So the idea of using a sanding tool to move the paint failed completely. I poured the paint, turned the super noisy monster on, placed the fridge door on two boxes, placed the sanbder under the fridge door and the paint didn’t budge, didn’t move a single milimiter.
So my next idea was to just hold it vertically and let it drip. Amd that actually worked! I was terrified, I had absolutely lost control over what’s going to happen next other than knowing gravity will keep pulling the paints down. But I just gave up, gave into it, started pouring the paints directly on top of other paints and watching the incredible game of colours unveil in front of my eyes.
Loosing myself completely in the process for the last 3h, pouring, splashing, spraying, but also unable to give up control completely, wondering how long before I start nervously cleaning things up? These few sentences from “Baby on Fire Escape” resonate in my head: “how can a parent be “absolutely free”? Alice wrote frankly about this conflict in her much-reprinted, groundbreakingly frank essay on her motherhood, “One Child of One’s Own.””
Random thoughts popping into my head: Art is self-care for me, helping me to heal childhood’s wounds. I’m sure somebody else said that already.
POEM
The Monsters inside me
The Demogorgons.
The Hydes.
They come out late in the evening
After two glasses of wine
Once the kids have gone to bed
In my ear they whisper gently
You’re not good enough mama