Art & Emotional Expression: the good, the bad and the WTF

Emotional expression in art is inevitable, whether the artist likes it, or not.

It’s been an admin sort of week here at MKPG Art.  I finally got taxes dealt with.  I organized all of my to do’s for my June art show in Bend, Oregon.  I got all the things from my trip unpacked and put away back in the studio.  I social media’d my little heart out about my artwork’s appearance on HGTV.


What’s missing from this picture?  Art creation.  My studio process has been annoyingly “stuck”.  I made some progress with two little 8x10 paintings only to get frustrated and cover them both completely with black paint.  I sanded back some of the dark paint and allowed the bright colors underneath to peak through (see above).  There is something there. I’m just not sure what it is and/or if I like it.


All I know is that I’m tempted by building supplies like joint compound right now and I’m a bit worried that I will end up with a bunch of paintings that weight a million pounds and look like they’ve been pried from a falling down piece of architecture…but that also kind of excites me.  I’m choosing to follow my art mantra which is “when in doubt, DO!” and so I am looking forward to heading into the studio this afternoon with the goal of dying and texturizing joint compound to slather all over these two pieces.  I may need a pick ax afterwards…but honestly, that kind of sounds fun as well.


I feel like I’ve said “it’s been hard to get into a groove this year” about a hundred times, but damn…it’s been hard to get into a groove this year!   I think that part of the problem is that for the first time, I feel as though I’m stuck working on a series of paintings because of a deadline.  If there is one thing I know about myself, it’s that being forced to complete something is a terrific way to get me to not want to do it. 


And what’s up with that?  Is that just a stubborn, independent person’s problem?  I feel like I’m the kind of person that will get stupid excited for something, until someone tells me that I HAVE to do it.  Then I just want to move onto the next thing.  I’ve not had that creep up in a series of paintings though, until now.


What is it about this series that has me feeling so bogged down?  For one, I suspect the difficult subject matter has something to do with it.  I’ve been focused on my past sexual trauma and it has been thrust into the spotlight once again this month, for various reasons, one being that April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month.  Look, I’m glad to be talking about the subject matter and it has helped me in processing difficult shyte.  However, I’d like to find a balance between expressing what has been locked up for years, and wanting to detach and move on.


There are a few challenges surrounding this for me.  For one, I like talking about it…until I can’t stand it anymore.  Honestly, I am grateful for this conversation and honored that I have become a voice within it.  Every time I hear from someone who thanks me for my raw honesty, tells me that they now know they aren’t alone, and connects the dots between past trauma and current emotional issues, I feel as though I have created positive change.  OMG THAT’S AWESOME.


However, I do occasionally find myself wanting to run and hide in the bathroom with the door locked and all the water running so no one can hear me curse and cry. Usually this happens after hearing from trolls, (I know there is nothing I can do about those nasty people.) but this has also been happening after particularly hard truths are expressed by others. More than once, people have said that the things they are telling me have never been said out loud before.  That’s amazing, yet terrifying.  I find myself in a place of “authority” on the matter and for that I feel humbled, burdened, grateful and like I want to throw up. 


I say this not to make those who have spoken their own truths to me feel bad.  That’s not it at all.  I guess it’s just important to me that the entire picture is seen.  Just because I’ve opened up about this in a public way doesn’t mean that I’m not still highly effected by it.  I still cry.  Not daily anymore as I was last Fall, but multiple times a week.  I think it’s because I’m still raw and maybe it’s difficult to heal entirely while still taking in the pain of others that's similar to my own.


Perhaps that’s why this series of paintings is difficult and my instinct is to literally burry it under construction materials.  I should experiment with my art and yet, I’m terrified by the metaphor.  Am I just finding new ways to burry my old pain?  Am I wanting to put it back now that it’s out in the open?  Does part of me wish I had never opened this Pandora’s box? 


I am finally doing what, as an artist, I've been striving to do: connecting my creations with my emotions.  I am expressing what has been hiding deep within me through words (easier) and images (waaaaaay more challenging).  Why is one so much easier than the other?  Maybe it’s because within essays, I can hide behind snarky sarcasm and self-deprecation and within the abstract painting, there is nowhere for me to hide.  What comes out, comes out, and frankly, it’s not always easy for me to look at. 


Truth be told, I kind of like what’s happening in the black paintings.  I like that the bright colors are popping through, almost in revolt.  Like it’s a “can’t hold me down!” kind of moment. But the colors also look as though they are trying not to be re-hidden.  They are struggling to stay bright and present.  They are nearly drowning in the darkness.  Both are perfect descriptions of how I feel and I can’t hide from that nor can I say that one is more powerful than the other. 


