But we ARE just talking about a 3 Minute conversation next to a tree here...and a Background will get you there quicker... Not this PICTURE HERE...the words LEADING to that moment are explicit to a pointing of where that conversation OUGHT to lead...everywhere and NOW... so get ready...I be quite well prepared to give perspective from a male's point of view for having it foisted upon my brain my entire life by too many men gravitating to me for merely being an artist. But I be myself: female, you know : Frail with thinking; aka--aGIRL with too many male friends for understanding the way too sooner than later, and their capacity for thinking quite overly too WELL". & I thought too and exactly the same as they, but for being the last in a trail of too many girl she-Sisters which/that both parents 'got' a hold of early on & against their she-witts, and that produced ME, The 'probablySON' when I hadn't even been born yet...though merely a FeedShe.
Thus The many BROs I tended with solace in their life for not have any SISTERs that "GOT" me... I have to frankly admit for challenging YOUR thoughts in my first 12 months of bloggery AS if I be the very male of form that I was brought up to understand clearly...and not merely at some superFISHalli level. I'm thimpking.
No doubt YOU get the intrigue for having too many SHE-minded friends who of my own and S West US upbrings...were of a similar and art/media produced perspective...and not of the business mind frame blend toward operating their own successful negocio...We were/are the fruit of many similarly thinking parents that behooved us to be familiar with our art fundamentally enspirited skull cranial-cracked* nuarance and get against to much hard core math propensity. At the teenage level for chosing what merriments to persue on any given weekday after school or weekend during the sports seasons, we were fresh out of imaginations but to persue length discussions with a sandwhich in hand or burger and fries in a car or at some park with legs hanging over a bench while others (resting on the cool grass) merely chewed on strands of that pointy long and unmown green stuff or made a whistle thangs with 'em.
Now not all my early and previous society were nonGoal oriented at that time...like Pat. Pat (C) resolved a will to be a Mathmatics instructor very early with whiz brain scores and lots of them. Then, there be Kathy (KathyM--ane WhereAs there were over 5 Kathy/Cathys in our class and we were quite welded to 3 of them in our non-outcasting social circle of minewtness in size, Kathy M declared way early a will for teaching History for it not to be an obstacle against her reason (WE were the obstacles)...to move upstate somewhere to conform to that desire. That was how it had to be done in THIS city: MOVE away or NO claim on success would ever militaunt your life.That day she wanted 2 of us to become teachers as well. She gave all the strong reasons and produced a box of candy cigarrettes and then some real ones. We sat over her kitchen counter with our elbows depriving a shrinking neck from falling for all the thinking we were doing made our heads too tired to sustain...but she HAD a good point to her discovery that a mom wasn't cheered by a dad's too early gone welding salary. He lost his vision when a chip of metal flew into his brain via the eyeball. That's when we began a serious perpsective of how some things can take a criminal turn in life...but weren't meaning to go that way. I remember leaning onto her dad's workbench one day in their garage while looking for a lifepreserver for a pool in the yard demanding one. I stopped to see what he was working on...It fascinated me, for my own dad had all those bells and whistles in HIS garage and took pains to MAKE me learn what each were called and how they applied to getting something done around house or yard. He looked at my inquisition of his doings a smiled a grin then lowered the Safety lenses not yet required for known catastrophy. I will ALWAYS remember that grin. It cheered me. The door of that garage was always open to a direct sunlight and their lovely yard and landscaping that drunk in too much oxygen not to require a visit to her house more often. But it didn't take.
So, and it seemed that Travel & Tourismo; or just merely some shortshrifted skull-duggery or a Fulltime Artsy-Craft boo-hoo'd us all: and are what we ended up for blending toward...though with a huge amount and dose of religion to moor us against any skilled financial triumph at the bigwiggery level. But everyone one of us persued and obtained liberal arts degrees and at the 4yr college type of smurft for detallia. We all graduated of course, and THAT's the point. Thoses just preferring simple jobs yet still had big minds resorted to Law and Construction for livings.All with the proper trianing to a detail.
