Ephemeral

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Two nights ago, I had a dream that took place at my grandmother’s house. At my grandmother’s front door, it rests tucked away behind a tiny gate, under an eave, and has a little fountain, and some sort of palm like plant that I used to sit behind as a child. In my dream I walked out into this area, at a house I felt so much peace and comfort at, and I looked at the plant. Brownie laid, wrapped up a bit in a leaves like a blanket, resting, and not resting as in sleeping but resting as in “at rest.” I felt peace, an overwhelming amount of peace, that Brownie was no longer weary. There was no sadness, just a deep relief.

I’m not sure what it means, that I dreamed of my long time friend and companion finally resting at my grandmother’s house who I recently lost as well but it felt like my grandma telling me it will be okay and that Brownie will be ushered to whatever may come next by a familiar spirit. And for that I am grateful.

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These moments in life are fleeting and all consuming at the same time. For the past 3 months we’ve been in a hospice sort of limbo with our dog. I had to search through my phone photos just now to figure out how long it’s been because it seems like we have been nursing her through this transition for so much longer. I wish everyday that she may go peacefully on her time, knowing we all love her very very much. The last couple of weeks, I have watched her body wear out. She is eating more than she had been for a long while, since we changed her food to be a bit easier on her body, and her broken teeth, yet her body thins drastically. She sleeps longer and deeper. Her gait becomes more strained. But her spirit is still high. She follows me closely, whether it be to the bathroom or to the kitchen when I go to get some food.

I’m coming to a point when life started getting extremely overwhelming and uncertain this time last year. It’s been quite a ride, these last 10/11 months and the thing I am grateful for with the world halting, slowing, for a bit, is that it has made very easy to be here, be present with her through this. I’m not sure how things will shift in the time after Brownie, all I know is that I’m very grateful to get to walk with her on this new shift in her journey.

Retention

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A few days ago I watched some watercolor videos by a favorite artist and got inspired by her technique of working with the unpredictable qualities of watercolor. I was excited to see the process of using them in an abstract way within the parameters of portrait painting. I went to work the next morning and worked on a vision I got in my head and was pretty pleased with the results. During a break from packing up books yesterday, another one of my favorite artists posted a photo of themselves that I knew instantly I wanted to try to paint with these new techniques. Joey also had ordered me some more watercolor paper since I had run out, so this felt like a great task to take on to break in the new pad.

This painting came out beyond what I possibly imagined I could paint. It’s the art piece I’ve been most happy with in my entire life. Buzzing off that high, I started in on a painting of one of my nieces. Very shortly into the process I became frustrated and felt like I forgot all of these techniques I just seemed to grasp well in the painting of Bill. Currently the painting is sitting on my shipping table and I’m in this weird state of wanting to work on it but also very annoyed at it and not sure I want to focus on it.

As I dive deeper and deeper into these art forms that are out of my comfort zone of conceptual photography, I find myself learning lessons of discipline, working on something even when I am irritated at my skill level in creating the image I hoped for. My brain seems to work in two strong binaries when it comes to art, being stuck in creating something as close to the reference as possible, or of creating from my mind, being able to see it as an abstract concept. I’m trying to break that, in trying to use a reference photo but to teach my brain how to work it into a more abstract concept.

I tell my kids all the time, when they are frustrated at their artistic abilities and where they hope for their own abilities to be, that it all just comes down to practice, and now, I’m having to teach myself these lessons, intensely.

The Evolution of a Painting

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Grief is an interesting beast. On one hand it’s keeping you up at night, thoughts swirling but not focusing on any one thing in particular. Sometimes it’s waking up and immediately feeling it knock the wind out of you. Almost all the time, it’s a dull aching, lingering at the nape of your neck, tingling down your spine, letting you know it’s always with you. And on the other hand, it can unlock something within you that you didn’t know existed. I’ve been called to draw, to sketch, to paint, to create in ways I never gravitated specifically towards before because the results always left me disappointed.

I’m honoring what grief is telling me. How it’s guiding my daily practices. I am trying to nurture these new found ways of creating. I’m finally seeing things coming from my brain, being translated on paper/canvas in ways I recognize, instead of some jumbled mess, destined for the scrap heap, and leaving me more frustrated in the end. It’s opening me up and allowing things to flow through me as a means to work through my days. And I’m grateful for that at least.