I know one thing, when weeding the yard looks more fun to me than painting, I’m either on the wrong path with what I’m working on, or absolutely spot on the right path of something that needs further (yet scary) discovery.  Oy…I think I just have to press on and get through this period.  Hopefully something powerful comes from it as I would like this to resolve with a bang rather than a whimper.  Frankly, the whimpering is a bit out of control these days and I’m realizing how scared I am.


I hate admitting that I’m scared.  I would like to think that freedom from my denial means that I’m all fixed now, but that’s not the truth.  I live in various forms of fear splattered with blood, sweat, tears and unpredictable yet incredibly empowering brave moments.  I believe that those moments are happening with more frequency, but when I’m in fear, they're hard to see. All I see is weakness and I find that dang annoying.  Today, I’m going to choose a different reaction to feeling weak.  Rather than hiding under black paint, blankets and Law & Order, I’m going to approach it head on…with joint compound…and a freakin’ pick axe.



I am an artist and writer, living in Talent, Oregon with my husband and daughter. I play in the ocean to stay strong and inspired, and I often visit my hometown of New Orleans, where the rhythm of my heartbeat is renewed. Follow me on Facebook and Instagram where I post stuff sometimes.  To hear from me more regularly, join me on this crazy, beautiful Artventure.



Leave a comment:

Please note, comments must be approved before they are published

Other articles:

How I Found Calm within the Anxiety Tornado by Organizing My Life

I have anxiety, but I'm learning how to successfully move through the tornado with (a bit more) grace, by shifting my thoughts and actions elsewhere.


It’s been an internal shit storm kind of week.  Not a catastrophic storm, by any means, but I’d say a category one, debris flinging, inconvenient tornado.  A baby tornado, if you will. 

Seeing as I was flying so high, predicted the down fall, and then…well…fell, I’m a little bummed out about this current tropical depression.  I thought maybe the high would last forever this time...and it didn’t.  That’s ok, because as always, I’m convinced to find a silver lining within the thunder clouds. 

I realize that finding the joy when chaos looms is not an easy thing to do.  When I feel down, everything is down.  It’s like the baseline for joy loses altitude due to the tectonic plate shift within my head.  The amount of altitude that is lost is based on the severity of the anxiety. 

In this case, last week’s anxiety attack built up slowly until it spilled out all over my dining room table during dinner. Thankfully, I was quick to talk about it (very quick…like a million words per minute quick), and resolve it before the spiral took hold. 

That was a week ago and I have been pretty jumpy ever since.  I’ve also found myself taking things waaaaaaay too personally.  I’ve had my feelings hurt by basically everyone I know over the past seven days. 

This period of time after an anxiety attack, even a little one like this one, is like a hangover.


This period of time after an anxiety attack, even a little one like this one, is like a hangover.  I’m exhausted, a bit depressed, shaky, and I want nothing but to lie on the sofa, watch Netflix, and eat copious amounts of crappy food until the wreckage is cleaned up. 

I do not have that luxury right now.  I have a million things to do, both for my work and personal life, including volunteering at two upcoming surfer girl retreats. I have been looking forward to these events for months, and in order to make them happen, I have to get ahead on my to do list. 

So, I’ve decided to concentrate on work and physical activity.  I went to my weekly Yoga class and I’ve been getting up each morning and going for a three mile walk while the air is still brisk out.  I’m also mantra-ing myself to death on these walks: “You are strong!  You are killing it at work! You will succeed!”.   

Normally, my first instinct would be to go surfing, but it wasn’t this time. Instead, my first instinct was to get shit done.  I think that my head felt so cluttered with the wreckage, that I needed to do a bit of cleaning. 

The past two months have been pretty dang surfcentric, anyway, so I decided to stayed home and went from task to task, annihilating the internal trash, and organizing the projectile brain debris back into its filing cabinets. I’m pretty much caught up on all the office work that had fallen behind and, YES LAWD, it feels good!      

I also finished the commission that was sitting on my easel.  I visited my woodworking friend, and got holes drilled for the next batch of Love Clubs, thus lining up my next creative move after the commission is finished and shipped off. (Stay tuned for more on a new Love Club series!) 

Half way through the week, I realized that my mind set was improving.  A week-and-a-half later, I’m nearly all the way healed, but still feeling a bit irritable and I'm still taking things personally.  *deep sigh. I’m getting there. 

In the midst of all of this, I'm proud to say that I’ve stayed pretty dang calm.  When I’ve needed to voice the things that were annoying me to my family, I’ve done so in a reasonable and humbling way.  Also, my emotional state isn't as volatile as it has been in the past, after an attack. 


I took action, and stayed active.

