This is late, but better than not doing it at all. The intention had been to get these done before now, but distractions have abounded this week…chicken pox children, painting planners (see previous post!), and setting up my online shop…equals lateness…but here now.  And interspersed are random photos

One of my favourite camping photos

1. what is your name and stuff? and any other good information. like bank account details.

My name is Natasha.  Backwards it is Ah Satan.  That was pointed out to me about ten years ago.  Unfortunately my beloved was there when it was pointed out to me, and so Ah Satan I have been looking for you was a catch cry for a long time.  I started going by Tarsh for a long time.  Now it is only remembered when the children play up…as in…what would I expect from Satan’s spawn…

My middle name is Ann without an e.  I always hated it, it is so boring,  Maybe because I also loved Anne of Green Gables.  But there are 6 generations of women in my family who all have Ann as their middle name.  When I was younger I thought I wouldn’t use Ann.  Or if I did I would slip an “e” on it.  But I had a daughter and Victoria Ann Josephine she is…And now there are 7 generations of women with Ann as a middle name.

I have been admitted to the bar, and worked as a lawyer, but I lost faith in the system with my own legal battles and can’t imagine doing that again. But I specialised in criminal defence.  I left law school very idealistic still.  My values and sensibilities remain as strong in the justice system even now.  I seem to have an opinion that does not run to mainstream views.

And for a while I worked in policy and research.  But internal politics are fricken awful.  And work that is supposed to help and make a difference gets lost in amongst egos.  And I may have had rose-tinted glasses, but I didn’t expect it to that extent.  But I loved the potential of what could be achieved.  But now I am an artist.  And I love that.  And I am sure my other skills will find their own way into the world in they way they are meant to be used.

I have one cat, and until earlier this year we had a frog.  Called BJ Bear (named courtesy of my daughter).

My favourite photo of my daughter

2. what is super hot about you?

My hair and my eyes, and I like my breasts too.  And I have good lips.

3.  don’t lie or cheat: what is under your couch right now?

A bead and a hair clip

A recent photo of Sebastian posing...

4.  when was the last time you shaved your legs?

This morning

5.  what did you have for breakfast?

Thyroid drugs, tonic, stove top expresso, cod liver oil capsule, vitamin c, vitamin b, green smoothie…supplement and drug city around here  and now it is nearly 9 and I am drinking lemon grass and ginger tea.

6. if you could choose a new name, what would you name yourself?

Apart from the Ah Satan period I don’t mind my name but I used to really want my name spelt with a “j”.  At 9 I even wrote my name like that for a while.  With a “j”.

7.  have you ever had plastic surgery?

No, but I am not opposed.  I sometimes think I would be a botox person, but needles on my face scare me a little.

Children indulging their mother...if begrudgingly

8. are you afraid of the dark?No, except I once saw part of the Omen movie when I was 17 and for two weeks I kept hearing noises and sensing things and slept with a bible under my pillow.  Just in case. But otherwise not scared.9. are you a hermit?I am not a true hermit, but I can have hermit tendencies because some people annoy me and I don’t mind my own company.10.  why do you blog?So I can see how far I have come.  And so I can meet like minded souls.

This is the canvas I painted for the Butterfly Effect’s theme of the week “Street Art”. There have been some big, exciting changes over at the Butterfly Effect, and I think everyone should go and play. It is a great way to play and connect.

This painting was first mentioned here. And then a great big chunk of life hit me over the head. In fact within 2 hours of the first post, life came and knocked me around for a bit. Still. Going back to this painting, I ruined it 6 times I think. You can’t see under the top layer, all the layers where mess was taking over and I thought more than once about painting the whole thing gray and starting again. I know they are there and it did feel very graffiti like painting and covering and taking away and painting again so it went with the street art theme.

I feel like I have crossed a precipice this week and I am embracing it and taking chances and going along in the energy I feel and seeing where it takes me. I have reached out and taken chances and I am feeling good about where I am.

And remembering girls on buses and making a difference.