It’s odd how grief doesn’t manifest itself only in trip you up and beat you down sort of ways. Sometimes the side effects of grief can be beautiful. And now that I’m reflecting on this, I guess grief exactly mimics the life and death of a person. It’s full of magnificence, full of sorrow, full of epiphanies, and full of pain. It’s all encompassing, the life death life cycle, so I guess it makes sense that the grief those feel in the wake of death would be the same.

I’m currently asking people to let me know what they would name this painting. If your name gets chosen, I will put a little gift in the mail to you. Let me know in the comments.

*I found patreon very suffocating. I felt as if I was only worth something to people if I was constantly creating, or sending them goodies every month. I would like to focus the energy of sharing my life, my process, myself here, for everyone to have access to. If you find my words, my art meaningful to you in some way, might I put it out there that a donation to help keep me in art supplies (and having the ability to pay my bills) would be very much appreciated if you have the means. You can do that here. In any case, however, I appreciate each and every single one of you and hope you are well.

TW: Mention of Suicide :: Trauma responses.

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I saw a post by Jeffery Marsh yesterday that has sat with me, heavily. It read, “The problem with ‘You don’t need to be defined by your trauma’ is that you can’t help but be defined by your trauma. Yes you can work through trauma, but it will define your worldview forever. AND GOOD NEWS, that’s fine. Trauma doesn’t make you ‘damaged’ or less of a person.”

I have honestly never thought about if my trauma defined me or not because it wasn’t something that detracted from who I am as a person. Being sent to therapy at a very young age by a step mother because she thought we “didn’t love her,” that does define me and that choices I make now as an adult on how to show my love. It plays a role in how I interact with my own children, making sure I try my damnedest to not make my children feel they need to hold that space for me. It’s my job to show them love and how to love, not their jobs to make me feel loved.

Does waking in the middle of the night to a different step mother stumbling down the hall after a suicide attempt define me? Absolutely. It has made me hyper aware. It has made me afraid of the dark.
Has returning to live in that home for a year after that night defined me? Completely. I lived in two different homes, all within the same four walls. One where I was ousted and treated like the awkwardness in the household was somehow my fault, as a 15 year old, just trying to make sense of holding the burden of my step mother’s uncontrolled mental illness. Trying to get through school and not draw attention to myself because the one time I spoke with a friend about what was happening at home, my step mother made me feel like I had did something so unconscionably wrong. A home where she would make threats about driving her car off the road with me in it. And a home where she would make sure I was never alone with my father when he was home from work, seemingly afraid I would tell him of the goings on when he wasn’t around. It wasn’t until years later I learned that she was telling him completely opposite accounts of our relationship, how much she adored me, how wonderful things were between us.

The trauma of things I can’t yet speak about publicly because sometimes it’s better to not hurt already hurt people with your account of things.

Does this trauma make me feel broken? No. I am not how others treat me. Their inability to see me through whatever pain they were dealing with, it doesn’t weigh me down. It has fueled me to try to do everything I need, make every right choice for myself, it has brought me to a place of putting my needs first and taking care of them, because that’s what I had to do. It defines me in that way. I’ve been working on growing out of this mindset and while I do think there is great power in taking care of oneself, it has left me generally not opening up in a way to let people care for me if they feel called to. It’s left me only asking for help if things are dire and even then, feeling an immense amount of guilt when I do ask for help.

On the other hand, it has left me with a caring heart. One that can see the pain that my step mothers were working through, knowing that they were/are also humans struggling through a human existence. It defines me in working diligently on letting those in my life know what they mean to me.

Things happened to me, that were out of my control. It has left me with scars, scars on my psyche, that have a lasting impact on who I am today. The woman who is constantly yearning for better, to be better. The person who feels like the only constant in her life sometimes is that everything will change. The human who isn’t broken by having experiences that were “less than ideal” but had they been any different, I’m not sure I’d like the person sitting here today.

I am not damaged. I am whole and ever-changing and through all my trauma, I am worthy.

I'm not fine but I'm okay.