I think the reason why is because I didn’t wallow in the anxiety puddle.  I didn’t “woe as me” myself to death, and allow the depression part of the hang over to take hold.  Instead, I took action, and stayed active. 

I made improvements and progress within my work life, beginning with creating a daily to do list each morning, which directs me and helps me keep focus and momentum.  Sometimes I think half the anxiety battle is getting past those moments when I just want to surrender to the void. 

But the thing is, there is nothing in the void…that’s why it’s called the void.  It’s like eating empty calories.  It might taste good while you’re doing it, but if you do it for too long and too often, you’re going to have some health issues and a hell of a tummy ache. 

We all go through these moments of overwhelm.  For me, the key is to not let the overwhelm grow and take over.  I managed to avoid that by keeping momentum. By concentrating on actions that further something I care about, I didn’t head into panic central. 

In fact, the opposite happened.  I actually started feeling accomplished and like I was doing exactly was I was supposed to, instead of running around like a headless chicken. Maybe I’m tired of bumping into walls. Maybe I’m just getting better with practice.

Whatever the case may be, it worked, simply because I GOT TO WORK.  I have a number of completed projects to show for it, and I’m caught up so I can go to my surfer girl retreats without anything hanging over my head.

In the comments below, I’d love you to tell me one action that you could take the next time anxiety attempts to blow your house down, to keep you moving in the right direction instead of letting anxiety derail you. May the force be with you.

The image at top is from my Lovely Mess series.  Fractured Comfort, Acrylic & Paper on Canvas, 8"x8", $160.
Comfort can come and go.  It can break and heal.  It's an ebb and flow.  The trick is to not fall into the cracks and to focus on what's positive. The hearts are torn and partially hidden but they are there...  CLICK HERE to have this reminder for your own.



I am an artist and writer, living in Talent, Oregon with my husband and daughter. I play in the ocean to stay strong and inspired, and I often visit my hometown of New Orleans, where the rhythm of my heartbeat is renewed. Follow me on Facebook and Instagram where I post stuff sometimes.  To hear from me more regularly, join me on this crazy, beautiful Artventure.

How I Predicted My Last Anxiety Attack and It Made My Brain Go Wonky

If it’s true that we manifest our own destiny, is it also possible that we manifest our own suffering?  Does that mean we can stop it as well?

Last week I talked about how I’ve been feeling so good that it’s hard not to believe a down swing is right around the corner.  I discussed the mind fuck that this creates for me as it causes me to question if I’m creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.  That was last Thursday.

On Monday night, I had a panic attack, just as I predicted.  Even though I felt it brewing all day, I remained positive that perhaps it was nothing.  That, of course, could also be called denial. 

By the time my hubbie got home from work, I was completely irritable.  He told me something and asked me to keep it in confidence and my reply was to get totally defensive and ask if he thought I went around gossiping all the time.  (I mean, why else would he say that, right?)

Of course, that wasn’t the case, and that is partially why I asked.  It is important for me to know when I’m being overly sensitive (anxiety), and taking everything completely personally (anxiety), and feeling annoyed/depressed/jumpy at him and everything else around me (anxiety/anxiety/anxiety).


The familiar thoughts that everyone would be better off if I wasn’t around, that I’m a nuisance, and that he was completely disgusted with me because I was crumbling right in front of him, all began to dig deep and set roots into my brain.


I sat down with him to eat dinner and felt the pressure building up behind my eyes, like my head would explode any second.  The familiar thoughts that everyone would be better off if I wasn’t around, that I’m a nuisance, and that he was completely disgusted with me because I was crumbling right in front of him, all began to dig deep and set roots into my brain.

I talked through it.  Half rambling, half crying, but talking never-the-less.  I interrupted myself to take long, deep breaths.  I shook my hands down at my sides to release some of the vibrations that I felt running through my body.  I described to him the feeling of having 100 ideas circulating in my head all at once and how the words feel like they get tied up in knots around my tongue.

Part of my rambling was that I kind of believe I did it to myself.  I mean, last week I straight up said I was due for a low, and here it was just five days later.  WTF?  Part of me thinks that I am responsible.  Part of me thinks that I’m giving myself WAY too much credit.  I mean, am I really that powerful?

When I was a child, I had a recurring dream that I was in a vast open space, there didn’t even seem to be a ground, and in the middle, was what I can only describe as an enormous, tangled, cluster fuck.  It was an ever moving and shifting mass of wires, cables, and rope of varying sizes and textures, that was knotting in on itself in constant movement.  It was terrifying and as big as a mountain.

