Month: April 2023

Posted in Emotions, Fat, Photography

Now that I’m 70…

Posted on by debthumanblog

Now that I’m 70, I can do things I thought I couldn’t. When I turned 40, I decided I could learn anything I wanted. The entire world was open for me to explore. When I turned 60, I discovered that finite life wasn’t a far-off thing, it was real and it was immediate.

When I turned 70, telling people I’m a nude model is fun. There’s nothing embarrassing about sitting in front of a class full of art students who are dutifully drawing my flab, sags, and bags. I get paid $18 an hour to take off my clothes, sit in a chair and hold still.

When I turned 70, I felt the same as when I turned 40 although what I want to learn now is different. I am convinced I can return my body to health. I am convinced I can learn why I over eat. There’s a reason, but I’ve never figured out what it is.  I’m pretty sure it has to do with growing up in a toxic family. But I don’t have that family anymore, so now I can heal.

I’m convinced I can heal and reverse the peripheral neuropathy. Forget the crap spewed out by neurologists. Nerves regenerate. The fact that nerves regenerate slowly doesn’t negate the fact that they regenerate.

I am learning how to regain and maintain a healthy weight. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to cook. I come from a long line of throw it in the pot and hope it’s edible cooks. Now that I’m 70, I can learn how to cook.

I am learning how to paint although I’m not good at it. I’ll get better if I keep painting.

I am learning to take sewing seriously, take my time, and do it right. Before, it was a matter of how fast I could complete a project.

I am learning to accept that I don’t do pretty art. My art kicks you in the gut even if you don’t want to be kicked.

I am learning to write honestly and not hold back. If I embarrass someone who needs to be embarrassed in the process, then that’s what happens. It’s not my job to hide someone else’s flaws.

What I’m not learning is how to get past this feeling that everything I create is crap. It’s not that my work is technically flawed – that I could fix. There’s something missing in my work and I can’t figure out what it is. Colors don’t look right. Lighting doesn’t look right. Clothes don’t look right. I can’t find the problem and if I can’t find the problem, I can’t find the solution.

I tried to photograph an entire ocotillo plant. That’s not easy because the plants are a good 8′-10′ tall. By the time I get the entire plant in a photo, I get too much background. My point in taking this photo was to show the spiny branches and how they are devoid of leaves at the moment. I failed.

I tried photographing a spike of ocotillo flowers and managed to show the spines. The photo is technically correct, but it doesn’t sing to me.

The yuccas that are blooming now are the variety where the flowers hide in the leaves. It shows what I meant to show, but it doesn’t sing to me. I’ve tinkered with saturation, but that doesn’t solve the problem.

Maybe I’m trying too hard? I did get a shot of a single flower, but I can’t isolate the flower. And maybe the flower doesn’t need to be isolated. Maybe it’s enough to show the plant as it is. Used to be, that was enough for me.

I managed to show new growth on the prickly pear, but there’s nothing exciting in this photo.

It’s almost hidden that I wanted to show the buds on this prickly pear.

I’ve been playing with fabric designs, but the joy is missing.

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

Posted in bipolar disorder

Some days, bipolar disorder sucks

Posted on by debthumanblog

Some days, and this is one, the best I can do is get through the day without screaming.

I had to go back down on the wellbutrin dose because the brain fog was driving me nuts. Today, I’m irritable and worried that I will eat everything in the house. Wellbutrin takes away the food cravings.

We’re having work done on the heating and cooling. The furnace and air conditioners are 21 years old and cantankerous.  The work is badly needed, but it has disrupted the house. Today is the last day they will be working here which is good because I’m not sure I could get through another day. I wanted to spend the day in the sewing room, but that’s a bad idea. They are working across the hall from the sewing room and I don’t want to be interrupting them every time I need to go in or out of the sewing room.

Brady is going nuts barking and trying to drive off the intruders. I’m not able to deal with a barking dog today. I feel guilty because I’m not being loving to Brady today. She still loves me, though. Amazing how a dog can give unconditional love no matter how the human is feeling.

My ears are messed up again and the vertigo is back. I see the physical therapist tomorrow.

I’m behind in my painting class. This is an independent study and I’m auditing. It’s okay if some of my work is not finished. I’m finishing the 15th and 16th painting this semester. Some of the art majors can’t manage to finish two paintings. Still, I’m bothered by the specter of not finishing my work.

While reading the New York Times this morning, I felt as if I absolutely cannot write. I’m not writing great stuff. I’m writing about bipolar disorder, loving a cop, an officer involved shooting, and the crap that was my childhood.

Both my husband and I need to make some radical changes in our eating for a host of health reasons. Great, but not only don’t I want to cook, I can’t cook for beans.

I only had 3.5 hours sleep, and I want to go back to bed….except I can’t while workmen are here.

Other than that, my life is perfect.

