The full moon was breathing in and rising as were emotions. It had been one of those weeks, you know the kind, where everything goes sideways in multiple areas of your life. So, on Friday, I’m looking forward to commiserating with a friend over lunch at the conclusion of an exasperating week; well-we both end up going to meet one another at different restaurants, standing each other up – sort of (hmph).
It was a sign to take my misery of woes home, along with the weeks accumulation of vexation and dismay.
Glumly at home, I decided to hide away in my studio and practice a little art therapy. I began to work on a piece I had started a while back, one that I hoped would be part of a Lyrical series. I was really starting to get into the groove, letting my day and week go, and was being lifted by the brush and paint and really beginning to connect again with the canvas…. Then, my partner walked in with some mail (real post kinda mail), and told me that it was probably important and I should open it. I tried to ignore this intrusion that stood in the doorway, waiting for me to set down brush and open mail. Instead thoroughly annoyed by the invasion (and obviously still in the middle of the therapy), I began to paint with a vengeance. Yep – that was it, the breaking canvas moment! Those poor cotton fibers had no idea what was happening as brush pushed ever harder ‘til there was nothing to be done but open wide to allow brush and hand in….
Ohhhh nooo…., began my dirge of remorse and regret. My partner dispatched quickly – horrified at the results on the canvas. Mail lay abandoned – unopen on the table, next to knives and palette.
Lyrical potential is now the requiem played – as I bow my thanks and gratitude to the canvas that gave in, so my weeks turmoil could be dispelled in the last powerful stroke of the brush. I sighed, and calmly – quietly gathered tools & brushes as the lament of ‘breaking canvas’ played softly in my head.
The full moon still to light to be seen – sees and exhales.