In the dream, I would feel an incredible amount of internal space, like the distance between my shoulder and hand was miles long.  You know that hell hallway in dreams that keeps getting longer?  Well imagine that feeling, but inside your body.

Then my gaze would go from the cluster, to a tiny daisy, just below it in its shadow.  That simplicity was comforting.  Then I would wake.

For years, I had this dream.  I still have it occasionally, usually when I have a fever.  It is the only visual I have for a panic attack.  Just thinking about it can bring up a shaky feeling in my belly.  But maybe it has been trying to tell me something, even all those years ago.

I DO believe that I brought on my anxiety attack.  I’m the person that would play hooky and call in sick to work, only to ACTUALLY get sick like 4 days later.  My brain body connection is strong and apparently still listening to old stories.  I made my brain go wonky by telling it that it was due to go wonky. 

But I think there may be something in those dreams that was telling me a secret.  That tiny flower sitting in the shadow of the madness is the key.  It always has been. 

Last week, I told myself that I was going to have a bout of anxiety.  I can’t help thinking those thoughts.  I wish I could but they are decades of habit in the making.  But maybe, with the help of that daisy, I can begin to reframe them, and start developing a new habit of focusing on something small and beautiful within the noise.

In reality, I’ve been processing this all year.  I created an entire series of paintings called, A Lovely Mess, which is all about finding the beauty within the chaos.  That’s what the dream was trying to tell me all along. 

The tornado may be huge, looming, chaotic, and loud.  It may be casting a huge shadow on everything around it, but look closely.  I bet there is a tiny bit of beauty in that shadow whose only existence is to say, “I’m still here!  I have always been here!  My roots are deep! I will never leave!”

So, the next time my brain goes wonky, or I predict that it’s due to go wonky, or when I can’t seem to see anything beautiful amongst the chaos, I’m going to think about that flower.  My hope is that by just changing the thought pattern, the attack won’t happen.  I’ll keep you posted.

Do you feel you manifest your own anxiety?  How do you keep it at bay? In the comments below, I’d love to know if you have a go to mantra, breathing exercise, or any other strategy for stopping anxiety before it grips you.  If not, maybe try my flower?  Let me know how it goes.


I have obviously been looking for my flower all along.  The painting at top is from my Lovely Mess series. Tending the Garden, 8"x8", Acrylic and Paper on Canvas.  It is for purchase for $160. CLICK HERE to purchase.    

Search for the beauty in the chaos.  It's still there amongst the noise.

I am an artist and writer, living in Talent, Oregon with my husband and daughter. I play in the ocean to stay strong and inspired, and I often visit my hometown of New Orleans, where the rhythm of my heartbeat is renewed. Follow me on Facebook and Instagram where I post stuff sometimes.  To hear from me more regularly, join me on this crazy, beautiful Artventure 










Breaking the Anxiety Cycle by Allowing Positivity to Rule

Sorry, negativity. There’s a new sheriff in town.

I’m just going to admit it.  I’ve been feeling pretty dang pleased with myself these days.  Being one who is aware of my anxiety cycles, I’m at the top of the wave right now.  Peaking in bliss and comfort.  I feel strong.  My energy is good.  My confidence is on point.  To be honest, I’m at the part of the cycle when I feel like maybe, just maybe, this time the peak won’t end. 

That thought brings with it a certain trepidation.  “Is everything too good to be true?  When will the down swing start?”  Then my mind will go on a full-fledged spiral. “Had I not started thinking about the down side, would it not have come?  Maybe it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy?” 

Then I’ll begin beating myself up for thinking negatively while I’m up so high.  “You just can’t stand the high without the low. Huh, Girl?  Maybe you like it somehow.  Maybe you need the lows so you feel the highs…”  The maybes can go on forever.

But something feels different to me.  My anxiety is rooted in my previous lack of being able to communicate my feelings, needs and wants.  It grew from past destructive behaviors that I abandoned over six years ago.  I have worked hard, for literally years, to change my mind set and thought patterns. 

So why should my anxiety cycle be the same?  Why shouldn’t I believe that the high can last longer now and maybe the low, isn’t quite as far down as it used to be.  Isn’t it plausible that my story can change? Yes. Yes, it is.

I cannot remember the last time that I was asked a question, and felt my words clumsily stumble over themselves in my mouth; rearranging their order based on what I thought the asker wanted the answer to be.  It’s different now.  I am clear.  I say what I think and feel. 

I say it in conversation and when I write these essays.  I say it when I’m in the ocean and standing at my easel.  My language is now rooted in strength and clarity.  My decision making based on the feeling sparked inside. 

What choice brings joy? 

What choice brings complications? 

What choice is plain none of my business? 

