{"id":3454,"date":"2015-09-15T13:50:26","date_gmt":"2015-09-15T20:50:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.lifeinfullcolor.com\/?p=3454"},"modified":"2015-11-07T10:55:12","modified_gmt":"2015-11-07T18:55:12","slug":"september-15-2015-i-am-a-journalist","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.lifeinfullcolor.com\/dev\/life-stories\/september-15-2015-i-am-a-journalist\/","title":{"rendered":"September 15, 2015 – I am a journalist!"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n \n \"Fb-Button\"\n <\/a>\n <\/div>
<\/fb:like><\/div><\/div>
\"A<\/a>

A photo I bought because it, in a small way, evokes my waking dream.<\/p><\/div>\n

Listen to this post:<\/p>\nhttp:\/\/www.lifeinfullcolor.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/09\/20150915-Post.m4a<\/a><\/audio>\n

I have a recurring waking dream, a fantasy, I guess. It came to me in a contemplative moment, something like 10 or 15 years ago. It downloaded as a fully formed experience in my mind and even in my body. In my \u201cdream\u201d, I wake to the sunlight coming through soft, gauzy curtains covering the windows in my room. I\u2019m in fresh, white sheets and am wearing a simple white cotton short, sleeveless nightie. I get out of bed, onto the tile floor and go through French doors, outside to a large patio. The patio has terra cotta pavers and a wrought iron railing. On the patio are big terra cotta and glazed blue pots of lemon and orange trees, and orange and pink bougainvillea and \u2013 of course \u2013 climbing roses in bloom. The house, this place I\u2019m in, is up on a hillside above the blue sea \u2013 somehow I know it\u2019s the Mediterranean, though I don\u2019t know if it\u2019s France or Italy or Spain, or Greece even. The air is scented with the orange and lemon blossoms, and the roses and the fresh sea air. I can hear birds fluttering around and birdsong; other than that, it\u2019s very quiet and the air is still. I\u2019m fit and tan and comfortable in my own skin. I\u2019m alone and completely content.<\/p>\n

The experience of this waking dream has been so compelling to me, that I\u2019ve attempted to find movies that evoke this sense of place and mood. \u201cEnchanted April\u201d for a long time, was closer than anything else I\u2019d seen, but it\u2019s not quite right. I came across the description of a film online years ago, about a woman who returns to Greece after a divorce to find herself. I think it had \u201cMediterranean\u201d in the title and was filmed on an island, and I had hopes that it might be like my waking dream. I was never able to find out how to get a hold of this film to watch it, and have even lost touch with what it\u2019s called at this point.<\/p>\n

The more recent movie, \u201cMamma Mia,\u201d the Meryl Streep adaptation of the stage musical, comes closer \u2013 it has the colors, the Mediterranean setting with the views of the sea and the light spirit. The year it came out, Joe gave the DVD to me for Christmas. One morning, in that special time out-of-time between Christmas and New Year\u2019s, I watched it in my PJ\u2019s, wrapped in a blanket, with my morning tea. Watching a movie in the morning before even getting dressed, is just the<\/em> most decadent thing for me to do! I remember actually having tears at the sweetness of both the movie, and the experience of watching it in my pajamas.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve described my dream to a few people, some of whom have suggested I paint it. The idea of this completely stymies <\/em>me. I have no<\/em> idea where to even start. It doesn\u2019t occur<\/em> for me to make paintings out of my imagination. There has been a part of me that has felt not like a \u201creal\u201d artist because of this. If I were, I\u2019d know how to paint from my mind\u2019s eye. I was relieved of this when I heard an interview on the radio of two writers. They were brother and sister \u2013 he a poet and short story writer, and she a journalist. They spoke of their process. For him, it had to come from within<\/em> him. She said that she must witness<\/em>, that she couldn\u2019t make it up for the life of her. Hearing this I had a forehead slapping moment: \u201cOh, I get it. I am a journalist!\u201d<\/em> I must witness what it is I paint! I can\u2019t make it up for the life of me, either! It has been incredibly freeing to know this about myself. Just as journalists are business writers, political writers, food writers, sports writers, I have a \u201cbeat\u201d too. Mine is beauty – in the form of flowers, fruit, food (mostly sweets) and a few dogs. At least, so far.<\/p>\n

\"Orchids<\/a>

Orchids in Balboa Park<\/p><\/div>\n

I\u2019m convinced we are born with our art in us. I\u2019ve been taking photos of flowers, since I was in college in San Diego. In my old photo albums, there are pictures of orchids I took in Balboa Park, when I was still a teenager! I continue to be compelled to capture flowers, but my vision has evolved. As I\u2019ve become more enlightened, my journalist filter has too. These orchid photos and even some of the early references for my paintings, lacked the light that so compels me now.<\/p>\n

I was lying in bed this morning, before even opening my eyes, thinking about all of this. I was categorizing (another of my compulsions) my paintings, according to how I witnessed<\/em> their subjects.<\/p>\n