Hi All,
Tonite is Wednesday. What a strange few days it has been. I realized tonite something that, every so often, I realize. Living in negative space is uncomfortable and unpleasant and does not have to be done. Whenever I begin thinking about this topic--negative thinking--I very frequently am reminded of the art lessons that my parents got for me when I was maybe 9. The women who was teaching me was a very amazing teacher and artist. She had me do all sorts of exercises and one of the thing things that she taught me how to do was draw negative space. It is a very interesting exercise which basically forces you to look at whatever you are drawing in a totally different way. It is hard and requires concentration, patience, and practice. None of these things I had in large supply at 9 or 10 or 11 or whenever it was that I got my lessons.
Needless to say that the lessons did not stick but the practice, the thinking, the concepts did stick. In fact, I often find myself coming back to some of her teachings and nodding to myself. Yes, she was smart. My negative space drawing actually came out pretty good. It surprised me at the time that my negative space drawing ended up looking remarkably similar to the actual object. The only person who really knew my trick was me. I realized then that what I look at, quite literally is what I see.
A few weeks later I was copying Picasso upside down. Again I was forced to abandon my own ideas of what was in front of me and instead just draw what I saw. That time my picture was downright good. I was stunned to see when I was done that I had copied a Picasso pretty well--never knowing while I was drawing what I was looking at. I had drawn what was there, the lines, and that's all.
So how does any of this go with recovery, my day, or anything else? I realized today that I was drawing in negative space. I mean I felt it. I felt how my attention, my thinking, my lines were drawing what was missing. No one else might know this but me, but I know. I know that what might be an interesting drawing exercise is a downright destructive thinking one. When I look at what's not there then that is what I see and when I allow what's not there to inform what is there then I am really, well, done for.
My father's death in many ways could be blamed for my negativity, my anxiety , my "stress" but I know that is also a lie. My proclivity towards the negative, the obsessive, the destructive side of things is something I talk about openly. I spent years drinking, smoking, and thinking obsessively about what I didn't have or might lose. I didn't consciously do this--I just sort of ended up there. A habit. A pattern. A lifestyle. An addiction. This time my pain knocked me down down down inside of myself. I have written about finding out about his death and wanting to go outside and just scream at the night but when I look back now I feel as if I was falling. Falling. Falling.
When I came to I was at the bottom of the inside of myself. I was in my deepest fears. In my oldest insecurities. In a primal place of darkness that I thought I had left behind years ago. It has taken time, patience, and strength to recognize just where I am and just where I have been. Where I am is trudging back up those stairs. Plodding. Slowly moving one step at a time back from the bottom. I try not to look back because I am not sure I can stomach the view. I try not to look forward because I don't want to lose my balance. I am just staying focused on the steps. One at a time. Forward. Up. Forward. Up. Forward. Up.
The first day I woke up after my father's death I remember I thought to myself how will I do this day? How am I supposed to do it? My brain so trained told me one step at a time. I remember thinking about that as I walked down the stairs and into the shower. One step at a time. I thought that thought so frequently that day and into the next and the next. The next right thing. One day at a time. Let go and Let God. The AA slogans that once made no sense to me have returned to me over and over when I need them. So when my friend asked me the other night if I thought about drinking after my Dad died, I wasn't lying at all when I said, No, I really didn't. The truth is, I thought about living. xxK
Tonite is Wednesday. What a strange few days it has been. I realized tonite something that, every so often, I realize. Living in negative space is uncomfortable and unpleasant and does not have to be done. Whenever I begin thinking about this topic--negative thinking--I very frequently am reminded of the art lessons that my parents got for me when I was maybe 9. The women who was teaching me was a very amazing teacher and artist. She had me do all sorts of exercises and one of the thing things that she taught me how to do was draw negative space. It is a very interesting exercise which basically forces you to look at whatever you are drawing in a totally different way. It is hard and requires concentration, patience, and practice. None of these things I had in large supply at 9 or 10 or 11 or whenever it was that I got my lessons.
Needless to say that the lessons did not stick but the practice, the thinking, the concepts did stick. In fact, I often find myself coming back to some of her teachings and nodding to myself. Yes, she was smart. My negative space drawing actually came out pretty good. It surprised me at the time that my negative space drawing ended up looking remarkably similar to the actual object. The only person who really knew my trick was me. I realized then that what I look at, quite literally is what I see.
A few weeks later I was copying Picasso upside down. Again I was forced to abandon my own ideas of what was in front of me and instead just draw what I saw. That time my picture was downright good. I was stunned to see when I was done that I had copied a Picasso pretty well--never knowing while I was drawing what I was looking at. I had drawn what was there, the lines, and that's all.
So how does any of this go with recovery, my day, or anything else? I realized today that I was drawing in negative space. I mean I felt it. I felt how my attention, my thinking, my lines were drawing what was missing. No one else might know this but me, but I know. I know that what might be an interesting drawing exercise is a downright destructive thinking one. When I look at what's not there then that is what I see and when I allow what's not there to inform what is there then I am really, well, done for.
My father's death in many ways could be blamed for my negativity, my anxiety , my "stress" but I know that is also a lie. My proclivity towards the negative, the obsessive, the destructive side of things is something I talk about openly. I spent years drinking, smoking, and thinking obsessively about what I didn't have or might lose. I didn't consciously do this--I just sort of ended up there. A habit. A pattern. A lifestyle. An addiction. This time my pain knocked me down down down inside of myself. I have written about finding out about his death and wanting to go outside and just scream at the night but when I look back now I feel as if I was falling. Falling. Falling.
When I came to I was at the bottom of the inside of myself. I was in my deepest fears. In my oldest insecurities. In a primal place of darkness that I thought I had left behind years ago. It has taken time, patience, and strength to recognize just where I am and just where I have been. Where I am is trudging back up those stairs. Plodding. Slowly moving one step at a time back from the bottom. I try not to look back because I am not sure I can stomach the view. I try not to look forward because I don't want to lose my balance. I am just staying focused on the steps. One at a time. Forward. Up. Forward. Up. Forward. Up.
The first day I woke up after my father's death I remember I thought to myself how will I do this day? How am I supposed to do it? My brain so trained told me one step at a time. I remember thinking about that as I walked down the stairs and into the shower. One step at a time. I thought that thought so frequently that day and into the next and the next. The next right thing. One day at a time. Let go and Let God. The AA slogans that once made no sense to me have returned to me over and over when I need them. So when my friend asked me the other night if I thought about drinking after my Dad died, I wasn't lying at all when I said, No, I really didn't. The truth is, I thought about living. xxK
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