‘i stood alone by the water and ached for you’ copyright tania palermo
I take a 24-hour respite from the news but continue to hear of more devastation, loss, grief, anger, confusion. The stories reach me in many ways and play over and over in the back of my mind as I meet a friend for coffee; do the grocery shopping; fold the laundry.
I’ve been trying to write all day and the words will just not come. Or, they will come, full of angst and wanting to start a fight. A friend sends a video of her walk outdoors and tells me the rivers and trees are calling out for me to come walk there too, with her. We’ve been talking a lot about community and connection lately. The one giant rock that looks more like a small boulder does grumble lowly as she walks past, and tells me – it is angsty too – which makes me trust it immediately.
Painting would help, but I cleaned the kitchen yesterday, (my makeshift studio), and need to let it have at least one day of rest before messing it up again. The table has lost its fight and is decorated with splotches of many colors but the floor still has hope it will survive the creativity without needing to be scraped and refinished.
sold to private collection copyright tania palermo
It makes me feel small, the not knowing what to do. Or how to hold onto hope in the face of the suffering I see. Or wanting to make things change but feeling powerless to do so.
I scroll through old photos to distract myself and listen to music and keep breathing and know that I AM small and cannot do much for the far away friend who asks me to pray for her daughter, other than to witness her and acknowledge her worry and pray for her daughter and decide, again, that I will do just that, over and over. Not close my eyes. Witness and acknowledge and offer kindnesses and hold doors open and share the bread I make and sit at the doctors’ offices and watch the friends’ dog so they can escape and recharge, and maybe all these little things will matter. Maybe trickles of light will seep in, grow, and start to take up more space than the grief and despair and the feelings of rage at the injustices done. Maybe any action is better than no action and even though we feel small and powerless we can make a difference. And maybe to believe otherwise gives the ‘darkness’ power it does not deserve.
Today. Cloudy & cool. My favorite to hike in. Years taking photographs, seeking saturated colors & interesting skies, living in the PNW, have converted me to favoring an overcast day. Conversation with a friend. She’s experimenting with her diet. No dairy, sugar, gluten, grains. A disordered part of me wants to join her. I’ve weighed myself recently & saw the highest numbers of my life. My body continues to change & get bigger despite feeding it vegetables, taking it on walks, joining fitness challenges. Another friend texts to say she loves IF. I told her about it & no longer practice. A strong impulsive desire to join her too. The tracking app is still on my phone. A lifetime spent practicing disordered eating. Years in undiagnosed orthorexia. My mental health would suffer if I tried again. Another friend texts to say she hasn’t lost weight post a serious surgery & wants to use my fitness pal to track her food. I feel tired for her. We’ve spent too much time focusing on numbers. Cosmetic outcomes. Too little taking care of our bodies in weight neutral ways. Moving for the sheer pleasure of it. The afternoon is spent searching for the file with the spreadsheets from 8 years ago when I kept track of everything my body was doing. That year I moved towards a plant-based diet. I required myself to walk, jog or hike a minimum of 5 miles every morning. Just to earn the right to exist in my body. An entire year: no alcohol, caffeine, sugar, anything processed. I ran races, lifted weights, felt strong – but isolated, full of anxiety that one chocolate chip would throw me completely off track. Many compliments on my outer appearance, but rarely felt internal peace. I came across random photos while searching for the ‘body file’ & sent one to a friend because she looks glowy & happy. She replies “you are stunning.” I say “we were both beautiful & had NO IDEA.” She says “well, I knew you were, but you never believed me.” I feel tired again: for the stories we believe about ourselves, the missed moments, the constant chasing of ‘life will be better when,’ the not realizing we are lucky just to be alive. And the not believing that we are enough. Just as we are. Right now.
***Note – this was originally written for Instagram and therefore could only have 2200 total characters. I’ve left it that way for consistency, though I know it would benefit from paragraphs and better wording. I wrote it raw and left it that way. ♥***
The random found photo that I sent to a friend.A dress I loved but wouldn’t buy during the 5 mile a day time because I thought I needed to be smaller to splurge on it.Only fruits and veggies were allowed in my fridge.I spent a ton of time food prepping. It became tedious – but it was always so vibrant looking. The colors made me happy.
