The Writing on the Walls.

After yesterday’s heaviness, let’s talk about something lighter: gratitude.

You know, there are a lot of things as I look around that I have to be grateful for. It is always easiest for me to start with my apartment, because, small though it is, and however much I’d love for my bed to not be the main prominence of my studio apartment, I love it here. "Warm" is consistently the response I get from friends and visitors who come in. It feels warm here.

Someone just said it recently, and it’s precisely the phrase I heard from a friend when he left one of my parties in my San Francisco apartment: I felt warm when I left. How many parties does one leave feeling that way? It was a thrill, and what I love to hear. Inviting, warm, cozy, artful.

The art has been culled over a few years, and recently, in the re-organization of my closet, I pulled out the enormous oil pastel lips with flower, created for one of my Pre-Val Hearts & Stars parties in SF. I think I’ll put it up again, but even if I don’t, it reminds me of what I can accomplish when I set my mind to it.

I’d started with an idea. I made some sample studies, small two-inch colored pencil drawings, and then I asked my artist friend if she had any super large butcher-size paper. In fact, she did. And I stood with a pencil hovering over this expanse of 5 foot wide and 4 feet tall paper laid on the floor of my apartment, white, untouched, and daunting.

How do you start, where do you make a first mark? What if it’s wrong, and you’ve ruined this enormous (and only) page you have?

I remember that moment, the taking of a deep breath, and the creation of the first mark. And wherever it was on the page is now well-blended into the rest of the drawing, and you’d never know where it began with a brave and tentative mark.

You drew that? Yep. I’ve been drawing since I was a kid. I’ve stopped often. I thought I couldn’t anymore, as a 40 oz went hand-in-hand with my art for a while. I also tried again and so out of practice, was not so great, and put it away, saying this wasn’t for me anymore.

Then, the parties began, and they were the impetus to draw again, to paint, and make art again. With an aim and purpose, with people to create an environment for, it was simple. It was enlivening, and it wasn’t perfect. Yet it was fun.

I spoke the other week to my property manager about the upstairs abandoned 4th floor room with the two work sinks, northern light, and great ventilation. They’re happy to rent that space out to me for 25 bucks a month. … Once I settle my account.

When I was sick, my landlord said about my rent, “Don’t worry about it.” Which I thought meant, We’ll waive it. I found out later, several months of not paying rent later, that in fact, what he meant was, “Pay it when you can, and we’ll be counting every cent.”

So, I became over $4,000 in debt to my landlord, and even though it was great that they held my rent for a while, it sucks that it wasn’t clear that’s what was happening, as maybe I’d have begun paying sooner. But, it wasn’t. I didn’t. And I’ve been paying $50 over my rent each month for over a year now to help pay down the debt, because that’s truly what I can afford.

I have more than $3,000 left to pay back. Before I can rent that art space. FOR TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS!! God, I want that space! But, first things first, I suppose.

In the meantime, maybe I do unroll those lips and put them up, proof and inspiration once again that I can do what I fear, that I don’t have to be perfect, that I love producing things, and that I have talent when I focus.

Who doesn’t need a reminder like that?