Allison Howard – Walking heart

You know, I don’t mind the art you can buy at the big Ikea stores. I haven’t ever bought any myself; and admittedly walking through those arrow guided floors, I tend to move a little quicker through this sterilised section. It feels like walking through a morgue of clock faces and generic picture frames, hundreds of them all stacked and lined up on top of one other. But as frightening as this may seem, I feel, this socially conformed art work does have a place. 

These pieces, with their perfectly generic atheistic has a calming effect, and this works wonderfully in areas requiring compliance and a void of emotive thinking. Places such as doctors’ offices, dental waiting rooms or display homes; even some suburban cafe’s that serve lukewarm tea, with the Lipton bags tied to the handle of small white cheap ceramic pots. I even know some people that like and enjoy the multiple repeated images of large tropical fern leaves, sealed behind 0.5 millimetre glass, encased in beige fake wooden frames, with their universally controlled appeal. But I have found that these art “collectors” are generally not “my” people, I have met them, they are nice, and they too have a place and use in life, probably similar to the fate of the art work they like, but never the less they have a right to their own existence, however beige that may seem to me. 

This has got me thinking about people and personalities and what goes with what, or who goes with whom. Why we select and surround ourselves with certain types of individuals and where does choice come into this? I have been thinking about how and why you move and interact with other people, and how you can curate your own life. Similar to a colour pallet you use for one painting, but then change it for another. Can we look at relationships like a gallery does for an exhibition? Do we choose the people in our lives and everything in it to make what works for you, beautiful and hopefully significant? The simple answer to this is Yes you can.  

What started me thinking about this was, my family and I went out to dinner with a wonderful group of people. This group consisted of some of my girlfriends, their partners and of course their kids. It was a wonderful night, full of yummy food, laughing, wine and of course conversation, and as usual I got excited. Now, I didn’t come in hot and “take the floor” right away, initially, I was determined to play it cool and hold my tongue, and in my defence I believe I achieved my reserved intention, for the first 30 minutes anyway, but I can’t help myself, it was just so wonderful to be out and chatting to people that I feel connected to, that my story teller jumping up and down inside my brain took over. I had reams of new stories, adventures and quirky tales to share with everyone. 

So alongside over eating the cheese platter, I also performed my usual trick of taking over the conversation. Now, if you are a dedicated follower of mine you would know that this charge of conversation monopolising has been laid at my door before, (quite aggressively I might add). So lately when out with people, I am very conscious of doing this and try my hardest to keep my enthusiastic story-telling to the minimum. Earlier, when my paranoia concerning this was really bad, one evening, instead of talking, I kept shovelling pizza in my mouth to prevent the words from coming out. I ate so much pizza that night I could barely walk to the car. But not at this party, this time my attempt at silence completely failed. 

In my defence, I wasn’t aware of what was happening, as I was only responding to questions that were thrown at me in response to what I was saying, and as the laughing and cheering rose with each tale my enthusiasm increased, to the point where, half way through one of my soliloquies someone mentioned that I had taken over the conversation. This shocked me and I panicked, thankfully the kids where all getting tired and it wasn’t long after that little quip the night came to an end. So as my amazing husband calmly drove us home, I sat in the passenger seat sinking deeper and deeper into utter embarrassment and shame. How could I have let that happen? Why can’t I just sit there quietly responding quickly with nice, simple witty one liner remarks? Why does every one of my stories end up in full colour, loud and vomiting all over the evening like a gastro ridden toddler. 

Now, I am not upset at the comment itself, as looking plainly, it was simply a direct and honest observation that had absolutely no malice behind it, and the person who noted this phenomenon would not have known the direct effect it had on me, as I have kept this aspect of my wounding silent accept to my very close friends (and here of course ☺). Looking at this in a positive light, I am actually grateful that this negative personality trait of mine has been identified, so I am able to work on it, finding avenues of space and calm not only in my solitary life, but also in my social circles as well, so on a whole it is not a bad thing.

But unfortunately this time, my desire to be calm, evaporated and left me hung over with regret the next morning. And as I stomped around my beautiful hills, I berated myself with all the horrible questions, why, why, why, you idiot, you always do this, no one will ever like you, why can’t I just be normal?  And then suddenly the answer hit me, there in the early Autumn dew and sacred yellow light of the quiet sunrise, the answer came to me. The resolution was so simple and obvious, that I nearly tripped over it. 

You see, I was not the only person at the table, I wasn’t forcing the conversation to my whim, I was just responding to questions posed to me in response to what I was saying. If the other people on that long table did not feel connected to what I was talking about, they did not have to listen. I wasn’t holding them down and forcing them to hear tales of incompetent utility companies or primary school bureaucratic ridiculousness. They chose to listen and respond with questions and comments in kind. If they wanted to speak, there was absolutely nothing holding them back. They could have simply turned to the person next to them and start their own conversation, despite what I was nattering on about, or better still they could have joined in with me. 

Admittedly, intercepting a conversation whilst I have a hold of it, is not for the faint hearted, but it can be done. I relish in the arrival of a fellow enthusiast, as it makes for an even better evening. Almost like watching a grand slam tennis match bouncing the conversation back and forth in a rally that would rival any top seeded professional. 

Now, this brings me back to how we decorate our lives, and the people we choose to have in it. You see, the energy I bring to a dinner, BBQ, or any event, is big and loud like a heavily painted Jackson Pollock, crowded with oil and colour, struck on the canvas with large brush strokes and chunky pallet knife cuts. This chaos may seem out of control, but there is a rhythm to it. And in the early morning light of my beautiful hills, I suddenly realised, I am a large and beautiful oil painting.

What I mean by this is, that it is not a fault of mine, that I can tell stories which bring colour to even the most mundane subject. I will not be censured for being able to decorate a conversation with a vast array of colours or verbally illustrate a story so vibrantly that the listener feels like they were there. It is not a fault of mine that I am comfortable holding a whole table to my attention. I was painted like this, what you see and hear is me and nothing less. And if someone doesn’t like this, or it makes people uncomfortable, the responsibility is not mine, the fault is directly theirs. 

Basically, I am a chunky old oil painting, unsigned and found at the back of a dusty old framers or Opp-shop. A discarded master piece, that may not be for everyone, but when discovered and the connection made, will not fade and the colours hold solid. I cannot and will never be, a plain Ikea print, insipid and repeated  a 1000 times over. No matter how hard I try I cannot have quiet watered down sterile conversations, and unfortunately, if you are an individual that does not want my vigor at your particular event, I encourage you to be the curator of your own life’s gallery. In short, if you don’t want my energy at your event, do not invite me, I won’t be upset, in fact I have gotten to the age where I would prefer not to go. 

This brings me to my art work for this month and an affirmation, that resonates with me to my very core, and I repeat it to myself nearly on a daily basis. With this it gives me the confidence to be my true self staying honest here in my writing and also my external life. 

“I speak my truth, people meant for my life will want to listen and welcome my authentic self with open arms.”  

The art work is not an illustration this time, but 2 oil paintings I created a couple of years ago as I started my early morning walks. They are titled “Sunrise 1 & 2” oil on canvas. These pieces where done quite quickly and with my beloved pallet knife. I feel this approach is so perfect for capturing the magic sunrises that I so dearly love to witness. This time of the day is so wonderful and brings me solid comfort and peace, and is such an amazing way to begin the morning. 

Hope everyone is keeping safe and well and having a great April. See you in May xoxo.