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I mean, clearly, I’m writing this blog at nearly 3 am. The insomnia I once knew, intimately, is slowly returning. Such is life during a pandemic while navigating compounded grief, I guess. There is sadness muffling the edges of all my choices and thoughts, all the borders of my vision but it’s also fueling me to live a better, fuller life. I have been chasing that life for as I can remember. There is more to what is being presented to us at all times by society, by capitalism, by the fractures between us as humans who haven’t been truly taught how to connect with one another. While my interactions may be duller in a lot of ways, there is also a level of technicolor I am currently residing in, creating from. Everything that has happened over the last, nearly year, has shown me to truly fight for my boundaries that are a necessity for me to function, and also to chase and capture that always just out of reach life I’ve been trailing but never seemingly catching up to.

I’m seeing it. I’m finally catching up to it. I’m right on its tail. I believe in the universe and its infinite goodness. I’ll continue fighting for what is right and just. I’m certain it often looks a bit unhinged from an outsider’s perspective, and that’s okay.

For the first time, I feel like I’m finally creating from a place that is truly pure, truly me. Not watering myself down to be palatable to the masses, not hoping I look “nice” and presentable. I’m done with that. I was subconsciously looking for validation of my voice from others, which took me a long while to finally see that I was doing so.

My hope for everyone during this pandemic and just bizarrely surreal year, is that you too will come out of it being authentically you.

I love you.

Flux

Expanding and contracting

Like the floorboards in my house

Like the ice forming and melting on the pond

Like the hands that swell in the morn.

I find myself in flux

Each day a new perception

Knowing we are here

We are home

We are safe

We are not.

Breaking free of the cement

That anchors my feet like the children's swing set

Deep within the damp ground

All I know 

Is that I know nothing of what is to come

But I propel myself forward

But I must rest from exhaustion.

The worried gaze follows me closely

And the day that gaze fades

Will be only the beginning of my work to be done.

This move has been nothing like I envisioned it to be. I envisioned this gloriously full life full of all the things I saw us doing here in Vermont. I foolishly, or optimistically, assumed that getting out of Louisiana would be the hard part and that after we did that, it would all fall into place perfectly. As it does, that is not at all how this has happened. But you know what? That's okay. I'm, we, WE are used to really working at what we want and how we want our lives to play out. I'm trying to honor my body where it's at but also push it just a little bit beyond what it is willing to do for my mind. Trying to get things all back into alignment with the other is hard (and crazy looking) work. One week I'm on, one week I'm falling apart, usually physically. But  I've never doubted that I have got this. 

What are you doing for yourself today? What's one creative thing you can do to remind yourself you are a human, beautifully flawed but also beautifully perfect in your journey? Also, take your vitamins and necessary prescriptions and drink your water, okay?

Katelyn Demidow

society6.com/katelyndemidow

It's in a book.

    Last year, I probably read two books. I just wasn't in a space to dive into other worlds. You would think that because last year was so rough that I would be desperate to escape my reality and would have read all the books. But I couldn't. I needed to be immersed in reality this last year to fully feel all of it to be able to grow and learn the lessons needed and not check out. If I checked out, it probably would mean that I'd still be floating around, with no idea of how to change my reality and still feeling a hopelessness, that feeling of being "stuck" in Louisiana I have just accepted for so long.

    But now I, we, we have made so much forward movement in manifesting the heck out of the life we want so much, that we feel as right so very deeply, that I can soar away. To places I've never been, to places not of this world. I'm hungry for a million books to read and stories to swallow in. Books are stacking up on my nightstand, waiting. My amazon cart keeps filling with more and more books for the future, for this year.

    What are stories that you have just devoured? Stories that have left you with a sense of wonder and filled your life in a way you just cannot describe? I'd love to hear your suggestions. If it helps, I prefer fiction, but am open to just a really well told story no matter what genre.

Breathing Treatments

Two and a half days till the start of a new year and I'd be lying if I said I was fine about starting a new year in Louisiana. If you would've asked me six months ago if I thought we'd still be here come January 1st, I would've said,"Hell no!" A ball got rolling that had been stuck deep in the muck around mid year. It started full speed and I tell you what, if you didn't duck and roll out of the way, it would've steam rolled you. Then somewhere along the way Louisiana's energy started fighting back. Holding us tightly. No, strangling us. Between the financial crisis we have been in for the last two years, the house throwing temper tantrums at our exiting, and the ways I and people all around us have brilliantly imploded, the momentum slowed.

