The perfection of balance isn’t something I know much about, however when I imagine it I think of it as simple, glowing, and sparkling slightly. Even as I write this my mind is half-focused on all of the other things I should be doing. My cat just rubbed his face all over a wet painting in the other room. I just got a text from a friend that is a photo of a ticket to mars with his name on it. A man walks past the house and another cat of mine is growling at him from the window. My husband comes home, telling me all about his trip to social security. We decide to nail more nails in the kitchen wall to hang the pans.
My hands are now covered in dry paint. We discuss the agony of waiting in lines in federal buildings, and how they call numbers radically out of line from the number you have. I tell him maybe we should try peanut butter with broccoli for dinner, that I saw it on Facebook. He asks how we would make that and as always I have to answer I have no idea, I only read the headline, not any information. And anyway. Balance.
The perfection of balance. The way I imagine it is peaceful, shimmering, and glowing. The way I never seem to imagine perfection, balance, and peace as the hard work and consistency needed to achieve that idea. For me, it is more like a pretty fantasy that I can’t seem to reach. I take a break to read 59 comments in the Newcastle United Facebook league cup post out loud, cracking up because Kevin knows all of the abbreviations for what the fans are screaming in all caps in Jordy. I feed Penelope my dachshund seven mini carrots so she stops squeaking at me. And anyway. Balance and the perfection of it. I don’t know what that is, but when I imagine it I picture it looking and feeling the way this painting looks and feels. Open, and free, and confident and sincere. Even with all of her open spaces.
I struggle greatly with spaces in my art. I am a maximalist. Since I was a little kid I had to fill up every single space with something. Troll dolls, happy meal toys, dead flowers. Even giant posters I would flip to the blank side and collage thousands of magazine clippings.
I had maximal feelings. Maximal life circumstances. Maximal brokenness and growth. Never had much room for space because if I left that space open I wouldn’t be able to control i. I was too loud and too much for the ones I wanted the most but somehow never felt like enough. I’ve been staring at this painting for a week trying to decide how to fill up all of her spaces - and finally, I decided to just allow myself the growth and confidence to keep them there. So maybe if you’ve read all of this and struggle with the perception of balance and peace. All of it being a really abstract concept but a sparkly and glowing place once you get there. If you could just get there and not engage with a million different things along the way - here is the evidence of that into a piece of art.