When I pick up my paint brush and create a shape on the canvas, my next move is based on what feels good.  When I think, “Now it’s time for red,” I don’t have an internal dialog on why or if that’s “right”, or that maybe I should use purple instead, or that red isn’t the new black, and I should choose something that’s trending…  I start mixing paint.  

When I’ve been on my surfboard for three hours and I’m getting tired, I may think to myself, “I’m just going to paddle past the break and rest for a minute.” I don’t then do head laps, wondering if that makes me look weak, or makes women surfers look bad, or that I should be able to keep going for another hour...  I paddle out and roll off my board to rest on the ocean surface for a moment.

I’m close to that in every decision I make.  Almost a knee jerk reaction.  Nearly involuntary.  Nearly.  But damn, I’m feeling so good.  Now if I could only stop worrying about when I’m not going to be feeling good. 

Sometimes I wonder if anxiety moves around the body.  I certainly have felt it in my stomach and in my heart beat.  I have felt it steal my voice from my throat.  I have felt it in my knees, shoulders, hips and wrists.  It likes to settle behind my eyes.

I’m curious as to when moves from physical manifestations to holding court in my brain.  I wonder how much is actually within my control?  How much is chemical?  What portion is simply bad wiring? 

Ah the questions… They could go on forever.  I think I’m going to say “no” to the questions before they are fully formed.  As soon as I feel them brewing between my eyes, I’ll just interrupt them.  They won’t be able to come to maturity.  Just, “No, anxiety, absolutely not.” 

We, people who suffer with anxious brains, are challenged decision makers.  It’s not because we lack the faculties. It’s because we hear 10 different scenarios, in 10 different volumes, all presenting themselves to us at once, when we’re asked what we want for fucking dinner. 

Now that I’ve changed some of my thinking and created stronger patterns, it might be time for the good changes to hijack the negative habits. I mean, positivity has been doing cross fit in my brain for years now.  I think it might be time for a coup to get negativity out of the lobel office. 

If I’m being completely honest, I think that has happened already.  I just don’t want to jinx it!


The painting at top is from my Lovely Mess series.  Enamored Flaws, 12"x12", Acrylic and Paper on Canvas.  Framed in a gold floater frame.  It is for purchase for $480. CLICK HERE to purchase.  Search for the beauty in the chaos.  It's still there amongst the noise.


I am an artist and writer, living in Talent, Oregon with my husband and daughter. I play in the ocean to stay strong and inspired, and I often visit my hometown of New Orleans, where the rhythm of my heartbeat is renewed. Follow me on Facebook and Instagram where I post stuff sometimes.  To hear from me more regularly, join me on this crazy, beautiful Artventure 

How I Choose Beauty While Accepting Chaos

Take the beauty as it comes.  Accept the chaos along the way.

I’ve been thinking, painting, and writing a lot lately about transition, chaos, and the beauty that may sometimes be hidden by the two.  During the hardest times of my life, the most challenging feelings within the hardships were always the same: fear and hopelessness.

We are in a tenuous time right now, and one where the default emotions could easily be fear and hopelessness. There are so many things to be angry and scared about.  Children in cages, xenophobia, racism, sexism and environmental doom come to mind.  I’m sure you could add to that list without batting an eye. 

I’m a sensitive person.  By typing the above 2 paragraphs, my eyes have filled with tears.  If I chose to focus on these things full time, I’m not sure I could go on.  I have to find a balance between wanting to be educated, aware, and of service, and not wanting to go bat shit crazy. 

I have a few notes on my desk for what I thought were 4 separate blog posts, but I realize that they are all notes for this one.  How to cope in this darkness.  How to stay light.  How to see the beauty amongst all of this insanity.  The following is a short and by no means complete list of how I’m managing to put one foot in front of the other right now. 

And just so you know, I take these steps bravely, with enthusiasm, and with the belief that there is a positive future ahead.  I’m not crying in my coffee every morning at all.  In many ways, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.  (Which may or may not be totally fucked up, but hey, I’ve never really done things in the “right” way or order, so it kind of makes sense.)

#1 Stop, Drop, and Breathe

The simplest of my strategies.  When I get in my head, I can actually get so lost in my thoughts that I begin to panic.  My heart rate quickens and my breath becomes shallower. I get mildly confused, like I can’t hold onto one thought at a time.  They keep slipping through my grasp.  I’ll feel tears behind my eyes like they are trying to bust through a dam.  If you’re familiar with anxiety, then you know what I’m describing: an anxiety attack.  

I’ve learned how to stop this cycle before it gets beyond the shallow breathing, and the solution is pretty dern obvious.  I make myself breathe better.  It goes like this: Inhale for a four count. Hold the breath for a four count. Exhale for an 8 count. Repeat as long as necessary for my heart rate to slow and the panic to subside.  It usually doesn’t take that long, although I’ve been practicing it for a while now. 