I’ve been doing a lot of writing this month. I joined a challenge to write a book – or 50,000 words, in 30 days. It has been in the back of my mind to write about some lifetime trauma and struggle – often started and stopped due to the voice in my head that insists no one will be interested. In October I came across this quote from Sandra Cisneros – whose first book in 28 years was being published – she said, “I’d throw my poems under the bed, like Emily Dickinson,” she said, ” One of the things I learned from Emily – Miss Emily, I should say with respect-is that you don’t have to publish in your lifetime, but you have to write.”
That completely freed me. I never have to share, but I do need to write. Words and memories have been pouring out of me. Each old wound up for re-examination, for feeling and letting go of, and hopefully, to earn a new narrative once I’m through processing.
This painting was made during the first 15 or so days of the writing process. It doesn’t look like my work to me, and I’ve been curious to see what shape it would take. A friend and I examined it one morning – and we both began to see a figure on the right hand side of the piece. I saw an owl, a caldron at the feet of the figure, some hands, and a discarded mask in a corner, and my friend said, ‘oh – that looks like your liver and a bunch of your insides…and that’s your third eye falling off the side of your face looking at the guts you’ve taken out…” We both got goosebumps and saw the expression of the writing process making its way onto the canvas.
The intuitive art making experience is so cool. I did start off with an idea for this work, but it quickly disappeared as I added colors and shapes randomly – and then the painting revealed itself
I’m not much of a selfie person … but every once in a while I’ll throw one up so you know who you’re interacting with. I know when I’m making a decision on whether or not to do business with someone, I like to know something about who I’m supporting … especially with a profession like massage therapy.
This morning I started a Summer Training Camp. It’s a supportive online community with women of all body shapes and sizes where we’ll spend 12 weeks either prepping for anything from a 5K to a half marathon or doing a weight lifting program. I choose both 😳🏋️♀️🏃♀️. I’ll probably stick to walking … but the encouragement of the program may get me to run (ahem…slow jog) again. We’ll see.
Either way that’s not really the point. It’s about finding joyful movement…whatever that means to you…in whatever body you’re living in right now …without intent to change it – just to enjoy and care for it. :)
Anyways … they asked for us each to post a pic so we can get to know one another … and that’s why I even have a pic to share here…
Anyone local want to sign up too? They’re leaving it open for the rest of today. It would be fun to have in person community along with the online one. 😊 In fact I’ve been wanting to start a walking group for those of us who move SLOW for a while. I’d love to hear from you if you’re interested.
Some photos of the Black Lives Matter protest in Manchester, CT today. It was a peaceful and beautiful event with inspiring speakers of all ages. I’ve been thinking about ways I can continue to use my voice to be an ally – and I know that art of any kind is a powerful medium to communicate through. If I can use photography to help give anyone a voice who wants to also be an ally to the black community, and create positive change – please reach out to me and we’ll figure out a way to stand together. I’ve been musing an idea for an art project on my own – but I’d like to hear what’s needed rather than just what I think might be a good idea. ♥
Self-care for me today meant … walking in the woods, taking pictures, saying hello to strangers and their playful puppies and … reading poetry. What did it look like for you?
Keeping Quiet
by Pablo Neruda
“Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still
for once on the face of the earth,
let’s not speak in any language;
let’s stop for a second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines;
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would not look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about…
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with
death.
Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.”
End of the day
in a place I only had
a few moments in.
Excited because the light was pretty.
Anxious because I was with
three people and two dogs
who are not photographers
or artists – who were being patient but also,
wanted to move along.
They don’t know how quickly
the light changes
or how long it’s been
since I’ve felt inspired
to capture something.
This is making many photos quickly …
rather than going slowly, looking at
angles and perspectives, or
waiting to feel moved by the subject.
Just hoping one will turn out OK.
Tania Palermo [Studio on Main] 