Ok, so here I am joining the blogosphere. OMG, it’s a vast universe. I’ve only read a few blogs, most of which have been very good; entertaining, informative, thought provoking. I have also read a number of clunkers. Some of these ramblings make me wonder if the light is on but no one is home. Can the lives of these people really be that boring and insipid, or are they just bored with the whole bloggity-blog thing? (I should mention here that I sometimes lack a filter. I’ve been called charming and cool for this very reason. I will try not to sling poop at major ethnicities or food groups. However, expect the odd four-letter word to sneak out from time to time, and that I will write/speak my mind. Isn’t that what this forum is for?)
My subjects for this blog, the ingredients, if you will, are my art and art in general, my life, and my adventures in learning to cook. The first two subjects are like best friends; familiar but never predictable and always evolving along side you. I have been nurturing my art ever since I was 5. Yeah, I was that kid in the corner, hunched over a piece of paper with finger paint in my hair and all over my smock and 10 pudgy digits. In addition to creating visually, I am a teacher of art. My students are people of varying ages. My life has been consumed with practicing, studying, and talking about art in all of its varied forms. I love my job and, although scratching out a living causes some level of stress, I’m not really qualified to do anything else, nor do I have an authentic inkling to venture into any other career at this point.
You could also say I’ve been contemplating my life ever since….well, ever since it began. We all have, haven’t we? I didn’t really begin the broad examination of mine until about 2 years ago when I started therapy. Being in therapy will help you bring the big picture of your life into view. But first, you ponder the details, the stuff that gets in the way of the big picture. You spend time and emotional energy opening up those small memory passages and levels of your psyche that have remained blocked or buried for significant periods of time. I love the process of this slow, sometimes painful process of self-discovery. It hurts so good! Moving through intense emotions is…well, emotive, and cathartic, and cleansing. Let’s face it, who couldn’t use a good cry?
The last ingredient/writing subject is new, fresh, and whose entrance into my life brings that savory flavor I have been craving. I have wanted to learn to cook in the formal sense for about 20 years. But, I told myself in the past, it was never the right time. “I have to many other things to do, things that are more important. It will be too expensive to buy what I need. I’m not worthy!” Shee-it! What is more important that creating an orgasm for your mouth, I ask you, dear Readers? What’s that? Nothing? I concur! So with sharpened knives and well-oiled iron skillet in hand (damn! that thing is heavy! I need to work out) I stand ready to dice and sauté! Believe it or not, I somehow managed to get a chef, Chef Jeff, to come to my house for my formal training. How freakin’ cool is that? My first few lessons will cover the basics. Like learning to put that first expressive line on a page, my cooking lessons give me the foundation I need to bring daily joy to my taste buds and gastronomical creativity to my life.
I hope to never get bored with these blog entries here, or for them to become ordinary, like some web writings I have come across. At this point in my life (I’m female and 45, what could be more exciting than that?) change is the only constant I have. I plan on documenting at least part of this wild ride through middle age, what I call my second puberty. Eventually, I suppose, my life will quiet down, I’ll get off the roller coaster and settle softly onto the comfy cushion of…older age. Don’t get me wrong; retirement is not in my vocabulary. I’m an artist, we never retire, we just keep making stuff no one wants. However, I would like to finally wander into a greener pasture of contentment and graze awhile. Until then, I plan on pushing the boundaries of my comfort zone, and it’s about bloody time I did. What am I waiting for, incontinence? And so, to paraphrase and pervert a somewhat overused exclamation, Fasten your seatbelts, it’s gonna be not only a bumpy night, but one that promises inconsistent body temperatures and emotional states!