This is what bipolar disorder looks like.

Posted in Beads, Emotions, Photography, Sewing

Burnout? Or maybe not doing enough?

Posted on by debthumanblog

Some days, today being one, making art is difficult. I put beads in a row to make a necklace, and I hate every necklace I try to make. Nothing looks right. Aquamarine beads don’t look right coupled with any other variety of bead. I’ve got blue, teal, yellow and red tiger eye beads. None look right with any other variety of bead.  Swarovski crystals don’t add anything to a collection of beads. Neither do pearls. I just bought sparkly black opals. Even though I have severe bling addiction and love sparkle, I can’t come up with a design in which to use them.

I’m stuck.

I’ve got a pattern for pajama bottoms laid out, but I don’t feel like cutting it out and sewing the pieces together. I’ve got a pair of slacks almost done, but I don’t feel like doing the final chore: inserting elastic. I need a pair of white slacks and I’ve got some white linen/cotton blend. I don’t feel like laying out a pattern.

I’ve started writing a second novel, but don’t feel like writing it. Maybe it’s because of how I’ll feel while I’m writing it. I don’t write fluff. I write my guts. My guts take a lot out of me. The novel is about the hell I went through working at the Public Defender Department – a hell that nearly killed me.

I want to blame this malaise on external events. Except external events aren’t the cause of my malaise. My painting teacher said my work is self-taught folk art. Um….doesn’t taking art classes take my work out of the self-taught category? Folk art? What the fecal matter is folk art? Anna Robertson Moses created folk art. I like to think my work is more refined than Moses’ work – which isn’t taken seriously. If Anna Robertson Moses’ work were taken seriously, she wouldn’t be known as Grandma Moses.

Maybe the subject matter of my current work contributes to the malaise. I’m doing another painting about mass shooting. Painting about antisemitism during Passover and on Holocaust Remembrance Day is a strange experience. I paint while thinking about hatred, oppression, slavery. The two landscapes I’m working on aren’t enough of an emotional break. Worse, a third mass shooting painting is working itself through my mind.

I take photographs of the spring blooms in my yard, but I hate the photos. There’s no magic in them. There’s nothing in the photos which grabs my attention.

I love yucca flowers. I don’t love the photos of yucca flowers I’m taking.

I don’t think the problem is my photos. My photos are technically good, but they don’t give me joy.

Why am I not happy about the crisp detail in this photo?

Why am I not pleased with the playfulness of this composition? I can’t even imagine turning this into a fabric design – and I love designing fabric.

I’m stuck. How do I get unstuck?

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/

Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

Posted in Law, words, Writing A Novel

Never Flush A Condom If You Have A Septic Tank.

Posted on by debthumanblog

It took me seven years to finish writing my first novel, Don’t Flush The Condom. Finding an agent is hard. I can’t figure out what genera would contain this story. Creative non-fiction? The story is based on my real life. Fiction? Okay, but for whom? It’s definitely not chick lit or a rom com. It’s not action filled. It’s not a mystery. It’s not fantasy or science fiction.  Cross genera is about the best I can do picking a label. Writers have to match their work with agents who represent writers who are in the same genera. There’s no genera named: Damned If I Know What Genera This Is.

Putting 43,000+ words into one sentence that will make an agent want to read my work is harder than writing the novel. One of my writing teachers said the goal of writing a novel is to get it written not to get it published. Fine for him, but I want my work published. I have something to say, and people need to hear it.

The story is about a Jewish, bipolar, widowed criminal defense attorney who is in love with a police officer. She’s Wonder Woman with insecurities working for an unnamed law firm and is supervised by an unnamed, inept supervisor. Her neighbor is shot and killed by police and one of her homeless clients is murdered. The story takes place in a fictional town in New Mexico. Included is a nearly verbatim recitation of what happened when I crashed my mother’s funeral. There’s also an explanation about why I can’t get through airport security without getting manually searched. I left out the part about how I deal with TSA. If I’m going to be felt up, I’m going to give the person something to feel. I never wear a bra when I fly.

Soon after I finished the first novel, I started writing the second novel. The first novel contains bits and pieces of my life as a criminal defense attorney. The second novel will likely be about the mental health toll working for a public defender department takes. I wanted it to be about the female character proposing marriage to the male character while dancing on the bottom of the earth, but that story can’t be written. I haven’t yet visited the South Pole – somewhere I badly want to go. I want to dance on the bottom of the earth at the geographic South Pole.

I’m extremely careful not to mention the name of the law firm where the female character works because I don’t want to get sued. The public defender department is top heavy with vindictive, petty, incompetent managers.

