Grammar Corrections and Other Ways to Say, "I Love You."

 

On Other People's Grammar:

   I so often fall short of my own grammatical goals, Inevitably, I'll publish this with errors, and go back and correct later, or not. Sometimes I want others to know it happens to me too, so I leave it. It's just that it often comes up between friends on the Autism Spectrum. Accuracy in grammar appears, to my experience, to be a shared interest among many of us keeping in mind that, "If you've met one Autistic person, you've met one Autistic person, and yes, I do say, "Autistic person" as well as, "Person with Autism." That particular wording, and reasons behind it belong to the Autistic person saying it, as far as I'm concerned, and I don't mind if you disagree in the least. How grand! I'm o.k./you're o.k., as it were. 

  

   On to the topic, right after this completely irrelevant painting. :) 

"Seascape in Blue" 2012
6x6" Oil on Canvas.

   For me, It depends on my perception of the friendship, but some of these relationships are too tender for me to offer my fallible ideas of correctness. Sometimes accuracy is imperfect when it takes away from the value of a moment or breaks the heart of a dear friend. I may see your grammar error, but it doesn't always matter to me. I, for instance have eyebrows that don't match. Most of my friends graciously overlook it in favor of whatever else they may like about me. Weirdos. Similarly, Eye Donut Kare If U Mizpell a wErd (I do not care if you mispell a word), if I am perceptive enough to see it's coming from your heart. If I'm not or it isn't, I've no problem simply leaving. Why torture eachother?

    If I think your goal is to be accurate and you've asked me to edit, I'll be happy to red pencil your commas. I don't do it for free indefinitely. Just like painting or tutorials. I value me. :)

   If you are many, but not all Autistic people, I might point out the error out of sheer mercy, because I know my own errors bother me, and if you're like me, you would probably appreciate the help from a like minded person who would never point it out for the purpose of harm, but out of compassion. Autistic people are generally very kind and helpful.

    I've learned a lot of people like my kindness, but are not so big on my (Questionable) grammatical skills. I'm not here to edit the world. Sometimes my best contribution is to enjoy it even if I don't like the extra spice of a misplaced participle. It's not my thing, and my eyebrows may not be theirs. If they can afford me lenience, I too can offer it, even if we both may be getting on one another's last nerve. I'm tough. I've survived worse, and I like the people I like.

     I do have an extensive list of what's important to me in any kind of relationship. I love book learnin' and grammar that is socially acceptable according to the Encyclopedia Britannica crowd (You sexy bunch!), but it's far, far down the list of what matters to me personally. If you're kind, I don't care how you talk or write. If you're unkind, be gone or fuck off -whatever phraseology you prefer.

    I've become more flexible, and let it not go without saying (as always) not all Autistic people are alike. I am able to bend more than some just like Neurotypicals. I'm also perhaps more aware of how my actions impact others than some are. I think this is learned in me, resulting from experience having had people tell me they were upset over me trying to help them by correcting their grammar. It doesn't have to make sense to me in order for me to understand, they, for whatever reason, don't like it. I, therefore, don't do it with that person.

   I don't like sweet potatoes, and it's kind when you don't give them to me anyway. Similarly, you may not like grammatical correction, and respecting your tastes, I wont give them to you. We shall keep our respective grammar and sweet potatoes to ourselves out of compassion. I'm still authentically me. I just don't share that facet of myself with that person. There are things about you I'd rather not know too. 

  Further, finding that skill of mine had monetary value, I've become less likely to dole out editorial flare, such as it is, with just anyone. I am not here to earn your accolades, degrees or paychecks. I have had people, "Want me for my brain," and I'm talking to you, Autistic people and anyone with a particular skill(s): 

You are valuable and worthy of respect as a whole human being. 

You are valuable and worthy of respect as a whole human being. 

You are valuable and worthy of respect as a whole human being. 

(No need to, "Read that again," which is gaslighting whether or not I think you want or warrant an edit.)

    If I think someone is being intentionally antagonistic, I'm not likely to respond, because they've bored me. This is difficult, as I also don't respond when I've nothing to add to your observation as well. Often, I feel you've said it better than I cud. [sic] :D Sometimes, it's because I want you to shine. If I could, I'd go back and draw a Yellow highlight over your words. Many are far smarter than I am and have insights I might never have had. Sometimes, it's that I'm accustomed to you enjoying the last word, and I'm happy to allow it. I enjoy it when you, "Win." I'm serious about that, it's fun for me. Sometimes, I've had a trusted friend point out the person was trying to be mean. It's disconcerting, as I wonder what is bothering them, but it's also fun, because (LOL!) I didn't get it, therefore, it didn't work. I get amused, and lacking theory of mind, I assume the, "Mean" person trying to hurt me is in on the game, and we'll try it again sometime. I really want others to succeed in whatever their goals are. I believe in you! I think you're smart enough to know that it's a game too. I mean, you created the game. I wouldn't have thought of it, but it's brilliant. What a great idea! Bravo! We shall play cat and mouse purely for entertainment purposes, and I'll be gentle, I promise. 

    My preference for grammatical correctness is a lot like a dick and religion. I'm not going to shove it down your throat. Sometimes correctness is imperfect, and I find the sweetness of exactitude in a little tenderness. Often, I let a lot slide in order to hit the right spot that expresses my care for another, be it through editing, asking them to clarify their aim, or simply enjoying the person as they are just as I would have them enjoy me. They, after all are certainly letting a lot slide about me. For the most part, Autistic or Neurotypical, I believe we're on the same team

On Asking:

     I cannot always intuit what a conversation calls for from me. I have to ask, and if it doesn't occur to me, others have to ask me for what they need. In fact, it's every so much more effective, if they tell me what they need. 

 

    Failing to say what we need is a problem not limited to Autistic/Neurotypical interactions. In fact it is the source of many a failure of marriages, friendships and the loss of many sweet familial relationships. Not everything can be solved by saying what we need, but it does a lot toward whittling down the amount of effort it takes to enjoy the company of another human being in all areas of life. 

   To my way of seeing, among the cisgendered, this problem seems more pronounced among Neurotypical females who being perhaps more aware of the subtlety of expression in Neurotypical males as well as what's been socially acceptable for their own behaviors and desires, may be unfairly burdened with unreasonable repercussions, real or feared of, for simply saying, "I want...." I have less of a problem with it due to Autism which makes me less impressed by the judgements of others, but I'm not at all immune. I've had to grow the bravery to ask too, and I admire anyone with the courage to confront those fears regardless of Neurological identification or gender identification. It's not easy, but it pays in dividends. As well put, "Ask and ye shall receive." If it's a true need, and they continually couldn't care less, perhaps reevaluate why you're asking that person. You may need something they simply don't have in store. I've seen this problem in terms of compassion. If they don't have it, and I need it, I can ask all day, and will never receive it. Further, the way they have of expressing even an abundance of compassion, may not be they type with which I feel safe.

