Sixty-something woman shares ruminations as she plys the latter third of her life with the caveat that age entitles her to be absolutely outrageous whenever possible.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Homework! My therapist gives homework!
Well, we did a sand tray. Now, I am committed to the process with this psychologist, he knows what he is doing. And yet, this was ever so uncomfortable, playing with action figures in an oversized catbox. My first attempt was all about animals, and their relevance to my personna, like I love frog medicine, cleansing, and oh, eagle is one of my totems. Whee. Next, nitty gritty time, with people. Me, of course, and I was Cinderella. Mother stood in front of me, her back toward me, the Queen, arms extended to protect her two little princes, and her dog. No King in sight. Really sad. Yet, Ian said Cinderella did get the glass slipper, so go home and paint one. Here it is. This is my third attempt. It was like I just couldn't get the proportions of the shoe correctly drawn on the paper. This is a mixed media effort. I forgot how fuzzy charcoal gets, so I sharpened it up with 6B graphite and a little Conte, too. It became more of a tongue-between-the-teeth art project rather than an expression of my existential angst. Though, maybe that is it. If I get it just right, my prince will come and ride off with me into that eternal sunset of bliss. Not happening at the moment. No, not at all. But I have this nifty glass slipper.