Frantic or panicked (it was hard to tell which) cheeping brought me to the windows overlooking our backyard. 

Every once in a while a page goes so completely wrong, as in completely, utterly and totally off the rails, that it might have never ever been on the rails to begin with!

That's what happened with the page above. I used the stamp shown below with a very light colored stamping ink. The ink was pigmented and for some reason, the detail turned into undefined blobs. It was impossible to make heads or tails out of and never mind reading any of the words. It was like the ink melted like ice cream does! It should have looked like this, but lighter:


Instead, it looked icky. The only parts that were recognizable were the wings and part of the brush.

It's in my everyday sketchbook* (which I show in this video) and I had to decide if I wanted to try and salvage the page, cover it up with another sheet of paper or maybe gesso over it. I was pretty sure I couldn't just ignore it.

*My everyday sketchbook is the sketchbook that goes everywhere with me and that I use to capture happenings from my days. I seldom work everyday in this journal as that isn't realistic for me. I create when I have something I want to remember, that speaks to me.

As I said, ignoring the page wasn't going to work. It was too hideous. So that left covering it up or salvaging the page.

Since I figured covering it up with another piece of paper or paint was going to be my last effort, it was time to begin the salvage effort. My thinking was that if the salvage effort failed, I could buried it.

Due to the lightness of the ink, it was actually easier to convert the design into something else than I expected it to be. If it had been dark ink, I probably wouldn't have been successful.

Because most of the ink melted in the thicker areas of the wings, I decided to use the shape of the heart to distract from that. Then, because I could make out a few details of the wings, I added those with black ink. The brush was more of a suggested blob so I created my own. The circles were more blobs so I used paint to hint at the shapes.

Last, I add a whole lot of color to the page and finished up with a washi flake of the bird.

I had also added a quote underneath the map washi tape at the bottom of the page before I realized I had misspelled not one, but three words (are you beginning to sense this was not a happy creating time for me?!).

Rather than fight with fixing it, I opted to cover it.

I was about done with the whole mess at this point.

While I'm not thrilled that my page came out NOTHING like I wanted it to, I am thrilled that I was able to salvage it without resorting to another piece of paper to cover it up and start over.

What have you botched lately?

"Shards of A Splintered Heart" - Painted with watercolor, memories and tears

While painting this quilt pattern, a small splatter of salty water hit the page.

A tear.

As I often get "lost" in the process of creating and go off in my mind to other worlds within this one, it wasn't really a surprise. It's happened before. Creating seems to lower my mental walls just enough to allow me to revisit old memory and witness a new perspective on some experience or relationship.

So, no, the tear didn't surprise me too much until I started following my thought-thread back to find the source of the moisture. Until that moment, I didn't realize I was giving voice to the pain—and healing—of losing my mother after a particularly long and vicious battle with dementia.

My mother was a seamstress of great talent, but making quilts were never her thing though she did make a few. She was more of a collector and she enjoyed them in her everyday world rather than keeping them for "company" or special occasions.
As I let the quiet tears fall, I knew they represented the stress and damage caused by an illness that knows no kindness and gives no quarter. They were for the years lost even though she was alive, for the impact it had on her, my father and my siblings as well as for the loneliness and lost feelings that still pervade my mind. And for the helplessness we all felt as we watched her mind being slowly destroyed.

As I followed my thoughts more consciously, I decided to give witness to the pain, guilt, loneliness, anger, frustration, and yes, even happiness, that her death brought. The swirling mess of volatile emotions, some seemingly at war with one another, were slowly brought to life on the page of my sketchbook.

When I began to lay out the quilt idea on the page, I made several changes from the original pattern I found. The shape of the heart (I made it fuller), the outer edges of the heart shape (I wanted it to be less fragmented) and the small splintered pieces inside (to represent my own emotional shards that have yet to settle) were either changed or added as I went along.

Much of the relief (and happiness) I've felt is in knowing she has set down the burden of her illness. The feeling of being lost and lonely sidle up next to the gaping hole of lost love I will no doubt feel until I no longer walk this earth. Anger that I lost so many years with her to this insidious disease and bewilderment that she's truly gone. All of this was and is overlaid with frustration that there was nothing, absolutely nothing which could be done to slow or stop the illness.

As I poured forth that complicated mess of feelings, I began to feel lighter, a lessening of the weight that seems to have been stifling my soul for months now. And while the weight is not completely gone, the slight lightening gives me hope that it will eventually be transformed into something different and new.

They say time heals. I say art heals more. I am ever so thankful to have an outlet by which I can process the big and little hurts we all encounter as we stroll upon the surface of the earth.