 

    We, each of us, don't fit all other humans. We also don't *not fit all other humans. :) We are perfectly different individuals just like the next person.

   If I realize my own humanness, I must certainly realize it in others. I'm not sure friendship or any kind of love exists without necessary error. Where does love get to exercise, if you are but a reflection of fallible me? Although often beyond my reach, the willingness to embrace a dash of chaos like an error in grammar may be the perfect order. 

I'm a delightful mess, and so are you. How wonderful! 

tinajonesart

Despair, Hope And Imagination

  Thoughts on Hope.

I recently watched a video from Alain de Botton's, "The School of Life" on getting out of a despairing mood. It suggested hope as can come from imagination as a possible route. 

 

       I've painted and written, yet I don't see myself as containing a font of imagination. I follow such a pattern in painting that I wondered if I possesses even a spec, yet it turns out I have a lot!

    Worry is the evidence I can conjure imagination and profusely. It's more a gusher than a font. It's more difficult, however to imagine pleasant things in the midst of fear. I've thought a lot of movies lately and how we must suspend our belief in reality in order to experience the story and the emotions likely in the characters. This suspending of our reality may be just what it takes to dream again.

     I don't hope or dream, not in the sense of wishing for any person, thing or circumstance I don't already have. I don't long for some situation where I would no longer be me, having self-proved, "Wherever you go, there you are," far more times than those quicker on the uptake. 

     I didn't suddenly become unaware of societal standards for the dreams I ought to have. I just learned to laugh at myself more. I've a grand crush on reality in all it's annoyances and splendor. I'm grateful, and without expectation. I used to experience what I've heard called a "Divine Dissatisfaction" as described by Father Ed. Dowling, a Jesuit Priest from St. Louis circa 1930. I felt restless. I didn't know what I should want. I only felt something was missing. Hope, for me is an excellent stage for disappointment. This restlessness right in the middle of happiness or peace gave me a small space not to dream of something from the limits of my imagination, but that there might be some wonder I wasn't yet capable of imagining. If I'm so content, what's my worry with dreaming? Becoming content is not an easy path, because you have walk through giving up all the way to seeing what's right here in front of you bloom. It isn't done in an afternoon, and can take a lot of loss. The world has been through enough loss lately. I think they need to dream again...to hope. I was feeling quite alone in my affair with the present moment when I saw a friend had posted a loved poem by Mary Oliver. 

Wild Geese 

 "You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile, the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -over and over announcing your place in the family of things." Mary Oliver

    I'd be an absolute hypocrite if I too didn't dare dunk my toes back in that ocean, dangerous as it may be. Now -what to dream? I could dream of more moments, not of things on the outside but expanding the inside, of seeing my own heart in more leaves, flights of birds and trees. Wait! Maybe I could dream others get what they want. Maybe I can dream peace of mind for everyone or would you rather something else? 

   A new job, car, home, love, that the pandemic go away? I wish, if they'd give you peace that I could give all of these. Maybe, then peace of mind is the path to all of our dreams and more. The car that would make us feel enough, the house with prestige, the end of illness and poverty, the romance that would give us a sense of home. All of these are temorary sensations, unless be bring serenity with us.

 I dare say, researchers for a cure approach their work with a clear mind and exacting focus on the moment too.  

   You and I may not be in the laboratories, but we may be among the families and friends, coworkers and even internet acquaintances of those who are. If my life is in their hands, it seems I'd do best to add whatever peace I can to their work, by simply taking care of my own serenity. The same goes for our effect on loved ones and those loading our groceries. Please don't underestimate the widespread need and healing effect of your own self care. Our own peace of mind can add to and even save the lives of others. All of us are touched by this disease, and to my mind, it's going to take all of us to get through it.

      We as humans have been through so much grave loss. I am so sorry for all that we have and will go through. For now, I find comfort in the moments of peace, the breeze, the turning leaf, and my fallible effort to comfort others. I can't stop all of this pain, but with all I have, in my heart, I sit with you. If not now, the time will come to feel it all, and it's mine to promise you, there is another sunrise after all of this, and there will be more reason to hope and dream.

 tinajonesart

Last Night's Simple Dream

Last Night's Simple Dream

    It's a silly thing, I suppose - sharing something like a dream with no meaning and no reason other than that it was...it was just nice. It wasn't deep, and there's no plot. There's no moral to the story, and nothing to work out. No problems to solve, and nothing that memorable, except, it was nice.

  I'd hosted a small party of about 20 people for an informal, possibly pot luck, get together. It was my house, and nice and dark and comfortable. There were groups of 3 and 5's of people chatting in the living room and on the front porch. It was dusk and very relaxed. I had thought of opening my office/library for mingling, but had the French doors closed. I was looking around to see if I needed to tidy anything or if anyone needed coffee or sodas, when someone told me we had another guest, and it was Gene. 

   He was an old friend, and they said he needed to see me. I wondered what was up, but was glad to see him, and took him through the party, as everyone said their, "Hellos." I offered we could talk in the library, and he said, very cheerfully, "Why don't we go for a ride?" I thought it sounded like fun, so we went out the back door where cars were parked. I said, "Why don't we take both cars?" and he thought it was a great idea. I've no idea what happened to whatever it was he wanted to talk about. This was Gene Wilder, by the way. Great to see him, and I did not know him, but in the dream.

   I set out driving on a road I've driven on in many dreams. I don't know where I'm imagining, but it curves gently, and sometimes there's a bridge, and I drive off a small ramp to the Right and down to a creek that leads into the large body of water, and I sit alone on the large reddish or rust colored, smooth boulder with my feet hanging off, away from everyone, and I watch the water. It is the most peaceful, beautiful dream.

    This time, Gene was driving behind me, and I could see him smiling in the mirror. There is always a curve that I'm more careful on, so as not to go off the road. I saw it ahead just as Gene passed me smiling, and turned Right, out into the water, and I laughed, and thought, "That's just like Gene," and his car became a motorized John boat. He waved with a laughter filled, "Until next time," and I was glad I got to see him, and glad to see him happy. I thought I'd drive down to the little off ramp that took me to the boulder where I could sit and watch the water. I kept thinking it was a beautiful day.

tinajonesart

Thoughts on Mourning: Recent passing of Carl Reiner

Thoughts on Mourning: (Mel Brooks after Carl Reiner's death.)

 Thoughts.... I'm worried about Mel Brooks. He was married to that ridiculously pretty lady, and it hurt him when she died. Anne Bancroft, that was her name. They seemed so in love. Carl Reiner sort of made it bearable for him. They did an old Black and White bit together. I saw an interview, and the two of them talked like an old married couple finishing one another's sentences...laughing. They've been friends so long, and Mr. Reiner passed away last night. So wrong. I mean, maybe Ms. Bancroft and Mr. Reiner had their, "Forever after" in Mel Brooks, and he's done nothing but give us all laughs, but damn. What about his forever after? It's just not right. I don't mind being, "Alone." I like a quiet life of solitude, but it's not for everyone, and I don't think it's for Mel Brooks. He was good at being one of a pair. I think if people are close friends or couples, then both of them should have to live until they both croak, so no one has to miss anybody. That's all.