#2 Graciously take the beauty as it comes and accept the chaos along the way. 

Remember when we were little and we read children’s stories and many of them ended with the line, “…and they all lived happily ever after.”  Yeah…what a crock of shit that lesson is. It took me a laughably long time to realize that doesn’t happen.  I may have “happily after” periods of time but that “ever” part is a problem. 

I have issues with teaching our children that there is a finish line they’ll one day reach in life.  As much as I hate sounding like a downer, that finish line…well…it’s death.  That is the ONLY finish line there actually is.  Everything else is one big, fat, journey, and one that is filled with both incredible hardships, and infinite beauty. 

The trick for me was learning how to not completely fall apart, slip into self-victimization or into hopelessness during the hard times.  That doesn’t mean that I don’t feel those things, but I have a new way of dealing with them: acceptance that they will come, and they will go. And also, that the beauty found in everyday life does not disappear in hard times. 

We need to learn from our pain but not focus on it too much.  Our focus must be directed at the beautiful growth that comes afterwards.    

The beauty may get pushed onto the back burner for a minute while we’re putting out our proverbial fires, but it’s always there.  Searching it out when things are hard may seem to be counter-intuitive, but man, does it make life’s monkey wrenches easier to handle.  If I think about it, fire, while a destructive element that can cause pain, is also mesmerizingly beautiful and an exceptional tool, if used correctly. 

Also, did you know that some seeds must reach a certain temperature in order to germinate?  Fires can be a literal necessity for growth to occur.  We need to learn from our pain but not focus on it too much.  Our focus must be directed at the beautiful growth that comes because of the hardship.    

#3 Laugh in the face of adversity 

Have you ever had one of those moments where so many things are going wrong at once that you drop to the floor in a fit of laughter?  Well I have. Sometimes there is simply nothing else to do.  I suppose I could (and do at times) cry, scream, pass out and/or eat crappy food.  However, laughter is much more fun. 

My Love Club project is a great example of this.  I got overwhelmed by the idea that my rights as a woman could be stripped from me, while also being confronted with the fact that we have never been treated equally, and the feeling that we are expected to live up to unrealistic beauty and “lady-like” standards, while operating with grace in this world that seems to belittle and underestimate us. Not mention that we don’t feel very safe in said world.  I’m seething just typing this.

That anger led to the Love Club. A satirical art project meant to bring attention to everything I wrote above. I had to laugh at the ridiculousness that my friend down in California didn’t feel safe walking her Pitbull in the park across from her house.  I had to find humor that women are carrying hammers with them on their morning jogs.  I had to chuckle at the fact that I don’t know if it’s safer to make eye contact, smile, and say hello to strange men on the street, and risk a nasty sneer and an up and down sexual assessment, or not respond to the hello, steel myself while looking straight ahead, and risk being called a snotty bitch for not engaging.

I channeled that anger and frustration into art that I found hilarious, and yet meaningful.  I had to put it somewhere.  Otherwise, I felt pretty dang hopeless.

#4 Look to others for inspiration 

Sometimes I can’t find the inspiration within myself.  I’m overwhelmed with such a feeling of hopelessness that all I want is the comfort and safety of my bed. Times like these, I feel, are the most tenuous for me.  I will say that this particular brand of anxiety doesn’t happen to me as much anymore because I take pro-active steps to not let it get that far.  Other times, it can’t be helped. I have been dug out of that place before by others who inspire me.  Most are women.  My current favorite femme de force: Bethany Hamilton.

“I didn’t need easy.  I just needed possible.”  - Bethany Hamilton

When she was 13-years-old, Bethany Hamilton lost her arm to a shark while surfing at her home break in Hawaii.  She was back in the ocean surfing 4 weeks later, and won her first championship within 2 years.  Her spiritual life, love of family, and passion for surfing got her through and now she’s a wife and mother of two with no less than 6 championship titles under her belt.  She does all this with one arm.  ONE ARM!

Not only that, but in 2016, when she was nominated for a ESPY in the category of “Best Female Athlete with a Disability”, she pulled her name out of the running.  Her reasoning?  “To me, the word "disabled" does not match my life, and who I am, and what I've accomplished and the way I go about every single day.” She went on to say that if she had been nominated for “best adaptive athlete”, she would have accepted it gladly.