A bit of irony. Eventually, I managed to piss off just about every manager I dealt with. One day, I put up a major fight for a client. He had a sex offense conviction from California and the prosecutor wanted to convict my client of not registering as a sex offender. The pertinent statue, Molest or Annoy a Child, is so vague that if you make your child eat broccoli you can be convicted and have to register as a sex offender. I lost. I filed an appeal. I won. The prosecutor filed an appeal. The NM Supreme Court decided in my favor but had to toss in a number of hoops through which prosecutors have to jump. Said hoops are based on the rationale I used in the original appeal. Eventually, a manager who I happily pissed off used my case to further his career. Except his career went nowhere. As a friend says, he was kissed by karma.

Posted in bipolar disorder, Depression, Fiber, Photography

Has It Stopped Hurting Yet?

Posted on by debthumanblog

I’m filled with unease. Unsatisfaction. Emptiness. Depression. There’s an unspeakable lack inside. Something so basic, and something which cannot be discussed. Discussion won’t fill the emptiness. I know; I’ve tried. I don’t have any answers. At least I’m not suicidal. Yet this misery disappears as quickly as it appears. While it’s here, I think whatever art I’m working on sucks. The photos I take don’t amaze me, yet I can’t tell if they are bad shots. The necklaces I’m working on look ugly to me. There’s no magic in them.

I’m about to embark on another Magical Mystery Ketamine Tour. I have a zoom meeting on Tuesday. I’ll get sent my supply of Ketamine and I will be working on how to love myself.

I’ve finished writing the novel. Now, I need to find an agent; but to do that, I need to distill 43,000 words into one gut-grabbing sentence. Writing the novel was easier. In the meantime, I’ve started writing the second novel. I’m not looking forward to writing pages only to discard them. It’s the only way I know to write a novel.

I’ve been working on some fabric designs. I’m waiting for a good sale at Spoonflower so I can get 168+ designs proofed.

I’ve been playing around with lines and dots.

And squiggles

I love designing with metallic colors.

I think this one might work with the kaleidoscope faces for Apple Watch.

This one is just for fun. I may do some more faces.

There’s a fairy ring in the back yard. It’s not made of mushrooms and toad stools. This one is made of yucca plants. The circle of yuccas was growing wild, and we left it where it was. We’ve been here 21 years and this is the first time the fairy ring bloomed.

Fairy ring.

Blossoms hiding among the leaves.

This was a tough one to expose. Get the plant exposed properly, and the sky blows out. Get the sky exposed properly, and the plant is black.

Peek a boo.

I haven’t decided if I like this next shot. I usually avoid the traditional golden hours when the world has a golden cast. When I got up yesterday, I saw the fairy ring, and started photographing the blooms in the back yard.

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

My online store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

Posted in Uncategorized

Trying To Ease The Depression

Posted on by debthumanblog

I don’t feel like doing anything and had to push myself to do some photography. Being outside and concentrating on flowers helped, but not enough. I’m going to have to take an extra antidepressant today. My doctor knows I do this when necessary.

I think these would make interesting whole cloth designs.

Jim broke up the iris clump last fall and now we’ve got little clumps flowering.

Each of the claret cup cactus bloom at a different time.

Close up of claret cup flowers.

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

My shop Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

Posted in Photography

Moon Magic

Posted on by debthumanblog

While I’m a whole lot steadier than I was before physical therapy, I’m still not ready to get out the tripod and the 150-600mm lens and shoot the moon. I’m afraid I’ll start to feel unsteady and trip over the tripod. I’m still using my 18-400mm lens for moon shots.

Next, I added magic.

I’ll use the shots for fabric designs.

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

My shop Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

Posted in bipolar disorder

Some Days, Being Bipolar Sucks

Posted on by debthumanblog

I seem to be having a mixed episode where I get to be simultaneously manic and depressed. So far today, I walked into a shit storm and got viciously attacked. Next, I made the mistake of believing someone who said they wanted to understand. Hah! Found out the hard way the person wasn’t serious. I have a good reason for being depressed. I can’t solve the problem my myself and I’m the only one who wants to solve the problem. Alternative options aren’t ones I’m willing to pursue – mostly because the options are irreversible and likely worse than the original problem. Although I try hard to handle customer service issues via email, that’s not always possible. I had no choice but to make a phone call. Naturally the customer service number on the website wasn’t the correct number. I did get the issue resolved, but there’s no reason for it to be this difficult to rectify a simple matter.

So. What do I do? I don’t feel like making art. I don’t feel like reading. I don’t feel like doing anything. I had to force myself to take my psych meds. I wish my dog were fully trained to be my service dog. I know she could help me if only she had learned what smells needed her attention. We’ve just started the service dog training. At present, she’s learning how to navigate Hobby Lobby and JoAnn’s.

I feel like eating everything that isn’t nailed down, but that would only make me feel worse. And it’s Passover so treats are difficult and I don’t feel like driving to the store to buy chocolate chips so I could make matzoh crack.

And so I sit here feeling depressed, miserable and not finding a viable solution. Today, being bipolar sucks.