 The part that didn't go on Facebook, about me.

 It's not fair to me that some people really do love one another, and it lasts so many years, and grows and they bond, then it's gone. I know there is no better way. It's the design, perhaps,  and everyone has a story, but if it lasts, then I think it might be worse letting go. If you did the work, and got to that place together, it ought to last. Of course, I've lost people, and loves of my life began dropping off when I was a teen, and three more followed over the years. It was worth it every time,at least to me to love and be loved, and although I was gutted, after a little healing, I was glad that, if they had to go, at least someone gentle was with them, at least someone loved them, and it was me rather than someone who'd be mean.

   I was their, "Forever after." I had to find something to hold on to, something that wouldn't die, and that's why I began meditating. It comforted me when arms could not. Every death is horrible and even if you know it's coming, it rips a person apart. If not for thinking at least they had someone, then it would all be so useless. sighs.

  That pain is so great, that it rivals the pain of being alone, and eventually I came to peace with accepting either way, peace no matter which way the tears fell, and peace even when, seemingly blasphemous, I felt something like ...happiness.

   There is sorrow the depths of which I cannot describe walking around with my love and serenity. Is this what it is to be human? I think it is. I had to love, and if people can't live forever, and if I were to have no forever after or something that arrived near the end which no one can count on, or not, then I would crack myself open. Boundaries, and hopelessness be damned! I'd love the whole World exactly as it was, and not even death could stop me.

  Sometimes I look at the statues of nuns in bliss over the expanse of their love and maybe there's something bigger to cause it, maybe it's the nature of humans. All I know is I've lived a life that didn't need "Eternal" love, else it would have been there, and my god, it felt like I needed it, but I was wrong. I felt the desperate hunger everyone else does, but the sustenance of romantic passion was fleeting and somehow not a thing that I could hold on to, no matter how much they wanted to stay and how much I wanted them....to stay. Sighs, I know this love, and somehow it is for others. Still self pity, balm that it may be, is no sustenance.

   What I needed more than anything was to love, so I did, and subsequently found myself loved. Isn't that strange, delightfully strange? I may not get to have a forever after with one, and I've found peace with the bittersweet beauty of love anyway, but this is not a path I'd wish on anyone. It is hard, harder than building walls against it, the surrender to love or let go always in limbo and open empath in bliss and agony. I re-feel the sorrow of letting that dream die whenever someone else experiences catastrophic loss. I pray they find someone else, but should they not, I know another way. I may be insane, and I recommend it, but I know love that's greater than I can at times bear. Still, even as I melt in moments into love itself, sighs. You can't really split a cookie with or hold Universal Love.
 
   I'm o.k. to grow old this way or not. I'm open to romantic love and have been for many years. It doesn't come anymore, now that I don't hunt it down, neither fighting it, nor seeking.  I laugh at myself. It never was something to capture or hide from. In truth, it just happened, and it stopped happening. I don't know why, and that's o.k.
 
   I'm also open to being in solitude. At times partnered, I longed for such quiet too, but again I tell you, you can be happy either way. I don't skip through fields of flowers single, but I didn't do that coupled either. Either way, there's good work to be done, play to be had, and satisfaction mixed with desires. Either way, there is growth, rest and reflection. Overall, although, I pine romantic at times, I have, in fact, been happier alone. That's what I'm not sure other people have.

tinajonesart

I Love You And There's Not A Damn Thing You Can Do About It

Just so you know, I love you. 
That's right, I love you.
 I love you, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. 
I love you like you are and how ever you'll be tomorrow. 
You don't have to do what i do for me to love you.
 You don't have to like what I like, feel what I feel, eat what I eat, dance like I dance, believe what I believe, create how I create, sign what I sign, protest what I protest, vote for what I vote for. Can you hear me? I love you. 
It's for free, and it's for fun, and it's for me. 
It's mine and you can't take it away. I love you, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. 
This doesn't mean I'll put up with your shit.
 In fact, I love you so much, I'll tell you when you're full of it. 
This doesn't mean I'll let you hurt me. 
 I wouldn't enable someone I love. 
This doesn't mean you have to love me. 
If you tell me to fuck off, and walk away today, and I never see you again, I'll still be loving you.
 I  may or may not let you back in my life, but I love you.
 I love you, because it's good for...me.
 I love you, and that is none of your business. It's mine. 
This way, I get to be in love all day long. 
Even when I'm pissed, I'm loving you. 
There is not a damn thing you can do about it.
 I love you, because it makes my life better. 
I don't love you, because Jesus or Mohammed said so. 
I just love you, because I do. 
This doesn't mean I'll like you every minute. Some of you are jerks.
I still love you even if I block you. 
I love you if I change my mind.
 It doesn't mean that I'm going to do the right thing. 
It doesn't mean that I'll always be nice. 
 It doesn't mean that I expect anything from you. 
It doesn't mean that you owe me anything, nor that I owe you. 
It means that regardless of what gain or loss it might mean to me, with all that I am I wish you every joy. 
 With or without me, I wish you love. 
I hope you laugh today, and I hope in a moment you find yourself overwhelmed at the beauty there is to be seen...in your very own heart.
 I hope you fall in love with a cloud, and that you find yourself giggling at a funny pet.
 I hope you share a big laugh at a dirty joke today.
 I hope you see your own heart in the eyes of someone who is different from you. 
I hope you know the safe, and humble place of falling to tears over how much you are loved by someone you never thought would express it.
I hope you find the courage to express it to someone else. 
I hope you play, dance and catch the biggest fish or the littlest, whichever makes you smile more. 
I wish you stillness to hear the crickets singing for fireflies and stars in your nights.
 I wish you clean water, plenty of food, good shelter and the smiles of friends.
 I wish you good health, and the simple pleasure of a good stretch. 
I wish you awkward, amazing, ridiculously fantastic sex.
I hope you'll see how special and important you are, that you are the very mind, heart and hands of the gods, and I hope you realize yourself to be one with everything at least once.
 I hope you tremble at your own smallness and breathe the vast love that's really you.
 I hope you see you like I do...I love you.

tinajonesart

p.s. This writing was surely influenced by Chuck Chamberlain in his book, "A New Pair Of Glasses," which I first read many years ago, and repeatedly since. It's one I've lent out and given away out of love. It's written simply and to the point. The author is uplifting and encouraging, and I'd recommend it to anyone. 

