I’m breaking the rules. With Intuitive Painting, or the Zero Point Painting, sharing work is discouraged because the practice is more about process than product. My teachers say that comments, either positive or negative, may have an impact on what wants to arise from within. If someone says they like an image, it might stop the painter from modifying it. Up to this point, though, I don’t feel for me that’s the case. Now with writing . . . watch out! But I’m freer with painting. What is powerful for me is to watch my own judgments and feelings about the work. There’s a tide that I experience as I paint. I may loathe an object, be disturbed by another, fret over my ability to paint something inside me that wants birth. Michelle Cassou says we need to stay with our discomfort.
It’s a powerful lesson because that discomfort does transform if I let it be. I’ve done this enough to know that images or “mistakes” I absolutely hate when they first appear end up what I treasure most.
Being connected with the brush means being connected with myself. As I worked yesterday, I was obsessing over her face. I still do not like the nose. I wanted both eyes bright, but no matter what I did the right stayed dark. During the last-minute of class I applied the coat on the two lighter triangles and now, at least at this moment, I don’t want the eye the same shade as the other .
My teacher observed my spending a lot of time dabbing the paper with my brush. See the line from where the Mama Angel is emerging? She suggested I make strokes, feeling the paint, feeling the movement. This line was the first stroke I did. Speaking of tides, I immediately felt my bottled emotions come up. As I drew the Jehovah Angel in the left corner, I started having an anxiety attack. More emotions, and they emerged through moving my hand, the color of paint, and because I was beginning to breathe.
I’m working on a novel I put away years ago about the nature of Hell, which I really should pluralized . . . literal ones on Earth, the fantasy hell my characters fashion for the afterlife, demons, redemption, angels. Hell was very a literal place for my quasi-Southern Baptist parents, and I worry that my more traditional friends make judgments about the state of my soul. In the past this has kept me quiet about my less than fundamentalist beliefs.
So, being seen, being judged, the dis-ease of being worried about, a track record of feeling I don’t express myself well when I speak and am confronted, and BAM! Panic, anxiety, a wonderful demon Jehovah God is born, but one whose heart shows my real feelings about the Divine. The source of Love who we have made into our own vindictive, angry, jealous projections. Here’s a judgment: the panic is actually a good thing because it shows my need to feel. I have a very hard time crying. The tears almost came as I painted. They’re all suppressed as I write once again. But that’s the path I need to open in me. To allow feelings to blossom, to be okay with being afraid of their power because that is where I am. Stay with the discomfort, eh?
There’s the fairy angel, the enigma angel, and the Mama Angel, the last to appear. The flowers in her hair came late as well. I worked on her for about three hours, and when time was up I groaned because I was in a place where I was feeling and alive. She is not done. I’ll take her back next month.