Interiors

I've never really been one to wander around loudly being an artist.  I was married to a man for a decade who dyed his hair multiple colors and wore as many different hues and patterns as possible, my father used to wear his hair like a frozen firework, and most of my friends have relentlessly informative clothes and tastes that announce them as art in process. I have always envied their clear voices.

If you met me without knowing a thing about me you'd never know I'm a composer or a vocalist or a poet or a writer or any type of artist at all. I dress simply. My hair is going grey.  I don't talk about my art to most people that I interact with and my conversation is usually about the other person and their life as, to be honest, there's little art in the known and I know quite a bit about myself.  I'm interested in other.



For most of my life I've considered the outside of my skin to be mostly mirror, but the inside of my skin, that is a whole other story.  The inside of my skin, the thin layer that touches fascia and muscle, the part always unseen and lit only with the body electric that so many have written about over the centuries - this inside has always been a riot of color and pattern and shape and image.  I'm covered on the inside with symbols and charts pointing out navigational routes and weather warnings.  There are instructions in languages that have never been spoken and images of beings that won't ever be seen. There are patterns standing in for ideas, and ideas evoked by placeholder images.

The outside of me moves through the world unnoticed most of the time.  The inside of me presses outward, a constantly shifting landscape of color and pattern in an endless visual discussion.

A few months ago I noticed that come September, a new chapter of my life will be starting.  I'll be living on my own after a few decades of sharing time and daily space with others.  My time will be more flexible and my choices will be based solely on my own wants and needs. So I made a mental note that it might be a good idea to let all the colors and patterns inside me swirl out, drain out, and leave a clean slate behind for the new. 

And so my body decided to take my mind literally and I've spent the last 6 weeks hemorrhaging. We've figured it out now and I'm turned around, heading back towards a more physically balanced body. 

But now all the images and patterns inside my skin are gone. I am clean and clear inside, and have taken to drawing little pictures on my arms and legs to see if they soak in.  I have a blank canvas to work with and am a mix of joyful and hollow. Send light and vibrant color.