To a Younger Artist On Selling Art (directly)

Disclaimer: 
   I need to tell you, I stopped selling years ago due to how stressful it was for me to deal with discussing finances with people. A huge chunk of it was self worth issues. The ways I did best weren't as direct, but not facing it wasn't really good for me either. I waffle. I never made enough to survive off of art, but I did make enough to buy supplies...sometimes. I did sell some face to face, and was glad to stop. lol! I wont be going into gallery sales as I never sold that way beyond a one time/three painting sale from a general consignment shop, so it helps to have an open mind.

  I made enough to pay for my daughter's family's groceries many years back, when W's factory closings meant my son in law lost his job. They did all they could, and my daughter did the customer interaction online and handled the sales. The price and product was set up front, so no pressure to do something out of the Blue for me.

What Worked
I sold what I made. Occassionally, I did a request, but it was within a line of what I was doing easily. I wasn't selling what I loved most. Rather, I looked at what was selling already in the area of what I knew I could do and quickly. At that time, it was Yorkshire Terriers on anything including purses. I did a lot of trinket boxes and I even painted some shoes.

 It's Ebay, so some were new and some were used. I went to outlets, but I also went to Salvation Army, Goodwill, found the best which meant sometimes $70 purses were mine for $2. I brought them home, cleaned them, made them look and smell like new, then I did surface prep, a base of White, then I painted rather cartoonish dogs. I did five a day minimum. I was quick, and although initially, I thought the dogs were really adorable, even wanted one, I came to become so sick of looking at them, after about 3 months of morning to night work. They were selling. I got $75 once every few days, otherwise, they were going for $25, and I did some head only paintings on things like wallets. that went for sometimes as little as $5-$10.00.  

 The reason for the Yorkies was in part that I aimed at a certain demographic...so little was about actually creating a painting. I thought to myself, "Who has extra money enough and loves a bargain enough to be looking on Ebay for art?" The answer was and likely is, women 40-70 who are financially comfortable and in love with their dogs! Ping their heart with a cartoon that looks like, "Fluffy" and make it portable art they can brag to their friends about, resulting in free advertisement for me! I was giving them something beautiful and some joy and a talking point about their pet. They returned the favor with cash for my grandkid's grocery bill.

   I had a boutique in South America buying 5 at a time. Sales were going to China, France, England any country out there and all over the States. It was exhilarating....and exhausting, but it fed my kids. Today, if I were going to do that, I'd set up and Etsy shop, and get big online. Think it terms of networking but like an octopus. lol! Make ways to get in touch with your  main body of work and sales on every public venue you're on/in both online and in person. Make sure that if they want what you do, you are the one to come to and make it easy for them. 

  That means joining all the sites, and talking about your work a lot, posting pics of it. Interacting with people who are frankly buying your personality as much as the item. No matter how good your work, they want to see your face too, and that was hard for me, but I'm obviously past it now. People love to be entertained, and they love videos. If you do a simple slide show of your work, put it on youtube, and monetize it, so you might get a few dollars from that video too, then share that video on Facebook, your blog, Twitter, and anywhere else you are online. 

   If you are really good at creating a certain thing, consider a How-to video or set of CDs, and only post highlights to advertise it online then sell the CD's. Consider in-person classes on what you know or even Pay ahead Face-to-Face video instruction. Be open to ways for your art to reach people. I sold  CD sets on portraiture, and I stopped production. As I learned more about making videos, I saw clearly that my video quality wasn't that great, and despite requests for more, I refused to sell them as they weren't up to my new standards and ability due to simply knowing more about lighting. Have boundaries and a firm self respect and you can respect the customers too. Give them your best.

   The focus is to create what you know, and what flows, not what you, "Can" do that is still a lot of work. I can lift a 50 lb bag of dog food, but if I do that all day, I'll break me. I had a similar run decades ago with mallards, and I was eyeing the Duck Stamp, but never went there. Others were better than I was at it, but I did sell. That time it was mallards and  a string of things that sold in a rural farming community. What art do you see when you go to their houses, more directly when you drive by? Nods, I'm talking mallards for days on mailboxes, saws....I didn't even buy these supports, except for the first few. I painted a few craft ones, sanded and primed a few antique ones, and a local beautician friend suggested I hang a few in her shop to decorate...off they went, and people began bringing me their own saws, flat and circular. They loved contributing to be part of the process of their finished product. I was painting often, "Grandpa's old saw." I did one I think it was a 6 ft'er double handles, two man saw of an eagle, one of bears, many, many deer, but mostly it was mallards. In that case, buyers who were used to paying the beautician for a service, spoke to her first about, "The artist" so they were already in the mindset that this is something you pay for. Because these saw like the yorkies were seen in public, my name was out there, and the saws were a local status symbol and fashion statement....I'm the female form of, "The Dude." I abide. lol! Suddenly, I'm stylish.

 ...About the videos, I created several art videos that are still on youtube, and they are grouped together, but those tend to attract some rather nasty artists's comments rather than interested people. You're not there to impress them. They could be busy creating their own art, if they were serious instead of harassing others. Block them it's only an extension to your calling card and the truth is some of them are lonely 11 year olds enjoying a shot at a little troll power. Yawn. You have more that is valuable, meaning I think people would sit through ad (which make you revenue) for it. Your life experience talk. It obviously has helped people, even if you don't put ads on it, and only on a few other videos about your art, people will love it, share it, and they come to your videos and see what else you've got going on. You can link to earning videos from an altruistic one too. Every click earns you pennies, and they can add up. I know this because it happened by accident to me. I had some art videos, wasn't selling much, but my heart went out to people who didn't understand that Autistic people grow and learn, so I just told them about me. ...Read. I wasn't trying to sell anything. Do whatever you do, because it's fun and it feels good.

  I can't possibly offer and extensive list of what worked in sales for me, in part, because I hardly consider myself, "That" successful, but I did have successes at it, and I learned some of the internet rhythms of getting my work and myself out there. At the moment, I have other goals and responsibilities that require 110% of me, and my main focus is peace of mind. 

   I hope you find something of inspiration here, and do keep in mind, others will know far more. Welcome their input, take what you can use and leave the rest. Be understanding and patient when you can with the next artist who may one day need your ideas, and realize there are eyes looking up to you long before you sell your first painting. Whatever you choose to do, be it sell, not sell, or occasionally sell, be true to you. 

with love, 
tinajonesart

Relationships; Growing Through Solitude

    Despite being single, I've experienced ongoing relationship growth including the awareness that with or without a significant other, I've had the same problems. I've gone through the good and the bad all by myself. the difference is I know that I get total credit and blame. I have responsibility and ownership for how I feel, and I've felt the same things. I've felt 100% loved and accepted, even cherished.... alone. I've felt undesirable, like I was in the way, abandoned, unloved...all of the feelings that lead to breakups, except I was alone. I've felt sexy, powerful, intelligent, helpless, confident, and terrified both in and out of relationships. This lesson for me has come in layers.

