On Firm Footing

ver·ti·go: a sensation of whirling and loss of balance, associated particularly with looking down from a great height.

I am a thinker, a planner, a problem solver. OK, fine, I’m a catastrophizer. I like to have a Plan B. And C. And likely a plan D, just in case. And because shit does happen, I’ll be carrying a spare pair of panties in my carry-on to France next week. More about the wonderful things that will be happening there when the time comes.

For the past several days, I have been feeling super uncomfortable and anxious about this upcoming trip I’m taking with a group of artists because I am not in charge and have not been able to obtain information about the arrangements to the level of detail that sets my heart and brain at ease. I willingly put my well being in someone else’s hands and am paying the emotional toll. Please let me be clear: nothing has gone wrong! I just don’t know all the things that would assure me that it’s all going right.

Today I decided to do another studio session of process painting to see if I could maybe “paint it out” and start to feel better about the situation. As I sat for a several breaths trying to stop my brain and pay attention to my body, I was suddenly and strangely aware of my feet. I don’t generally give them much thought. They work just fine, they like fancy shoes, and don’t give me any pain. I take them for granted, except when I reward them with an occasional pedicure, but all of a sudden I felt a very strong urge to paint my feet!

My feet work just fine, they like fancy shoes, and don’t complain to me at all.

So I prepared my paper and jumped in, er, feet first, then I followed my gut (that’s literally where I was feeling it) and let the shapes and colors follow. Every time that voice in my head asked “where the hell is this going, and why on earth are you painting feet?” I told her to STFU and let me feel the painting through to the end.

I was working flat on a table and it’s hard to really see perspective from that position on a sheet this large (18”x24”), so it wasn’t apparent to me until I taped it up to the wall what I had done. It reminded me instantly of Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo motif. I actually got a bit dizzy.

As I slapped myself on the forehead, I realized I had been experiencing that feeling of dizziness and inability to maintain my balance. I wanted to know my feet were firmly on the ground, but, instead, all I saw was the swirling abyss of
The Unknown.

Somehow, now that it’s been said with paint and paper, it feels less scary, like I’ve put it in its place and told it to sit still so I can get on with the things I can make plans for.

This process painting technique is still blowing my mind with its wisdom and insight. Because this is a real thing:

I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn't say any other way - things I had no words for. - Georgia O’Keeffe