But, Benny would be an actor, though and albiet shortlived-- for life caught him too early in a foreign-izmoid that developed a disease later known as AIDEs and STRIFE against all charm and cheer. He is no longer aWITH us. I loved his heart, but he was NOT the winner that I willed...for he had not SportsEndeavors for his soul's sustainings but I DID. (I rebuke myself for that propencity to judge against these now... and we cheer them all too seldom for it be NOT what life was supposed to harbinger for us in THAT period with persuing dreams that weren't/aren't against a goal, just not of any will to enforce with minutia'l gatherings for any info that would supply such).
That picture there of the two at the tree...is not entirely unreligious of parable'd application. It just happens to be it wasn't of any thrift to sell, only to steal, so if it suddenly disappears from the page...it's for me no knowing how to HIDE MY OWN WORK from the fellows that mere glance and steal at the revered and hallowed "generic copying institution" on your local corners and harbingers against me is not to declared it's implicit chorf.
THE TREE was a place of merriment for friends and family and whoever wanted to play King-over-thr-Mountain-yonder on THAT side of the yard. [There WAS a family or three of kings that regalurely visited our homes...and we never dissed the connections...but never quite embraced them either--for THAT is/be where a lesson gets taught/THEN larnt.] The hut remains unfinished for it wasn't yet constructed. It was the restroom for a pool my DAD built to be 'proper' for a/the 'kids' when they declared autonomy from too much vacationry expense and hunkered down for a built-in heated pool with regulations to boot.
That Tree Conversate there between two teenagers isn't & wasn't to be ever completed for the failure of the GIRL to "GET" that the guy wasn't of HIS GUY brain, but his MOM's brain which the GIRL (me)never "GOT" from her (my)own MOM, for she(me) was the sports pal for her DAD's longevity. BUT while I DID spend nearly every early after-school afternoon attending with devotion infront of the legalized television and educational addendums for that era and time period...aka: two fav soap operas called ONE LIFE TO LIVE and DARK SHADOWS I yet did so with a pen and paper (lottttssss of paper) and pencils brushes and watercolors before me: to draw simple bodies and make up fashion designs for an art-blam'd affected talent that trimmed my brain too well AWAY from it's MATH moorings, aun much more than one would suppose.
I was presented with the imperilling triumph for a parent too early to declare 'SAFE' for me be definite: A TALENT. Which when known, was never to acquire a fee for..though, & only toCheer those that wanted to see a skill immediately producing a form IDENTICAL to whatever they declared they wanted drawn. I was very fast at drawing and very good to make a form appear in good enough sequence to assure my stature as a productive artist for the future.
The 'soap opera encompanied' art drawings for a class project...(of my native cheer to make certain in a book tied together with yarn..) Beof No official debutte even now, but simple GRADE from Mr. Freer (post graduate preparation--unsung as a tried artist himself, but he sure loved to TRY his students (another blog) , but those drawings were quite liked by my 3 sisters my own ultimate child has ripped them off and carried them away into never surrender-dom. The Grade A is just another reminder of how long it takes a professional artist to ACTUALLY weild the Pen in the direction of/for making/acquiring a sum for living...but not to assume that any LIFESTYLE would ensue from such a crumby amount.
But, a Conversation at the Tree (and of the ROCK) resumes: He (say, Bill--we'll call him AND his name Be NOT: Bill) merely said one thing and the rest of the day went down in history as a nonsequetter: "I dont' think I WANT any children, but if YOU do, then I want to be the Father of your firstborn."