   A few unfortunately obsessed strangers triggered this latest realization. Apparently, they first saw me on my Youtube channel, and developed a fixation of sorts. They've written a lot, and a few have, but some are more tenacious. I try to take the Lady Gaga approach, in that I'm not angry about it. It's not about, "Me," but more of a, "Celebrity" thing, and if I could, I'd send them sandwiches. They've no idea if I've even seen their notes or not, and I haven't read them all. In truth, there isn't enough time in the day even if I wanted to do so. We've never had any exchange whatsoever. Still, they have had the whole range of relationship experiences through these emails. They've been, "In love," in hate, they've judged, blamed, bargained, tried to be understanding to, "Make it work," and they've seemed to get hold of themselves, and let go for periods of time, then fall right back into the obsession...with a person they don't even know other than a talking head on some videos.

    For me, those videos are something I've done, something of acting, and something of myself for those moments in time but not, "Me" on the whole. At the very least, time has passed, and people change and grow. The writer has been stuck there like falling for a photograph in a magazine. This is why I don't take it personally. 

  I once imagined Peter Tork and I would fall in love and live happily ever after, and he too had no idea. The difference is, I didn't think he needed to know, and I didn't take it that seriously that I thought to stalk him. Still, I've written posts on celebrities pages, but not one after another or for years on end. The point being, the writer went through this range of experience without my input.

    Now seeing that I've had those similar feelings within relationships, and outside of them. I have to wonder how much of my relationships was real. Just because I can touch you, that doesn't mean that I know you. When I blamed myself or him, maybe it was just life, and we were sort of one another's fans for a time. Now, within the relationships, I dropped the word, "Blame," long ago, and was just working on things that hurt as they came along, but eventually, I did need his help, and he couldn't be bothered. I didn't expect to never have problems, but if I was the only one working on them, or trying to hold it together, it didn't and wouldn't work. You cannot have a working relationship on your own. 

  I gave out from exhaustion one day, trying to hold something together that was draining me at best, when it worked at all, by then. He just wasn't willing, until we broke up, but I'd heard that song for so long, and I couldn't take one more injury to my heart at the time. I was just too broken by then. It seemed we both stood a better chance at survival and maybe even happiness alone, and I think it worked out o.k.

   Last night, I had the same revelation when I watched the movie, "Her." She, the female lead, wasn't real either, in the conventional sense, any more than a recorded memory of someone on a youtube screen. It was all in his mind as he was only interacting with an Operating System. I thought to myself, "Isn't that what we're all doing, here on Facebook, Instagram or elsewhere online where we are having the, "Real" experiences with all of the faults, flaws, joys, tears, and laughter of friendships, while, I cannot put my arms around you?" I really thought about how much you all add to my life while I am, "Alone." 

   Of course you're not Operating Systems or Artificial Intelligence, even one that grows and learns and adapts according to the people you interact with, but humans do that too. I am malleable to you, and you are to me. We affect each other, while remaining ourselves in the healthiest of circumstances. In the movie, the male lead character fell in love, and who, wanting, has not wished we were hundreds or thousands of miles from where we are? Who has not experienced the very real heartbreak of rejection when our love interest found someone, "With a body," nearby...someone to hold? Who hasn't looked at other places and cultures and thought they'd fit, perhaps better there? Who hasn't moped over goodbyes, or felt fear when the beloved didn't sign in online, the same as if a spouse didn't make it home?   
  
  Is it all the same; one colossal gorgeous mind-fuck? The activities are different, but the feelings are the same. It doesn't seem to matter which way you choose. This all comes down to the most profound question my spiritual mentor asked me long ago. 

    What do you want?

  Perhaps we are that basic or amazing that the answers are all in our instincts. Our desires or chemistry, if you will, might be the deciding factor in where and how we experience our particular glorious mess of a life.

   I have no answers. 

tinajonesart
 

Unapologetically Ourselves

Years ago, I attended an open drawing studio. 

I brought my sketch pad, some pencils and a kneaded eraser. I am oddly, approachable, or moreso than I'm usually comfortable with. I was more concerned this time about the comfort of the middleaged woman sitting in a white robe waiting for time to start drawing. I'm not good at chit-chat, but I seem to be able to leave my insecurity aside when I believe someone needs me to be more. I asked how long she'd modelled, and she happily engaged answering that and where she'd worked and soon it was announced drawing would begin with some short sketches. 

  The room was about 12x12 foot holding maybe ten people around a 4x6 foot platform, so there isn't much room to move to get a better perspective. I learned to work with whatever I had, and drew the backs of chairs or the bottoms of feet more than once. 
  The model did a very unexpected thing. Upon hearing we'd start, she turned toward me smiled, dropped her robe and lifted her joyous face and arms into the air. I scored a few mediocre sketches that night, but far beyond nudity, I won the right to shine, because she believed it was o.k. for her to do the same.

Don't be less than you. You cannot make yourself small enough that no one will ever envy you or try to cut you down to make themselves feel better in the absence of taking any action to believe in themselves. That job is theirs, and you can't save them their work. Yours job is to live. 
Don't be less of you.

Don't be less beautiful, intelligent, sexy or hard-earned strong. 
Don't be less funny, less caring or less loving. 
Don't be less playful, helpful, silly or ingenuitive. 
Don't be less talkative or less contemplative or less of a listener. 
Don't hold back when you dance, heal others, soap-box or make love.
Don't downplay  you in order to fit in or please anyone.
Don't restrict your paintings, your unborn novels, your discoveries, and the time you spend gazing at the surface of water or blowing bubbles. 
Don't downplay the work you've done, or how much blood you've spilled for something that looks like mere talent now.
Don't be less of you, neither cover nor dim your shine. Someone needs your light, and it may be that someone is ...you.


It's o.k. to try being true to yourself, and fall flat on your face.
It's o.k. to be scared.
It's o.k. to feel like you're not enough and to take up space on the planet anyway.
 It's o.k. to glow, then hide, and it's o.k. burst with light.

 Live your fullness, your ideas, your dreams. Be as glorious as you are, because there's also someone watching who may be even more afraid. Someone watches who may not know their own worth. Step into your sacred opportunity to be as amazing as you are for you, but also do it because someone needs to see you being happy in order to believe it's o.k. for them to be happy too.

tinajonesart

The Introverted Woman

Thoughts on Introversion

One reason I love Winter is this morning when I went outside, the neighbor's dog was out for a few minutes, and the neighbor was *not. That means peace. When I heard the dog, I sighed as I was sure my decadent solitude would be interrupted, but there was no need. It was a completely beautiful morning with a bonus dog. Perfect.

Far from shyness, introversion, as I experience it, is being at my best, most productive, happiest when I have a good amount of solitude. It's a treasure of a person who can feel to me like they belong in that sacred space with me and even add to it. Even people I like very much can be taxing to me. Make it three or four people, and I'm exhausted and spent for days while I spend time alone to regain my equilibrium.