I was 17 when I first saw one of her works hanging up at an art gallery. And there were world famous artists whose works were also been exhibited, but I can’t remember any of them. I started around with the rest of my class, and then needed to go back. And I didn’t finish looking around the gallery.

I was drawn to her wildness, and rawness, and truth-telling that was pouring off the canvas. It was two panels of canvas, hanging at the top with a wooden lintel. I still remember the awe when I first saw it.

The red circles telling a truth of their own. I actually have tears thinking back to that moment. And that young 17 year old who questioned for the first time whether she wanted to go to law school or had gotten herself backed into a corner of letting that decision to go to lawschool at 6 define who she was, or who she thought she was. Hanging on to that decision for dear life, because without that she had no clue anymore about who she was.

And I think back to that 17 year old, who had no idea about any of that. Who thought she had deserved everything that had happened to her, and knew nothing.

And I remember her goosebumps when she first saw that piece of art hanging up. The colours and energy pouring over her. She wasn’t the abuse, or anything else, at that moment she was connected at a level she couldn’t understand to a work hanging in a gallery with dutch masters, who people were very excited about seeing.

That 17 year old me tried to leave to look at other works but the yellows and greens and pinks and reds kept drawing her back. In a way she couldn’t comprehend. She spent the trip to the gallery pretty much rooted in front of one painting watching a woman give birth.

And on my canvas this morning, as I am painting. And trying to get a piece to work, I realise the woman wants to be pregnant.

And I think back to that time when I saw that woman, hanging on raw canvas. and the colours and brush strokes. And not knowing the artist’s story for the piece, but knowing what I saw in that moment. She was not a realistic portrayal, very styalised and tribal and primal and raw, but more true than anything I had ever seen.

And I feel tears even now bubbling just below the surface, when I think of it.

And I feel I am on the edge of a break through, a transformation. A precipice of change. And while the deeply personal seems to be getting an airing here lately, for today this is where it felt right to share.

Where I am sitting around chaos with four art journals open and paint drying and wood panels on the go.

Thinking of that 17 year old and where she had to go, to get to where I am now, and grateful I saw that piece by Emily. Grateful I studied it into memory so that the 34 year old me can appreciate it with the benefit of some life experience. I wonder how much the reality is different to the picture in my head. And I wonder what it would mean to me to look upon the work now. A me who is doing the work, has done the work to know who she is. And more importantly who she is not.

But I just had one of those life changing moments and am having trouble processing it. And so I have come here to blurt out and maybe not even publish.

On the bus, there was a man, heavily tattooed and his girlfriend who got on with their grocery shopping. And as they sat down I thought I heard him swear at her. I looked up, and thought I must have been wrong and looked away again, only to then hear him start ranting at the general uselessness of women, and especially her. At how we don’t show our menfolk respect unless they pay us or punch us. And he generally berated her, everything about her.

There were others on the bus, but everyone else seemed to be looking out the window. And so I stared at him so that he would know I heard everything. As his girlfriend sat there nodding her head, looking at the ground, fidgeting, at all her described failings, and saying to him he was right to hit her. She deserved it.

And I was going to say something then and he looked at me and raised his fist to me and I lost all power to speak.

One moment I will regret forever, that I went back to when I was that nodding girl, and I lost all ability to even think. And I acted as cowardly as the other people on the bus staring out their windows. Leaving her to deal with his wrath or fists alone. I got off at the next stop, my stop and I did just stop literally. Fumbling through my bag for my phone.

Phoning my beloved in the tears that had now started, standing on the side of the road, watching the bus leave. He consoled me that I made the right choice, but I know I didn’t. Not one that I can live with anyway. And not one I will make again. That could have been my daughter and I left her alone. Fists or not, next time I will find my voice again and speak.

It reaffirms for me my decision to donate 10% of everything I sell to the Women’s Refuge at my first show in December. For her. For that girl on the bus, not able to look at any of us, not that she would have seen many people looking at her, but she would have seen me. I saw her. And I still am barely away from tears. I saw her.

And I did nothing.

And that will not happen again. To the gutless coward who raises his fists at me and her and other women, I can assure you that next time I will stand up anyway.

