The WCANH group has just begun a new "challenge". This one is a round robin of Moleskine accordian journals and Zentangles. Should be a lot of fun.  For mine, I divided it up as four pages with a frame and a wavy "string" going across every page. The fifth page is to try and tie each artist's pages to the next ones. I'm asking each artist to try and incorporate some letters and/or words into their tangles. In this one I put an Escher quote and the words "Art Child".

I was inspired by a birth and a death this week. Rick and Maria - the founders of Zentangle, have a new grandbaby - that's the birth. And the death - my grandmother died on Monday. So the quote applies to them and to me as well. Art kids all.

I probably don't need to say that this week... sucked. The memorial service is next week, so I imagine next week may be tough too. Except, I intend to run away for a few days to Maine and stick my head in the sand. That should help alot. BUT, back to tangles, working on this zentangle was very soothing. I thought about babies and my grandmother and artsy people and things I want to do and accomplish before I die. Maybe this image is very complex and chaotic, but to me, it is orderly and multi-layered. I decided that, yes, there is an awful lot to do. The list never seems to end. But that is a good thing... because it does end, and not always when you die. Perhaps the secret of life is finding a way to time it perfectly! Imagine dying the very day you finish everything on all your lists. Last item: take a nap. I've been thinking so much about my Grandmother and her life and I finally think I know why I feel so sad. I think it's because she completed her list and just existed for these last few years with no goals, purpose, desires... nothing. That's a living purgatory. Whenever I have had to take anti-depressants, it's been like that. Flat, gray, nothing. I would rather scream, cry and do stupid things. Because there is always the possibility of things improving. But when you are in purgatory, you can't even see dying as a goal. No purpose at all. Nothingness. uhhh...shiver. The thought is so claustrophobic it makes me queasy.

So now I know. My sadness is my own fear of having no purpose. I learned this by zentangling. Interesting.

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