Later this afternoon, I read a bit from a very smart, gallant and sexy man who spoke of freeing a woman from the shackles of introversion, and I had to smile. Time will take care of that idea, or who knows? He may be absolutely right, but in case anyone might benefit from my fallible thoughts, here they are.

Don't miss the infinite realms of introversion in an attempt to, "Free" her from it. Enter. It. If not, sure, she may let it go and meet you where you are, and you will never know her. Hear this: Someone will.

Introversion is the secret garden where ideas, lust, love and all things juicy grow,  There, she creates, in the depths of heart, mind and in her own body. There, if you're lucky or brave, you'll find the dreams just outside your consciousness - hers for sure, but yours as well. You may find something of yourself. Let her wake you -take you there. 

She's not waiting to be freed from this. In selflessness, she may abandon it to please you for a while, and that's tragic, because she's not being herself. Therefore encourage her to be selfish. 

There is wisdom in the woman of introverted artistry who is true to her being. She's building castles, heavens, and wonders and worlds. If you are invited, appreciate the work she's done, and she just may free you from the shackles of extroversion, and the ceaseless chit chat on the shallow end of the lonely networking pool, where you know as well as she does that your own hope is dying a little every day. She feels it viscerally, and she is the key. The Sea does not envy a cubicle. Enter on white horses, if you like, but never fool yourself on who's freeing whom.

tinajonesart

The Perils of Knowing Stuff

How I have read, pondered!

I've even meditated and researched! I have layers of useless information that could make a stone move itself downstream to escape.

The years I have dedicated to deep thinking and wondering where my socks were! A person might think my sacrifice would be right up there with Joan of Arc. I imagined myself  deserving of a paragraph in the annals of Philosophy. Sweating caffeine bullets into the night to find things which I believed you needed to be, "Informed" about. Surely, I thought, my name would be emblazoned with the likes of Plato and Socrates and -and...some other guy. ;)

I've been afflicted with information that I needed to bestow upon the masses more than once, and suffer, I did. So did they. They were not interested in my intellectual generosity much less my bestowing. One learns to develop a peculiar penchant for dodging boulders, or stop that and start learning stuff.I'm still starting, by the way. :)

If you ever find me thinking I know something, run. While unconfirmed, I'm concerned it might be contagious. Unfortunately, in my case, it appears to be chronic.

I'd rather not know a thing or another thing. Knowing means I'm finished learning. Now, I'm certainly inclined to think things, risky as that may be. I suspect a lot of things, but I know nothing. I'm almost sure of it.

Sometimes I come across people who know things. A moment of silence, please for those suffering......

Those poor, tortured souls! Imagine being finished discovering, yet still breathing. Cerebral zombies of enlightenment, and they may well know. Just in case, I walk a wide circle around them, so I don't catch it.It turns out that people warm up more to being my teachers than my proteges. That helps, because I don't know anything. Everyone teaches me something, and the best way I've heard for me to get someone to listen is to...listen.

It's also effective when I want to learn...so far.Curiously, I've found the longer I listen, the more likely it is that I'll hear what I was so bent on sharing put more eloquently than I had planned it, myself.

Annoying, really. ;) In that case, I learn an instance of humility, or that a blow to the ego is not likely to kill me ... yet.

Still learning, and thanks for listening.

tinajonesart

Question For the Moon

   

   Why can't we have all night cafes with old books and a lazily plucking guitarist smelling of tobacco and Bukowski's poetry with a  hat like Tom Waits and callused fingers, maybe one who never quite stands up straight?
   He might, but effort's a costly thing when not for the purposes of pleasure, and the night, only lasts so long. (snap-quiet-snap)

   And it all lit by an intermittently buzzing neon sign that says, "Gladys" or something with the image of a leg-lifting can-can dancer with a dusty black velvet choker round her buttermilk and cigars songbird neck (click-quiet-click) and heavenly notes that spill over regrets.

   And a pool table where the overhead light reflects off of a tired dishwasher's misstruck 8-ball and the slap on the back with a, "You'll get 'em next time," followed by the crunch of a cockroach under the owner's fine faux leather loafer, and me leaving a few coins in a dented green metal ashtray, and the sound of these old shoes walking out the door? (Jingle-quiet...

tinajonesart
   

For Joe and Kim: Missed Connection

    I guess things got to me, every day things and people. Maybe I've become cynical as people seem to have traded policies for real connections and caps lock for a caring hand. Some days I can't seem to be more than cordial, and some days, I'm just tired, tired of superficial conversations and sources and...nothing that touches the soul.

   I forget sometimes to be still, take care of myself, and all the lovely things I'd say to you. I take care of my son. I'm far from alone. I enjoy solitude, and I'm grateful to have a beautiful life full of love, laughter, struggles and quiet days. After all, that's more than some people know in a lifetime.

   In my life I've been really in love a few times, but the first was named, "Joe." We were together a few years when we married and had two amazing children. I was so in love and he was my prince. We had the struggles everyone has, and we grew apart. Both had faults, and we divorced after 12 years together.

    There were others, but he was part of my life and that of my children, until he passed away a few years ago. I have relished very sweet memories of us since. He was the, "Sitting into the night on a swing," person, the,"Looking at the stars and holding hands," one. Somehow, that was enough and maybe something of Heaven then. He was the rides in that Blue MG Midget with the top down, the one who wrote me letters and made geometric colored drawings for me. He was the wrapped up in ribbons and kept promises, the one in the tuxedo who took my breath away, and the one who held our babies. He was the laughter, the sleepless nights and the one who rigged the kitchen sprayer to spray me when I turned the water on. He was the one whose baths I stole while he was getting his clothes, and the one who didn't mind at all.

   
   I'm much older now, and vividly aware I've had a charmed life in many ways despite the pain, and I sometimes chuckle at myself for envisioning me as the old lady in the Titanic movie, but it's not a bad gig.

   I can get so committed to just putting one foot in front of the other, so responsible. It's good and bad. It gets a person through life without repercussions and usually isn't too dangerous. Sometimes I've been so jaded that any risk seemed useless. Other times, I just didn't want to screw up the good memories I've had by having some tragic romance.

   Forever is such a strange concept when all we have is this moment, and I forget that sometimes all connections are is here and now, and in this forever that breathes this breath, anything is possible.

   I never answer wrong numbers, so I let it be. There are so many scams out there, and I really have too much to do. The number called back in seconds and that was strange, but that time, they left a message.

   "Kim, this is Joe," it began and he mentioned being at the post office in a nearby town, but it was after hours. Maybe he was an employee and was still at work. He told her he'd call again in about 20 minutes, but it was me listening and not her. He sounded so excited, and happy to be meeting her, and it made me smile, but I was sure it would work out. Maybe she'd call him. I thought it wasn't my business, and I let it go. He'll figure out he has the wrong number, I thought, and I hope it all goes well.