I heard it in disbelief. We were too far from the open kitchen window overlooking the yard (and entire Valley for that matter) for my MOM to hear us while she did dishes...( I thought) and so I determined that on my own hearing such within in twelve minutes of disappearing behind a tree and smooching with ravid enhancing wills: that I merely wasn't old enough to declare such determination to be attached that soon...or even if HE should or would be He to whom I wanted such attachment. I didn't know that what I'd just yielded to of any duration (12 minutes or otherwise) was of sufficient fodder for HIM to want to make it permanent. That was a surpriser I would never understand. It would have been NICE if I had been told at least to 'expect' such comments and desires as precipitating or following any generous kissing session. Though it was just a quibble for kissing...for ME: I was appalled at what it had produced from HIS perspective--and quite entirely to the point against a will for knowing!! While we keeping our distance with a grass and stone steps between us... the conversation DID linger tho and hearts in front of each quite went out onto our sleeve by that point.
The non-opinion I had expressed of his 'confessions' were not pleasing at all to him. He blurred and sputtered and headed toward the sidewize driveway exit toward his vehicular enticement at the front of our house. His car wasn't much. Just a green and grey thang...but he WAS the owner. And I didn't blink to realize THAT WAS SIGNIFICANT enugg and I should have headed right behind him with a will be be blent into his will. BUT My MOM never targetted me for chorf or cheer or dating or even sustaining a job, let alone with specking for another's capacity as title of MATE might obtain sum viablurting suppositionry. But HECK: I was but 17 to his mere just 18yrs for any will to think wiser of any particular moment as one specific to a future success over any other moment.
Forelorned forever...neither did my DAD think well enough for me to hear something like:"HEY, what's wrong with HIM?" DAD just liked me for the chair next to him when a sports 'problem' called a SaturdayTV (equalling time out from HARD LABOR at his drive-by wham of an office w mercinary employ against cheer to yield too little to value with a Saturday bringing in the greatest potential--but for aToo Small the understanding that the schedule of school was NOT what the WORKPLACE required for success).Thus GameTime arrived which he determined a will for 'solving' was to deplete my next 5 hours with a baseball game followed by a World Cup with ME making and delivering a sandwich...then a soup and a guzzler back and forth to the kitchen... and thence another Saturday became passe. This flowed into too many weekends where a date might have supplied the chortle, and not my Dad's requirements for a Buddy to sit near and comment or quiz over game rules or questering WHO THATnew young fellow was atRookie levels for contemptment always revealed that interest.
NOW, and HERE is the POINT of THIS BLOG for those who merely blame THEMSELVES at failed successes for love pangs withdrawling against life cheer too soon: Muster your brains...THIS DOES HAVE A MERITORIOUS conclusionry against WHAT I am about to conclude HER for NOW...Thus:
HAD I been introduced to the ENTIRE perspectives of PRIDE and PREJUDICE by Jane Austen at that too early late Junior year blending toward preSenior summer...and it's regal manner at predicting a potential success of a fair-minded male toward a revery in life...I would yet and STILL NOT have required his will to suitor my hand for life. For my sisters were not at all regal about treating any male with any particular penchant for future success or mere happenstancing...for the "MOMENT" was all that life cared about. No parent considered our will for having such perspective in MY neck of the SW wilderness. Had I been stirred to insist upon friends with parents for THAT much hesitational thinkerry... I would have debunked ALL but 3 and I will, of course not mention these with any will to surrender myself as having NOT actually had the parents who willed me for THEIRS for life.
While I didn't have arresting amount of information from books alofting and abounding in lists from English teachers persuing higher haunts...I DO and yet have a family of too many sister's and brothers with experiences abounding and foremost BEFORE my own...NOT to have pivoting precisely as planned by aTHE GOOD MAKER of life's will to lend us a clue to where betterments may bely us too early should we short shrift ourseln's against too little the information.