Because once I was that girl. Who was fed those same lies that everything was my fault. And I believed it. And I stayed. And no matter what he did. I stayed. And then I was alone with a son and I began to heal eventually. Still am. But once I was her.

And I am thinking about the sexual abuse I suffered as a child, from 5 to 9. And how I have always blamed myself a little. Because when I was 7, and I pretended to be asleep, he went to wake my little sister and I sat up and offered to go. I have always thought that that probably indicated to him that I enjoyed it. Despite my tears and begging.

And now as my daughter approaches 5. I think actually no. Actually nothing I could have done would make that right. I see myself not through the guilt I have always carried, but through the eyes of a mother and I look at her and think I was not the one to blame. Not at all. Not for any of it. Not for the sexual abuse. Not for the abuse. Not for the abuse in my relationship.

I have my own responsibilities in there, but I own them. I don’t own everyone else’s guilt.

And I see how important it is for my role as a mother to tell my daughter how loved and adored she is. How wonderfully precious and valuable she is. So that she knows. So she knows she is worth more than that. So she has the strength to say no and walk away when it matters.

So she always knows her worth.

More than I did.

More than the girl on the bus did.

Lest I forget.

And so far not a lot is hanging around, but I hope never to forget the magic of looking up into the sky late yesterday afternoon, with snow all around me and see all the snow above waiting to fall. And the feeling of having real life snowflakes dancing all around and in my hair. So excited that I went running out in bare feet, and it wasn’t until an hour later when I came back inside and my feet began warming up that I realised how freakin cold it was and how numb my toes were.

…And I am back, I went back outside just now to experience what heavy snow felt like, because it is unlikely we will ever have heavy snow warnings again, and it feels like such a winter wonderland magical time. I almost feel guilty for sending the children to school, but the deal was that they could only stay home if there was snow on the ground, and this morning there was none…

But this post has gotten way laid. I actually intended to talk about wet felting. I took a class last year with Emily and Nicole and only got finished a brooch for my son’s teacher for Christmas. But in the interests of finishing up some unfinished projects, I took the supplies out determined to at least finish a cover for my phone. I left my phone on a bus last week, and it was really a beat up piece of junk, that could only hold a charge for about 4 hours, but it had all my contacts in and no one handed it in! I am still ever hopeful, just for the contacts, but it was a good reason to finally upgrade, and I got a bargain on a smart phone. Not the iphone of my hearts desire, but a smart phone none the less. And can I say what a new world has opened up to me. It is so incredibly time wasting, and a show of my true colours that I downloaded phone apps before I even learnt to drive the phone sufficiently enough to be able to answer it when it rang!

But, when I went to get a cover for my phone I found my options were limited to one case, as compared to the hundreds that seemed to exist for the iphone. And then I remembered one of the felting projects was for a pouch of some kind, and so I came home motivated to do some proper felting. And oh my goodness….LOVE! It is so much faster than knitting, and I love my pouch, there is a spot where it is a bit weaker, and I only know cause if the light comes on my phone it shines through a bit, but really, overall…it is perfect.

And I know my bead came out not wonderful, and I was going to do another one, and then I thought it looked kind of floral and I liked the imperfectness off it. And I love that I made the little tie, and I just love the whole case. It makes me happier than the phone!

And then after the phone case I was in the felting zone so I made a neck scarf or scarfette…I love the colours and the photos I took do it no justice at all. The back looks like the ocean, and the other is a brightly layered gorgeousness. I love the holes and how perfect they came out and the fabric is so strong from wispy wall…and the speed compared to knitting…perfect winter activity. And thankfully I got a couple of packs of wool, so I have plenty to make some more things with.

And while I was getting the packs of wool I got a nuno scarf set as well, and so I did that as well, and it is absolutely beautiful, though again photos do not do it justice. It needs an iron, and next time I would do longer tassels, I had plenty of wool left for them, but the colours and the drape of the fabric…I had such a good weekend and feel like I accomplished a lot, now having less to do projects to finish as well. And I just want to say how clear all the notes I took from the classes were, and the instructions…it was wonderful, I would completely recommend any classes they have in the future. And as for the supplies and products that Nicole sells at her etsy shop…glorious. The colours are divine, and she is truely lovely to deal with.