   In a short while he called again and left another message, Still giddy, he said he was on his way to somewhere I didn't quite catch. I wondered if it was a planned meeting place then put it out of my head. In another hour he called and left another message. There was background noise, and he was calmer and seemed concerned, "Kim?...This is Joe." He asked her to call, and I could tell his voice was straining to sound cheerful. I hoped she'd just show up....if she knew where he was.

   "Surely this couldn't be a scam," I thought. "Oh, no." I sank. "This is hurting him. What if she's home thinking he doesn't care? I can't answer this or call the number! It still could be a scam," I thought, so I began randomly searching "Joe's" in nearby areas on Facebook, Twitter, Google -anywhere! I was hoping for a sign or some serendipity, a neon light that read, "That's, Kim's Joe!" I considered leaving a message at the post office. "For the love of ...You have the wrong number!" I looked up USPS, and you can leave a message, but it goes to the National office rather than the local one. This was awful! My heart was breaking! I can't take it! I'm weak!

    This is why I avoid romance movies. It gets personal for me, and I don't need that. I have laundry to do. It was late. I turned off my phone for the night, and I went to bed. Earlier today, I talked to my daughter a while, and I hadn't thought much of the calls this morning, but she and I were joking about avoiding mushy romances and love songs, and ick! "Feelings." No one needs that... maybe. I mean eventually one leaves, or they die, or they both part ways, so what's the point?

     The point is, "Now." I repeated to myself, "Here and now, Tina." (I talk to myself.) "Focus, Tina." It's not the, "After it's over," it's the first moment when my Joey took my hand. (I heard my heartbeat when I typed that. Maybe it was his.)  My daughter said, "This could be the story they tell their grandkids!" She said, "I never get good wrong numbers like this!" She was right. This is their story. This could be their, "Once in a lifetime!"

     I've had helping hands in connections, and the opportunity to help one more love happen might be in the numbers looking at me on my phone.

    It rang in my hand! My daughter was still talking to me, and I had to go. smiles. She was excited too. I waited, "What should I do?" and she laughed at me and said, "Make wise decisions." Damned if I didn't teach her to always encourage and never give advice! haha! I was on my own. I hear her father in her laugh sometimes, and see him in my son's blue eyes.

   We hung up and I was shaking my head at God, The Universe, Kismet, Cupid or Russell Stover. "Whatever You've got going on up there, help them?"

   I was trying to muster the courage to call still holding the phone, and it rang again! I heard myself answer into the phone, "Hi. Is this Joe?" He sounded surprised or relieved, and said, "Yeah, What's up?" trying to be o.k. and sound cool about all the calls that "Kim" didn't answer. He didn't know it was me.

   I am 51 years old, and I went right back to my first phone call at 15 when I asked for, "Joey," but this time it was their turn, and I was on a mission. I said, "Joe, Listen my name is Tina, and you just have the wrong number. Don't be sad. She doesn't know you've been trying." He began to laugh, and said, "Wait!" then he repeated it back to me, "I've been calling the wrong number?" I could hear the excitement returning to his voice. I said, "Yes! You've *got to find her!" He tried to apologize, and I stopped him, and said, "No. By now I am so in love with the idea of the two of you! You've restored my faith in humanity and the possibility of love. Thank you! Go make this happen." He was still laughing in embarrassment, and I said, "Joe! Go find her!" smiles. He said very happily, "Yes, Ma'am! I will!"

   I hope you find her, Joe. And Kim, don't give up on him. I promise you, it's worth it.

   I don't imagine I'll hear from Joe and Kim again, but thank you for reminding me of a love story. smiles. I'm sure you'll pick a good one, but if you're looking, this was, "Our song."

To Joe and Kim,

With love,
tinajonesart

Oh My Darling Cliche: Madness With Peas

I don't recommend English or any other language, not as a first or second form of communication, but more as form of torture. I'm 50 years old. It's my first language, and still I stumble. Try tap dancing instead. You may stub a toe, but it's less painful than dislodging it from the mouth.

I once thought the forlorn sentence, "Never the twain shall meet," meant that I would never have the pleasure of Samuel Clemens over a light dinner with bland chicken and early June peas. I'd never be able to see if he'd chuckle when I told him his name reminded me of lemons and clementines. 

(Samuel Clemens is the name of an American Author of ordinary genius in the opinion of anyone I'd be of a mind to listen to. His pen name was, Mark Twain. I, being a fan of Albert Einstein, and Giorgio Tsoukalous,  struggle to know if it was his mind or his hair that so enchanted, but this is no time for romantic hair ideas.Besides, I loved this guy too.)

Sad as that seemed, and no doubt we'd have gotten along brilliantly, I thought surely there were more tragic events to reference.Turns out, I was only cliched. That alone is reason to cry, and I'd tell it was from Kipling's, "East Meets West," but that would deter and entirely siphon the humor out of this otherwise perfectly melancholy quip. I can't help but wonder what Mark Twain would say about that. I sigh at memories of curling dancers from a pipe, an overgrown mustache, and white tendrils be-smoked with wisdom, and a healthy dose of smart aleck -that will never occur. 

In some twist of heavenly wisdom, I arrived entirely too *later for the company of Mr. Clemens, in a world that's in an awful hurry to go nowhere of any benefit that I can tell. And I have a path too, dreaming of Old Masters and maybe card sharks, and while I'd like to have known you, times are moving on, this chair's beginning to creak or maybe it was my knees. It's getting *laterer, and never the Twain shall meet.

tina jones

Anita, the singing cashier: My Ongoing Understanding of Neurotypicals

I didn't want to bother her. She and two others were standing, waiting at the entrances to their checkout lanes, but I'd already turned in the direction of her aisle, before I noticed she looked a little labored to be standing, and she'd done caught me with the dreaded.....eye contact.. I was stuck. 

   She turned to go the short way to her register to meet me, but someone was blocking her with one of those riding carts. "I'll just go this way," she said, and Anita (so her tag said) went hobbling.

I felt like such a terrible person, until I heard it, "Do, do, doo, do, ...Do, dado-do..." I don't know the tune, but she was, "Do, da,doo-ing" possibly the most pleasant bit of Scat singing I've heard. I was putting my things on the counter when she made it to the register, and I, smiling, said, "It was worth the trip, just for the song." People filed in behind me, and she smiled at my comment, and raised the volume and her smile, whereupon I began, my subtlest of jigs, mostly the shoulders and head...a little arm and hand hula action - nothing overboard. 

 Ah, she sang along, and it was beautiful, and I happily paid for the lettuce and cheese. I took the bags from the carousel, and put them in my cart saying, "I think I got them all." She answered playfully, white hair sparkling and lilt in her voice, "Let's give it the traditional twirl and see!" and she spun the carousel while I spun a hand in the air to flourish with a wave, and bid good evening with a shared giggle and thanks for the song...