Of her amazing recovery and career, she says, “I didn’t need easy.  I just needed possible.” Yeah…they don’t call her the Soul Surfer for nothing.  Women like her make me believe that I can do anything and that nothing is out of reach…if I’m willing to work for it.  Also, her experience was harrowing.  She nearly died, was disfigured, and still saw the beauty and positivity within her life.  Man, most of my anxiety is caused by much smaller problems. She helps me put my troubles into perspective.

These are just a few of my tools.  We all must find what works for us.  If we don’t, I fear that we will be a people buried under layers of anger, dissatisfaction and anxiety.  This perspective will come easily for some, and require work for others, but like Bethany said, it doesn’t need to be easy, just possible, and the possibilities are endless.


 The sketch at top is for a new painting commission that I am ever grateful to be hired to do. 
I'm a lucky lady.  


I am an artist and writer, living in Talent, Oregon with my husband and daughter. I play in the ocean to stay strong and inspired, and I often visit my hometown of New Orleans, where the rhythm of my heartbeat is renewed. Follow me on Facebook and Instagram where I post stuff sometimes.  To hear from me more regularly, join me on this crazy, beautiful Artventure 

That Year I Had a "Lump" in My Throat: How My Anxiety Manifests Physically

Anxiety presents itself in different ways depending on the person. For me, it can manifest both mentally and physically.


There is an evil connection between my mind and my body.  Ok, it’s probably not actually “evil”, but it sure feels like it sometimes. Here’s how it works: I have something going on that’s causing me stress.  I use my tools which are to keep a good work pace up, exercise, some meditation, get in the ocean and make art. 

Apparently, this isn’t what I should be doing.  What should I be doing?  I have no freakin’ idea, but my mind will let me know that my attempts to tamper the stress are futile. How does it communicate to me?  By sending pain signals all over my body.  

Chronic, undiagnosed knee pain started when I was about 13.


As I got older, I managed to get that to calm down, only to have my back, hips and shoulders flare up. If it got bad enough, even my wrists would hurt.  In my 30s I learned some mental exercises to get the pain signals sent to my joints to stop…and they did, for the most part…and then the migraines started.

There was never any diagnosis or reason for the pain.  No injury, autoimmune, or other illness.  It was pretty frustrating until I learned about the mind body connection.  Our minds are powerful things that always look for the path of least resistance.  Once those pain pathways are established, it’s challenging to get them to change.

I know this all sounds a little bit “woo woo”, but I genuinely believe this and I believe it because I no longer have the joint problems unless I’m under a huge load of stress. I also know it because I once had a lump in my throat for an entire year.

One morning, a little less than 3 years ago, I woke up with a mass in my throat.  I could feel it all the time.  It was ever present.  When I talked, swallowed, yawned, laid down to sleep, it was always there.  I could actually press on my throat and feel a little "pop" happen.  I went to see my doctor.

My primary care physician knows about my struggle with anxiety and depression.  I have been very open with her about how I choose to deal with it, and my desire to not take pharmaceuticals.  I stopped going to see doctors a long time ago whenever I felt pain (although we address it each year at my annual checkup), but this time was different. I had an actual lump in my throat, so I went to see her.

What she told me blew my mind.  There was absolutely nothing there.  No lump.  No mass.  No obstruction what so ever.  She told me that feeling as though there is a lump in your throat is one of the most common anxiety symptoms that people get. It’s not my body.  It’s my mind. 

A good friend of mine, who does lean towards the “woo woo” side of healing, told me that this feeling is in direct correlation with not speaking my truth.  I tried to roll my eyes at this, but I also knew that having quit drinking a few years prior, I was just now learning how to communicate my wants and needs, so it oddly made sense. 


I was giving up a good paying job with people who had treated me like family for nearly a decade, to jump off a cliff into my own business.  I spent my final 30 days there thinking I was getting a tumor. 


What else had happened just before the “lump” showed up?  I gave notice at my day job in order to become a full-time, professional artist.  I had never not had a regular job.  This was an unknown that I was barreling into head first.  I was terrified of failing and letting down myself and my loved ones. I was giving up a good paying job with people who had treated me like family for nearly a decade, to jump off a cliff into my own business.  I spent my final 30 days there thinking I was getting a tumor. 

I was fucking scared.  Fear, it seems, is a straight path to discomfort for me.  This also made a lot of sense to me as I had recently come to the realization that I had spent the majority of my life terrified of just about everything.  So, my mind sent a signal saying, “Hey!  She’s not dealing with her fear in a healthy way and I don’t know what to do with all of this anxious energy, so I’m going to put it in her throat.”    

After my visit to the doc, I increased my exercise regime, I got into the ocean more often, and I brought a regular meditation practice into my life.  I was going through one of my biggest transitions to date. If I failed, the only person to blame was myself.  By the end of my first year in business, the “lump” still in my throat, I actually thought about throwing in the towel. 

