Thursday, July 21, 2011


I've started having dreams about paintings again. I haven't dreamt of art for a couple years, ever since the CIA fiasco. I haven't worked either, unless you count photography. My hands have been still though. The urge to draw and paint hasn't pulsed through my blood. I don't know if it is yet, even with those dreams, but I do wonder.

It's not like I'm a five year old pouting in the corner because I can't have a pony. I'm a twenty-nine year old pouting in a dead-end job dragging around an unfinished art degree like a tattered blankie. I don't talk about it either. This is one of the hardest things for me to talk about, why I don't work any more.

Sometimes I feel like those dreams were snatched from me. Paying student loans every month, if I can even afford to pay them let's be honest, feels like blood money. So, every month m-f-ing Sallie Mae is a sweet little reminder that all those hopes of a career outside of the rat race were for naught.

I'm a schmuck like every one else now. There's no paint under my fingernails and my pants never have ink or charcoal smeared all over them. The only stains on my clothes now are spit up (I really don't mind those though). Let me be clear, me not working has nothing to do with Evelyn. In fact, she's inspired at least some creativity. I quit working well before she arrived in our life.

Since I left CIA I've been twiddling my thumbs at a job I never even knew existed. Some days, yes, I make a difference. But, this isn't what I dreamt of for years.

Yes, I literally have dreamt of being an artist. I would imagine canvases, prints, the composition, the colors, the textures. I'd hear the sounds of a press and smell the ink. But I haven't in a long time. Until the other night. I finally dreamt some hazy canvas, a jumble of words.

I leave you with a Picasso quote that runs through my mind of late and a very old painting series of mine from 2006.

What to do?

Inspiration exists, but it has to find us working.
~ Pablo Picasso 

"Heal" April 16, 2006



  1. Elena, these canvases and inFARKINGcredible!! I had no idea that you had moved outside of realism. My first impulse is that I want to nuzzle them. Is that strange? I fully blame motherhood for my exit from creative life for a while. I have a futzed relationship with music, my first and brightest burning love, anyway. How are we supposed to make a PERSON and make some art at the same time? I felt while Isaac was gestating that he was coming from the same place inside me that writing comes from. And I have had NO DESIRE to write POOems since he was born and even threw away all my old ones yesterday. It felt good. Jesus. These canvases. I can't even find words. They make me a little squirmy. Total love.

  2. So odd, just read your most recent post...was squirming over your lovely WORDS! And here, find you squirming over my now five year old work. Oh, and me and realism are still good friends. I'm either working on the far reaches of ultra-realism, or deep space of abstraction. But, then again I shouldn't be using the present tense. I'm not working. I guess that's the point. My creative soul wasn't zapped by gestation, more ripped from me when I had to drop out of art school. But, now trying to get back to work I can't seem to find art in the chaos of mommy-hood. Oh wiser, slightly more experienced Mommy, when oh when will it come back to me?