journal. I am her playground, her classroom, her therapy session (and darling, I do keep those secrets close)!
Sometimes she comes to me with a burst of energy and hardly a greeting—which I have to say is very rude. How difficult is it to give me a little love? "Hello my dearest and most beautiful Art Journal"... Wouldn't that be nice?
But no, on those days she's throwing color and shapes around so fast I have to make a quick exit until she calms down.
Sometimes she's in a quieter mood. She turns my cover slowly and in those moments I have an opportunity to regale her with my wit and excellent taste.
See this page? I ask as she flips. Remember how I convinced you to use that brilliant cardamon to compliment that midnight blue? Remember how I helped you see the meaning of that image? She smiles then, sometimes. She remembers.
But of course she's there to see what I can bring that day. If I can convince her
Whatever would she do without me?
I mean, could she simply think up something like this? Choose these colors ahead of time?
Layer the shapes and images one on top of one another with a precise plan in mind?
No, I think not.
This, my friends, is why an Art Journal such as myself—one with flare and sophistication and—
But oh yes, I can hear Denise now. Let’s just head off her reprimands, shall we?
“”it’s not about you, Art Journal,” she’ll say.
To which I’ll reply, “Oh, but actually it is!”
And then she’ll say
I finally just up and asked her. I mean, come on, I am the Art Journal. I should know, shouldn't I?
I had not a clue.
She should have filled me in. Usually we have a certain...discourse, she and I, that begins with the blank page.
"What should I do?" "I don't know, how about starting with "X"? "Okay, that felt right. What next?" "Hmmmm, I'm feeling "Y" today." "Ahh, then you absolutely must throw on a little "Z"..."
When we're sync like that, oh my gosh, she's cruising on the ship of creative flow—for hours sometimes.
And I'm living it up poolside! Another glass of champagne, please?
But oh no, not this time.
Ahhh, so where was I? Comfy seat, and oh yes....The Queen of Wands...
So as you remember, Denise was working out this bit of melancholy, thinking about past friends, past lives...and then suddenly it came to her.
'Ahh!' she thought—
Well, no. Wait. Lets be honest here. This Great Burst of Insight did not come to her out of magic! It came to her through ME, her Art Journal!
'Each of these ladies had been...like the Tarot card...' Her Queen of Wands.
Isn't she a bit...severe? I asked.
"Hmmm, maybe," she replied. "But queens have a certain manner about them. I'd say she is..."Denise had to think for a moment, "empowered. "
Interesting word, that. Having been given power.
By whom, I ask?
"By herself of course." (Can I just say? The woman did not hesitate.)
"The Queen of Wands as a person or energy..."
This week she said she was thinking about how going through life is a lot like how a snake sheds skin. One molting season after another...
I said, Darling, you can't be serious. That sounds absolutely revolting.
"But no," she said, "Molting is a good thing for snakes—and, metaphorically, for us. Look it up while I paint."
Hmphf. I said, I am entirely too busy to do research...But then I couldn't move anyway. Her first layers threw me into complete paralysis.
Heavens no! I'm not getting soft in the head. I don't for a minute think she's actually going to keep going with this plan...
Listen to what she said in her JOUR-nal today:
She's at it again. She just started a new project—jumped right into it. See the first page? Me.. Her newest Art Journal.—and that is my g or g e o us first page:
"You're not ALL about being beautiful," she says.