Last night, after reading for hours, and then watching some junk TV on Hulu I decided to do my "evening" mandala riff. I'm still figuring these things out. I'm digesting a huge quantity of info in a short period of time. I'm immersed in this stuff. So anyway. I started to work on mandala riff. I had an idea I really liked. I've been working with a combination of Pentel Hybrid Technica, Zebra Sarasa, and Uniball Signo pens. This idea simply flowed from the pen tip. I added some lines and more lines, i had some patterns and the mandala bit came in and I liked it a lot.
Some of the mandala riffs I'm doing are staying black and white and some are getting the color treatment. I couldn't decide if I wanted color or if I wanted to leave it as is.

I forged ahead and added color to the image and now I hate it. The dark shade I chose detracts from the sensitive patterns and lines I created with my pen work. The colors don't work well with the image I'd created. Immediately I was filled with regret for my color choice and for "ruining" my drawing with watercolor crayon. This isn't a feeling I usually have as I art journal. This is a completely foreign feeling. I've always thought of my art journal as a no hold barred playground. So to feel that I've "ruined" an image is new.
Immediately, I started to question the "why" and "hows" of what I was feeling. Why was I so disappointed in myself? Why did I hate this image so much?

I realized that this feeling was what I was meant to explore. Maybe not last night or even at this moment but over the next few days I'm going to be exploring all those questions.*

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Holy moley, it's been awhile since I did a blog post. In case you missed my post about it, I started graduate school at the end of August. It's been a whirlwind non-stop awesome ride. I'm learning an incredible amount about art therapy and meeting some awesome people interested in the same stuff. Basically, I'm learning that all these things I've been spouting off about here about art being a powerful tool for healing is true. But I'm also learning about the psychological theories behind the powerful healing tool. I'm also learning how music, movement (dance), play, and other expressive arts can be used WITH art to heal.

This is powerful stuff.

Mind blowing.

Honestly, I'm sitting in a place of extreme gratitude that I'm able to now devote my life to this thing called art therapy. My past has given me a lot of tools to use with what I'm learning but I'm also seeing how I can use those tools in my future.

So awesome.

Oh, part of my course work is art. So that's awesome. I'm going to try and get better about the blog again. I've got lots of school related things- pen reviews, paper reviews, and new art materials that I want to review here.

I used to love driving. Really, really loved it. I loved it until I started to commute over an hour each way on I95/128 here in MA. Driving 128 is enough to make the most seasoned driver anxious, adding to it a significant stretch of I95 and well, hell on earth. Leaving the corporate world means I get to leave the hellish commute behind.

Now my commute is about the same amount of time, but by train. I sit on the commuter rail and read books for school or write my papers out longhand. I sit and reflect on my class I just took. I watch the sparrows fly in and out of weeds and chainlink fence. I look at rusty poles as I wait for the train to pick me up. I talk to fellow passengers or bury my nose in my book.

I don't worry that someone will be distracted by their cell phone, drift over the line and sideswipe me. I'm not on high alert waiting for the other guy to almost kill me. I havent' had to call 911 when I've witnessed an accident.

It has been glorious and peaceful in a way.

This is just one view of my commute:

I am thankful.