Whistling at my post...

I have learned that a colleague and a sister do not like my whistling while I am at work; my colleague says it hurts her ears, and my sister says she "would kill" me.  It troubles me to think that something as innocuous and joyful as whistling can generate such vitriol and such violence, and I begin to wonder at the value of glee in the face of gloom and the embrace of sorrow.  I surmise one could eliminate from one's life all negative people, but when that includes one of the colleagues of whom I am fond and a sister I love, that becomes an impossible option.  Stop whistling?  Cease cheer?  Wallow in drear?  Bruise my soul to let out the wail I worked for years to eliminate?  No, thank you very much.  I shall wrap myself in music, dance and joy when I am alone or with Tracy and Nancy who understand the drive and the energy that keeps us churning out whistles and color and song.

And so I churn.  And paint.  These please me, albeit in a rather processional kind of way; I know they aren't finished, but it's funny; I didn't know that when I "finished" them years ago!  I revisit this old pastel painting that I loved for years and years, especially a little squiggle down the middle.  Gone now, the squiggle has been replaced with swirls of color: lime green, aqua blue, lavender and a touch of red.  The orange makes me happy, but I did leave the grey block and the blue door, both of which I used to love.  I will see if they stay next session.

This is an oldie that needed depth, and I still don't think it's finished, but it is beginning to speak more clearly to me.  The purple "happened" when Tracy dropped a hug blob of dark purple on her board, which she has taken home to mull over, and I couldn't bear to waste any of it.  I nipped into it and slapped some onto the middle of this piece, blending it in with my fingers and some water; Still it looks rather blobby, but maybe more shadowy and mysterious.  I am liking the windows on the door.  Again, I can only wait and watch what "happens."

This was a painting of a white door in my bathroom, a door that had shadows and brilliant reflections on; I could never get it quite right, so today it became the blue door with a green shadow.  I remember really being haunted by that old 45 we used to have, surely my older sister's, "Green Door," and this is beginning to evoke the spirit of the green door, but the highlights have turned out nicely.  The little pink splotch behind the door is actually a painting that I tried to put into the original.  I think maybe the hint of pink suggests something also a little mysterious.  I shall see.  I wonder if the white tile is really discernible and if not, it shall go the way of the white door.  I still quite like the knob.

Over and out for today, a day of a crisp run in the cold, an encounter with Debby and her new dog, Suzy, and a GFS parent from Jack's class.  Tracy and I danced and sang to Sweet Honey and the Rock, both parting, I hope, feeling refreshed, affirmed and vital.  I did.