10

"This pure child was humble and sought no attention. I will lift you up. I will lift you up."

Cup 3~ swollen/inflamed brain tissue

 

This one is Top Secret. More so than the others, because I might as well have drilled a hole in my skull and poured polymer-resin gloss on in. I am confessing.

 

Did you know that all this time, I have been recovering from a little bit of brain damage? Aside from the west nile. Aside from the fluid build-up. Both of these really messed with my head. But have you ever felt as if your brain was hot? Have you ever felt a swelling and an intense heat in there? I have. And it started the very day I decided to put my souvenier measuring cup to good use.

 

But first I have to back up.

You know how I was informed by God back in '03 that I was to lay down all of my artistic endeavors? To part ways with art as I knew it? That He had something way better for me?

It goes deeper than that. Art was an idol for me. A big one. Art & I, we go way back. Way back to grade school where I was nothing unless it was a rainy day and we had to stay indoors for recess and draw, that's when I had friends. I drew whatever they asked me to. In my little diary from 1981, I said that I told the kids no, I will not do your drawings, or you'll never learn. Well that's not exactly true. I remember the day I came home and wrote that.

I was already feeling sorry for myself because I wasn't invited to my friend's slumber party. Then, those same girls asked me to draw pictures for them. I jumped at the chance. I drew for them all during recess. I even had requests from boys. I drew race cars and cowboys for them.

Art gave me confidence. It was my band-aid. But it grew into a beast. It was my security and without it I was naked. Why did fitting in socially matter so much to me? I have no idea. It never was an issue until the girls noticed my toe, that's how the whole complex began. I developed this thing, this paranoia, constantly wondering what people were thinking or saying about me. I remember looking forward to Tuesdays at school in the third grade. That was the day that we had a class called Guidance. We learned about all kinds of good things, they were talking to us about feelings and feeling good about yourself and being kind to others. This was a whole new world of learning for me. They were speaking a new and wonderful, although mysterious, language. So different from the typical Catholic stuff they pounded into our young minds. And so foreign. I never heard any of this stuff at home. The teacher was putting my loose thoughts and feelings into words. I was fascinated. And devastated when they stopped having it. It only lasted one semester, then poof, it was gone. I still remember my bright yellow folder. I wrote in big capital letters "GUIDANCE" on it. Nobody else did. I didn't know why.

So over the years, my whole identity formed around who I was as an Artist. It was a big deal. I thought, this is who I am. This is what I'm good at. I am going to grow up and be famous and EVERYONE will want my art and I will be liked and I will be popular.

And I already told you that my plot somewhat panned out in high school, I was well on my way. My little Art IV award was proof. That was all I needed. Art was my whole mission in life.

It earned me attention. The good kind. The kind you get before they ever can look deeper and find out what a nerd you really are. That was my trick. Instead of waiting for ridicule (the wrong kind of attention), I soon figured out, I'll beat them to it. I will draw attention to myself, and it will be on MY terms, not theirs.

 

So flash-forward to the fall of '06. I had only done one painting in years, that was a fish painting I did for my coworker/friend, who I decided needed a bit of funky color in her life. She likes nice things. Like, pretty things. When I see a finely decorated home, I can't stand leaving well enough alone. I have to leave my mark. People with good taste need strange art. It's a fact. See I am here on this planet to bust people up out of their former way of thinking. You can thank me later.

Anyway. That's the only painting I did, and I knew it was ok, because I didn't create it to get back into art. I did it for her. God sees my heart. Oh, wait. about that. Remind me to tell you about the peacock she saw in her driveway the day I gave her the painting.

 

 

There is a picture in the family albums of me, it was my birthday and the whole family, aunts & uncles included, went to Spaghetti Warehouse downtown. They came out with a small cake for me and everyone busted out singing. I was shocked and mortified. I was tricked. Nobody told me we were going there to make me a public spectacle. But I was. The whole room full of people were singing. I started crying out of sheer humiliation. Then I slid right down my chair and under the table. (they still talk about this and laugh.) A waiter came along and scooped me back up. He not only got me out from underneath the table, but he lifted me up off my chair, in full view of the entire world, while they finished their song. In the picture you can see my aunt & uncle, Susie and Bundy, looking at me, Bundy is amused and Susie is feeling sorry for me. They live in Midlothian now and I thank God for them, they've helped out so much with Leah during this time. That's something else I've learned. To not take family for granted any more. But that's another blog.

 

In the fall of '06, I was praying, just a normal everyday prayer. And then I heard in my spirit that God had something to show me. You just never know with Him. Could be good. Could be ominous. Could be something that makes me laugh, could be something that makes me spend the rest of the day with wide eyes and a blank look on my face.

So I put my head down and waited. And then He showed me. The above photograph that I just told you about. I saw it. Just from out of the blue, there it was. Hadn't seen it in years, never even thought about it.

He said, "Do you remember this?"

Then He said,

"This pure child was humble and did not seek attention. I will lift you up. I will lift you up."

(there was a definite emphasis on "I".)

I remained still. And waited. I said, "um...ok?"

That was it. I did not know what He was referring to. I thought He was patting me on the back for being so humble and pure. I thought it was a reminder that He would always take care of me. This is where I mess up. I assume things.

 

 

Two days later, I laid in the bath and thought about that extra $80 that was sitting in my bank account. I was saving to have some repairs done on my car. (The same car that is trying to die a slow death, as we speak.) As I soaked and thought about it all, I decided that I deserved a treat. I considered how long it had been since I'd done a painting. I thought, after all I've been through lately, I owe it to myself. Just for me. I won't sell it, I won't get back into art. I just want to get some tension out and do a nice big wild one. And so I did.