The lessons through all of these failings has shown me just how determined I am to get our family out of here. Some would think it was a sign that we shouldn't be leaving, but we aren't even here anymore. Our house isn't ours. It's opening for it's next owners, kicking us in the ass on out on the way. It's a weird place to be. The twilight zone. Are we here or are we there? Are we even living in the liminal spaces? Or are we just gasping for air and hoping there is enough space on the door for all of us to fit?

2016 has been hard. I don't need to say that. You all know. But for as hard as it's been, I am grateful for it. Had it been just like any other year here, there would be no forward motion, no push to finally leap out of the little bit of comfort we have here and strive towards a life we all really thrive in. Do I regret moving to Louisiana? No. Not one bit. I cannot even begin to imagine who I would be today had we stayed in California, never leaving everything we have ever known. 

Thank you 2016, for showing me just how strong I can be. Without you, I'd still be floating away.

Pastries

This year we had no advent calendar counting down the days till Yule. Illness kept us from taking the kids to look at Christmas lights. It kept us from baking cookies as a family and decorating them for Santa. There was no shared meal with friends on Christmas Day. No festivities. 

But he and I have baked Greek pastries together since the first Christmas season we spent together dating in high school. The first few years we did it with his family. It's their tradition and I was more than happy to be included in it. We continued together, in the many years that have passed since we moved from California.

So here we are, after the kids have gone to bed, making pastries together, like we have for the past 12 Christmas seasons.

Some traditions cannot be skipped.

Middle fingers up.

Get this shirt here.

We ask,"Who am I?" And for a lot of people that question is truly terrifying because they have no fucking clue. Just as terrifying it is to not know, it's the terror to know exactly who you are, to be so acutely aware of who you are, what the sum of all your parts adds up to, and to know exactly why you do the things you do. I know why people generally learn to love me, or flat out turn away from me. Sometimes it takes some time for that turn to happen.

I get it. We live in a world that craves insincerity. We sit around and make small talk and idle plans to "hang out" later. Sometimes it's too hard. Hard to be honest and set boundaries and let people know just what you really feel. So we lie. We lie out of our asses and tell people we're "fine" when we aren't and keep people in the dark about the nasties we are feeling. Until those people unknowingly trigger those nasty feelings and we lash out and suddenly are telling those people just how horrible they are. 

I suck at boundaries. No. I sucked out boundaries. I'd say this last year, one of the lessons I am so grateful for is learning just where my boundaries are and learning how to set them well in advance. Let's go back. In high school I had few friends. I was bitchy and crass and sarcastic. Most teenagers don't take kindly to being told about themselves. After I had Leena and started really exploring who I was as a person and questioning the teachings of my childhood, and why people kept abandoning me, I went to the extreme side. I shoved down my inherit bitchiness, thinking that would keep people from leaving me. This energy that is in the world of "Love and Light" and being kind, gentle warriors. I tried. I was love and light. I was doing yoga and meditating and finding my zen center, trying to do all the "right" things in this energetic space. I was also super lonely. I had so much community but not really anyone who truly knew me. I was crawling out of my skin that pulled too tight because it didn't fit and kept me as a small version of myself.

I'm embracing it. I'm a nasty woman. A nasty woman that loves deeply and feels everything and also will tell you to get your fucking shit together. I am harsh. I am bitchy. I am sassy and sarcastic. In all those ways I am a total Aries as the world views Aries. But, what others view as a weakness or problem, I view as a beautiful addition to my personality. I am messy and can be shady with the best of them but you need me? I got your back. I am not nice or gentle. I am that motherfucking bull in a china shop. You need someone to tell you what you don't want to hear? I got'chu. I'll also hold your hand while you make the changes you wish to make in your own life.

Living an authentic life generally means living a lonely life. One with many many painful endings. But it also means having those relationships and moments in life that are so painfully beautiful that you almost can't stand it. Almost.

What have you been told is a problem with you? Because I'll be your mirror and tell you just how amazing that makes you.