As if we, and WITH INTENT...will'd for each of those two and SUCH SOAP OPERAS to engage our life willed by that much exaggerations for meaning. Their IMPULSE was to starve us from too much detail that we might overly adapt such solutionry that would demise us without cause for failure to THINK was the routine soap opera will to imbibe a solution and not stave against the mere initial result of such insultry against a life willing to harbinger less strangeness for a too early enticement would reap no meaning. Just substances and CHORF. Although, somehow PRETEND Chorf for my brains will to find too much value in the artist brain I persued...overly and personally satisfying to be wielding myself away from it's accomplishments. But NOW? No cash. Just satisfaction. THAT can make one hysterical. Where does the payoff come? I'm never against blaming someone else for wanting MY wil to just be satisfied for producing a finer artpiece than planned...but not to get any cash for it. THEY got satisfaction W/O producing it...and accepted MY token as if I wasnt' willing to be paid for the pain and sacrifice they sufficed to be all that was required for their will to CONSUME art w/o any. No even cash to cross a palm, just a cross and miserable artist who burdened herself with aTheHIS Cross and carried it forth with too much hope it's bring cash as well. For I was never a drinking artist, nor a smoking one, nor a divebombed and into-the-sack for any merriment there. Only and hours and days, months and years of devotion to a craft unyeilding for my cheer.
-----------------------------
While I never introduced that thought to my brain then, these two and quite highly regard SOAP OPERAS at the time, and my fair family full of females to will a debate over EVERYTHING under the SUN...were not against a CurrentRealm for thinking...for and with preciser moment to apply be mbarrassingly similar: brought up by MOMENTS and not creating a scenario for a breadth of life to occur for it's abtrusive will to think of only current things. While NOW i'm glad to BE a CURRENT thinker...and it blends well with aTHE strife for finding value when your art is persued but only to be stolen by the youngers who thinks it's a need NOT to depend upon the brian of any older improved artist...
But I safely straddled any fence permitting me to waffle on such trained thinking for nearly a full decade and 1/2 forward... and that merely was enugg to profession my skill for NEARLY 20+yrs hard labor at a drafting table now gone computer for it's share of my talent to harbinger checks and life and bills paid and prom dresses purchased for another child who, inflicted by an art-male minded parent was luckier to get a start right off aTheRock but Next to aTREE and now supplies herself with all the wants a partner might acquire for being a man's MATE as WELL as steadfast friend for life has been a keeper and charmer for those who took it by the grasp at the EARLIEST convenience. No hardcore dilemma here with me, mind you. But a great reluctance NOT to have known at the moment precise to it's will for knowing...SHOULD have been learned too sooner than too later.And Thus, so hast a life filled with art enticement and game stratagems and figures to draw and not to draw upon...be left by the wayside for too little knowledge about how to apply it toward financial initiave. But very diligent workers we were and are. We are champions for tall nighters for setting goals and achieving them. But NEVER to bend the callous ear of the Frenchman with a skullduggery for charming one into merely GIVING them the art, and not having the temerity to acutally pay for the sacrifice and trial ANY artist must endure to perfect and declare a mind with a solution onto paper for another and not themself. For a FACT; to sit next to a television without regard to a paper and pencil or art tools in the lap for drawin all characters therein providing free models (of a sort) imperilled me NOT to be of that moments required will for a DAD to simply require ME there during HIS sports draining will for relaxing...was MY will to have another need to keep him calm while I could catch up on the number of sketches requiring actualy imagery for fodder to yield a draft for an art ensuing replicant BEFORE you decide HOW to make it merely "happen" for some engaging piece of art in the future always required the balance of non-focused elemental time spent just drawing for practice.
------------------------------
*This is a mere reference to a ton of brain injuries that I sustained during my early youth and all unseened but ensugin sufferings including REAL baseball bat hitting my right parietal region...my falling too many times and hitting the back side of my skull and thus occipitally deprived a region for Math to make me rich was this early diss...HAYE. it happens. And I'll scrape up the art I drew to record those too many an unfruit bearing events that put me into a the "typical" REAL struggle for ART to appear means and sadly for these types of early situations to REQUIRE the survival of one too fit for anything else. Try to PAY me for it now? I'll be DEAD for someone is always already barking at the tree of MY will to get a shorn fruit for my labors.
+034.jpg)
No comments:
Post a Comment