I jumped out of the bath and drove to Michael's in a mad furious frenzy. I loaded up the basket with colors and picked out a nice white canvas. And then...I made my way down the gloss aisle.

How I loved me some gloss. Polymer-resin. Liquid plastic. Absolutely gorgeous on a painting if you know how to do it right. You have to know how to mix it (it comes in two parts) and you have to know how to pour it. Spread it around fast enough before it hardens. Exhale on the air bubbles that rise to the surface, the air you let out is what makes them pop. Temperature in the house has to be perfect. Yes you need proper ventilation but not too much, any wind or too much air movement will mess it up while it's drying. Therefore I keep the windows closed. I always have. Thermostat has to be perfect. Warmer on a humid day. Anything less than perfection will cause it to dry tacky and sticky and it's totally ruined. So I do my thing with no ventilation, then just close the door and let it dry by itself, undisturbed.

I have been doing this for years. Mastered the art of polymer-resin gloss. In fact one gallery owner, when looking at my paintings, held one up to the light and checked out the gloss. He said it looked better than if it had been framed in glass, that it was perfectly even. Glass-gloss. Liquid Nails, it's sometimes called. But come to find out, it's also not so good for your brain. I always knew this, but what art supply WASN'T bad for your brain? I had been inhaling paint and glue and clay and spray-fixatives for years. Not intentionally, of course. But I just sort of figured I was immune.

 

So back to being in the gloss aisle. I went over to that beautiful purple box and picked it up. I was standing there, looking at the price. $24. Just to gloss a painting. But so worth it. But as I stood there, trying to calculate the cost in my head, I just so happened to turn the box over. I started to read the warning that is printed on the box. And that's when I saw it. This is the only time I have ever seen a word LITERALLY jump out at me. I glanced at the warning, and I saw the words BRAIN DAMAGE in bold, when all the other words around it were normal. It just lasted for a split second. It was in bold and the letters were large. It just sort of flashed in front of me.

Deep in my spirit I knew it was a warning. But I was determined that day. This was just one more thing I didn't take seriously.

 

 

Are you still with me?

Do you believe all of this?

Do you think I've gone off the deep end completely?

 

 

So I got to work on my painting. Nice big canvas. Solid bright yellow background. Then, running up through the center of the canvas I created this splash of black and white and rich deep browns and dark blues, and the colors blended and swirled together, and I did my thing where I throw salt on it, and it makes these little speckles of love in the paint. When I finished creating the main form, I took my brush and splattered streaks of black all over it. Just shook the paint off the brush, and as usual, the end result was a painting that looked like somebody got shot in front of. Nice and violent. How else am I supposed to get out my frustrations?

As I sat and watched it dry, I thought, maybe I should get back into painting, seeing as how I'm short on cash. These are the types of paintings I used to do for the galleries, they sold. I thought, what's the harm in doing a few? For the purpose of earning money? How can that be wrong? Artists all over the world were doing it, each and every day. I gave myself permission that day to get back into art.

 

After two days passed, it was time for the gloss. I didn't have anything to mix and pour it from, since once you use a container for that, that container is done for. You have to toss it after that. I searched my kitchen and couldn't find anything that I could sacrifice. I almost went to the dollar store to buy a pitcher, when all of a sudden, I remembered my big fat measuring cup. I kept it under the sink. I didn't use it because it made me mad. But today was it's lucky day!

I mixed the gloss and as I did, I started to get dizzy. Which is rare for me. I poured it out onto the canvas and started spreading it around, and as I did, I felt high as a kite. I thought I was going to pass out. But I kept going. The whole thing took me about 20 minutes, and by the time I was done with it, and shut the door, and went outside to get some fresh air, I was ready to drop. My head started to hurt. It was pounding. It felt strange. And...it started to feel HOT.

 

You know, I did tell my mom about the gloss when all this first happened, but like everything else, it was just theories. Each time I said something to my mom about my situation, she said, "Let's just see what the doctors say." And so I did.

And made the very most of the time.

 

But wait! There's more!

 

 

I already had a compromised conscience when I loaded the painting up in my car. To take it to work. To show it off. And maybe sell it. But it was more just to show it off.

So it's there in my car, and I told a few coworkers I brought one of my paintings. They had mentioned that if I ever did one again, they wanted to see it. But I would have shown this one off, regardless. Do you see how carried away I get? I turn into a monster when I paint. All my humility goes right out the window. Sometimes I wonder, do people even really like me, for real? What do they REALLY think? Am I as annoying as I think I am? This is one more reason why it's good for me to lay low and keep myself down, all throughout life. In fact, losing a limb or two would do me good. Anything to keep me frustrated and miserable. It's better than who I am when I think I'm just one painting shy of World Domination.

 

I showed it off. Got the usual responses, compliments, questions, etc., and then it was a regular old day at work again. Stinking reality.

 

And then it happened. The headache from hell. I'm driving home that day, exiting the highway, when all of a sudden, my brain starts to heat up again and swell, it felt like a searing hot balloon was in there, it was pounding, and I started getting dizzy. I managed to drive home ok, but when I got inside the apartment, it exploded. My head was in the worst pain imaginable, a headache like nothing I've ever felt before. I paced the floor and bawled and cried and started to panic, Leah was following me around saying, "Mommy what's wrong! Mommy what can I do to help!" She watched me cry and finally collapse on my bed, almost on the verge of screaming, holding my head.

There was no Tylenol in the house. There was nothing for pain relief at all. Because of what Leah did several weeks prior. She took it all. Along with everything else I had in our vitamin cabinet.