Phoenix Reborn

I love the metaphor of the phoenix, burning and reborn, the cycle of as something dies, something else comes to life.

I had a therapist who a few years ago asked me what I wanted. I didn't understand the question. I was so busy orbiting everyone else in my life, I couldn't even imagine what I wanted. 

This week, I signed up for an oil painting class. I went dancing. I went to a driving range and hit a bucket of golf balls. I had my usual piano lesson and then Saturday saw Carmina Burana at the PNB.

It was a busy week, but much needed. 

The oil painting class is at the Seattle Artists League in Georgetown. I took a watercolor class years ago at the Art Institute in Chicago with my friend H. The class was her idea, and she caught on quickly. She could paint pearls in watercolor, which is really hard because in watercolor you can't paint something white. If you want something white in watercolor, you have to leave it unpainted, which is trippy.

The class was harder for me, but years later I remembered those skills. When Ada died, I painted birds. When I was pregnant with Claire-Adele, I painted beluga whales. 

There is something joyful and challenging about learning something new. It is fun and scary and hard and thrilling before the peaceful phase where you are confident that you can do it, that you are good enough and mildly competent.

The art teacher had low expectations for the first week, as we learned about looking for darkness and light in what painted.

"This is not going to hang on your living room wall," she said. 

We painted a stack of desks against a wall. This was an exercise, warm-up, practice. The idea is to teach us technique so later we can try to paint whatever we want, whatever inspires us. Like bouncing a tennis ball on your racquet before attempting to hit the ball across the net, or blowing bubbles in the water before swimming across the pool. It was fun and freeing but with boundaries.