No sooner than I finished last night's blog post I was painting again. The tiny spirals attack continued. Before I left the computer, I visited Aviva Gold's You Tube where I watched her and others "embody" their paintings. Something I vaguely remember reading from her book, but never did. I was intrigued. Certainly, it makes sense I would never have embodied any element of my paintings because there were people around. In some cases and to some people, the paintings were wild enough. Catching me going schizo in front of one would have been a one-way ticket to the Funny Farm. In short, the environment doesn't support that sort of behavior. But if no one is home . . . Well, maybe.
So, I gave it a whirl. I stood like the pink skeleton, arms raised, fingers in a loose mudra and I asked: What are you to me? The small flood of responses varied: The Spinning Fates, your creation, the bones of your painting, your bones, the bones of your mother, the bones of your ancestors. Okay. I can work with that, but it still didn't seem to mean much. I guess embodying takes a little more practice. That means the house would need to be empty more often.
Somewhat confused, I went back to the safety of the tiny spirals, but it felt vitally important I find some other way to connect with this painting. Without thinking, I placed my hand where a heart ought to be and continued the spirals. Suddenly I realized the painting needed a heart. The sea foam green was put away; out came the red with a gold powder mix.
Once the red gold heart was painted into the rib cage, I pressed my left palm into the wet paint.
Then the palm print was pressed into the pelvic bone.
The red gold paint stayed on my palm like Hindu wedding henna until this morning's shower.
There are many more tiny spirals to do.