If only I could figure out how to join the class flickr group, I could share my little creations!

Added to the snow (which is still snowing by the way! ), I just really refilled my well this weekend. And with my beloved, sick as a dog with the flu, I was expecting a whole other kind of weekend, so my expectations were pleasantly completely wrong. In a place where I have been wondering whether I need to go back on anti-depressants (and hoping I can self care my way through this) it was really nice to be so blissed out for most of the weekend, free from outside worries.

I have attempted to art, but I have not really been in the space to do that.  And maybe that is just more of my procrastination bullocks, cause frankly I have an exhibition to paint for, and a solo exhibition so it is just me and I need to get sorted.  And what I realise now is that I must art journal (or what I call art journal, eg journal with paint primarily) for me.  Because over the last few years it has become the way I process information and get things out.  And without it, I am in danger of turning into an angry depressed shrew.

And that is new for me, the realisation of how much art has come to mean to me.

I am doing a project of one self portrait a week.  And I am loathe to write that, because I am not a finisher, and I worry, that I commit to do too much, and then I realise that I am not a good doer of other people’s promtps.  In fact I suck.  I keep stopping.  And I start to feel the creativity sucked out of me.  And then I feel guilt that feeds my demons.  So a part of me wonders if this is the right thing to do.  But the beauty of the self portrait a week is that while there is an example done, there is no expectation of following that example, and the self portrait is completely up to you, in which case it is just a hosted group showcasing what YOU have created, not what you should or have to create, and that makes a difference.

And I wonder if this is just a long rambly post, that really tells very little, except I feel bad for not posting for a month, but I have had life happening and it has been hard.

Here is my first self portrait…

Drawn before my second coffee, just after the children had left, and I was going to add colour, but that morning I felt graphite-y and smudgy and it felt finished.  And now I realise I am over due for the second Self portrait (told you I sucked!  )

Check out the group (IT IS FREE!!)…sharing some more Amy love…cause she always puts a smile on my face.

But I am back, and there is a lot to do and to do lists to be followed 15 minutes at a time.  I still don’t know if the crisis is over or not, but I am here and I have my breath, and for today in this space that is enough.  I did take a stack of index cards with me, with hurriedly prepared backgrounds so I kept up with those, in fact I clung my sanity to those babies when things were the most messy.  But they need to be photographed still, and they will be.  It is on the list, but maybe not today. 

And that is okay.  Life gets messy, and in the interests of keeping it real I am stepping in to the space and checking in.  There is such a spirit of transformation happening around here, an energy that is unsettling, and I don’t know yet where things will fall, but my foundation seems more firm today.  And so I begin.  Not knowing where things will end up, but believing that if I just take action, one thing will lead to another.

And now off to catch up with everything else that did not get done! 

Oh My Gosh!!

And then I am waiting to publish this and get a phone call to ask if they can use one of my images in their promotional literature…OF COURSE YOU CAN!!!

And I know overuse of exclamation marks…but I can hardly believe it.  It just feels like I am coming to a place that is glorious and magical and I have gotten myself there.  I took those actions and everything has led to this moment to show me this is what I want to do.  With the rest of my life.

Blessings galore today.  What a glorious day.  And a stunningly mild autumn, and I am feeling blessings everywhere. 

Painting canvases and applying for juried exhibitions.  Getting accepted into exhibitions.  Feeling a bit flat and stuck and listening to myself in that space.  Not fighting it, but embracing it.  Art journalling it.

And getting given opportunities that are effen freakin’ fantastic but that terrify me, and saying yes please.

That is where I have been.  And embracing autumn.  Seeing it.  I always thought gray and brown when thinking about autumn, it has never been a favourite month of mine, but I am loving the deep reds and stormy grays, and bright yellows.  The colours are glorious, life is spinning around me and the energy is incredible.  I am intending on hanging and seeing where it goes.

I am open to receiving all of this life, the good and bad, and there is such a peace in that.  That brings an abundant energy that gives me goosebumps.