Should you find yourself in the aisle of Anita, the singing cashier, I recommend dancing along. She knows her stuff! :)

tina jones

What's It All For?

What's it all for?

   I haven't published a blog post in ages, and my apologies. I've written a lot, but it was mostly for my own growth, and far too self centered to torture another with. I've asked myself the same old questions that I come to time and again, and each time the answers seem to get a little simpler, and a little clearer. 

   I was scrolling through posts here on Facebook, and happened upon a picture of an older celebrity holding his grandbaby. Seems he got the job of sitter for the night. He was holding this baby asleep on his chest, and granddad was smiling.

Another celebrity has recently taken to taking in farm animals with his family, and each seem to be a little more out of the spotlight, and likely making fewer dollars.

 All of those weeks, and hours, pay periods and always saying just the right thing, or having just the right suit or hair cut...That wasn't the point...It never is.

It's, "The farm" and the grand babies, the grey hair and sleepy smiles. It's the moment when there isn't a crowd or a boss or a soul to please, except a few that a person might like to keep close. Even then, I'm not sure if pleasing loved ones is by accident or design, or maybe they love us despite us.

  I think it's those moments of baby's breath and the stopping time when the stars come out when you just look and feel so small... I think that's what it's all for -the work, the struggle of all kinds. It's all for the sweetness of letting go...

with love, 

tina jones

I'm a Great Introvert

I'm a great introvert. You never hear an extrovert saying, "I'm a terrible extrovert," yet I all too often hear, "I'm a terrible introvert." Self judgement can be pretty cruel. I don't talk a lot, but I am a great listener, because I can be still and not have to fill the air with meaningless sound. Conversation isn't a performance, nor a competitive sport. It's a real opportunity to connect, and if no one is listening, it wont happen. If you don't know what to say, that's your cue that listening is your job in that moment. If they don't know what to say, I don't have to rescue them from silence either. Silence between people can be a very, very beautiful thing. For me, that awkward stage of not knowing what to say, is a natural place on the path to realizing nothing need be said. (and it didn't just happen in the beginning. It's just I stopped judging myself for it.) The way I am around people (or in any situation) is not what I thought it was or should be when I was drinking. It's all new. If others are uncomfortable with your stillness, they have steps too. Be good to you. If you're like I was, it's about time to do so. Until you're more comfortable with it, you can do what I and so many others have done. smiles. Be that member that brings their crochet to meetings. It worked for me. and I never even liked crocheting. 　 07/23/97 (But the only sobriety that counts is what I have right in this moment) An aside. I'm a very private person, and out of respect for that and A.A., I keep recovery to private groups, so I don't accept outside friend requests, any more than I'd invite all of you into my living room if we were at a face to face meeting. I'm off to listen some more...I'm still learning.

JMW TURNER"S WORK: Unfinished?!

"Might not be finished." (Gratuitous, "I told you so!" ahead)


  Narrator, Alistaire Sook suggests in this Telegraph UK Video that JMW Turner's work, "Norham Castle, Sunrise," might not be a finished painting. I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. Why?   

                      Because I TOLD YOU SO! :D
                                 (Gloating is an unattractive habit of mine.)
VIDEO

   The sentiment is repeated in the article from the same page by 
Ju Zhang, "...new exhibition at Tate Britain, Late Turner - Painting Set Free looks at the way that Turner's health and his increasing infirmity may have affected the way he painted in his later years. It asks us to look hard at the paintings and question whether they are as the artist intended, or whether some that we most love are simply unfinished." JU Zhang
FULL ARTICLE:    Click Here


   Exactly, and that's why I get the urge to finish the works of the early impressionists. No, I wont touch them. Darnit! Yes, I do have that much of an ego, and it irks me, because they had more talent than they used. At least that's my perception, and it's apt to be wrong, but....why stop?

   Since I'm on a opinion roll.....Enjoy this image of
 "Norham Castle, Sunrise," by JMW Turner, courtesy Wikimedia Commons,while I rev it up. 

"Joseph Mallord William Turner 062" by J. M. W. Turner - The Yorck Project: 10.000 Meisterwerke der Malerei. DVD-ROM, 2002. ISBN 3936122202. Distributed by DIRECTMEDIA Publishing GmbH.. Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Joseph_Mallord_William_Turner_062.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Joseph_Mallord_William_Turner_062.jpg

   Nobody seems to like hearing that I think early impressionism was a matter of unfinished work (Wonder why? ;) ), and of course I wouldn't dare touch the pieces, but seriously. Blurry underpaintings are lovely all on their own, and I'm not the first to think so. 

   That little group of artists (The first Impressionists) who I think didn't want to finish their paintings got them in the Salon. I see what I see, and I think it was a con. Turner, however wasn't. His work was thorough. I look at the above work, and I can tell it's Turner by the beginnings of "his" light, but I'm left waiting for the finish. In fact, if it were a finished piece, I might have named it, "Cliff Hanger." I can't be sure what, if anything happened.This particular piece may have been the result of a sudden eye disorder, or he left the work before finishing for some reason. It's undoubtedly beautiful, but finished? No, I don't think so. 

    Caviat: If you are in an art class, and questions come up on a test regarding this work, insist that it *is finished, and he did this on purpose. (Roll your eyes in private.) Also the Impressionists were, "Geniuses" (at more than just telling others what they were supposed to like in art.) #KeepAntacidsHandy Throughout art history, new movements have made great breakthroughs and set the establishment on it's ear. It's my opinion that it needed to happen, and I'm glad the Impressionists came along for that reason. I think we may have gone too far though, throwing the proverbial, "Baby out with the bathwater." I'm of the feeling that all art is needed past, present and future. Even Impressionism has been set aside with the company of Realism by the likes of Post Modernism and Op Art. Change is certain and of it's own comfort. Like music, dance and any other art form painting must surely change as new materials and technologies as well as new minds develop with new social systems play into their artworks. I may romanticize the ARC (Art Renewal Center), and that's fine, but there is a richness to the totality of art through the ages. 

   Keep in mind, I love the Impressionists, and I do think they were geniuses of their craft. I also loved The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. What can I say? I think they pulled a, "Fast one," (Just like every other new art movement or new take on a mouse trap. And who's to say that isn't what I or any other artist is doing? Trying to invent ways to create our own, never done before, niche, or at least to do what was done before but better?) I have a soft spot for cons, magicians, alchemists and angels, and as and artist, I'm a little of all of these things even if only on a canvas.

  Turner, Constable and Church were some of favorite landscape artists. To say this one holds such significance is to spotlight one of his lesser works, and we all have them. Somewhere beyond the grave, I'm sure he wishes he'd finished this one.
There! I said it! :p

tina jones

  If you'd like to see a really cool site on Impressionism, check this out: Impressionism.Orghttp://www.impressionism.org/