I questioned if I was strong enough for the stress of being an entrepreneur. I doubted my abilities as an artist.  I was completely overwhelmed in having to learn about marketing in this age of social media and how to stand out in a world that has infinite content to choose from. I had wanted to embrace myself fully, knowing that art was at the root of who I am.  For the first time, I was actually being myself.  So, why was I so scared?  Why all the self-doubt?  

There is a cycle that starts for me that is extremely hard to stop once it’s in motion.  I get scared.  I don’t talk about it. Fear manifests itself in pain and/or discomfort. I get freaked out about that.  I still don’t talk about it.  The pain and discomfort gets worse and now I’m completely beside myself thinking I could very well be dying.  The pain and discomfort goes into overdrive.  And on and on I go until I'm a puddle on the floor.

I decided that there was no way I could handle another year like that.  I had to make a decision. I was in front of my bathroom mirror and I looked at myself in the eyes and said, “This is bull shit. Either be an artist and run your business bravely and with confidence, or just quit already and go beg for your job back.”  Then I lost it.  The idea of quitting because I was scared was awful.  Was I really going to give up like that?

No.  I was not.  I wanted this.  Bad.  I looked back up at myself with resolve.  Eyes hardened, banishing the victim that had been standing there mere seconds before.  I decided that there was no room and no purpose for the fear.  I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?  I make no money, have to rent out my house, and go adventure in my van.  That didn’t sound all that bad, actually.  While I did have to remind myself of this regularly, the “lump” was gone within the month.  No kidding.

Anxiety is a bitch.  Untreated anxiety, makes me physically hurt.  I don’t have the lump anymore but sometimes, when I’m particularly stressed, I feel it a little.  My joint pain is not the issue it used to be.  When I feel it creeping in, usually all I have to do is ask, “What’s actually bothering you, Marigny?” and it goes away.  Seriously.

Sometimes I think we simply need to check in with ourselves more often.  My mom and I talk most days and I ask her every time how she’s doing.  How often do we ask ourselves that? In a world where we are constantly looking for outward approval, maybe it would do good to check inward with ourselves every now and then. 

Moving forward, I’m going to attempt to build a new pathway in my brain.  Every time I ask someone how they’re doing, I will also ask myself because I think we could all use a little more STLC: Self-Tender-Loving-Care. 


The painting at top is from my Lovely Mess series and is titled, Incoming Tide, 8x10, Acrylic and Paper on Canvas.  $360 includes gold floater frame. 


I am an artist and writer, living in Talent, Oregon with my husband and daughter. I play in the ocean to stay strong and inspired, and I often visit my hometown of New Orleans, where the rhythm of my heartbeat is renewed. Follow me on Facebook and Instagram where I post stuff sometimes.  To hear from me more regularly, join me on this crazy, beautiful Artventure 

How Sitting in a Huge, Steamy Pile of Transition is a Little Bit Stressful.

We are in the middle of a huge, hot, steamy, stanky pile of transition, and it is scary AF.


There is no doubt that we are all up to our eye balls in stress and anxiety.  Adults are feeling it.  Kids are feeling it.  People (like me) who were once only wanting to see and spread “positive news” on Facebook are no longer able to ignore it. (And by the way, I felt it even when I was ignoring it….I don’t know why I thought denial was a sound strategy…) The bottom line is, shit is fucked up right now.  We are in a huge Pile Of Transition.  It’s a big, hot, steamy, stanky pile, and folks are getting stuck in it whether they like it or not.

When we get stuck in the P.O.T. we all react differently.  Some folks will sit in it and quietly let it happen while closing their eyes and hoping it will simply disappear (see “positive news spreader” as described above).  Others, are trying desperately to make sure that everyone else is also in the P.O.T., or are at the very least least aware of the P.O.T., and so they attempt to educate us all on the areas of the P.O.T. they are most passionate about. 

Many have fallen into a place of despair and can’t see anything but the P.O.T., while others are so pissed about the P.O.T. that they’re yelling, screaming, and stomping their feet, meanwhile the P.O.T. is splashing all over the damn place.  And then there are those, and I think this may be the largest group, who are terrified of this P.O.T.  They can’t see an end to this mess, are not sure where it’s heading or what they should be doing, and the unknowingness scares the crap out of them. 

We are an anxious people.  


People are scared, y’all.  I’m scared, I admit it.  Any sort of transition is hard.  I mean, the old saying about moving and funerals being the two hardest things a family can go through is totally true.  That being said, we are a people, 327 million strong, who are moving and mourning ALL AT ONCE.  We are fucked up right now.    

Women’s rights are being threatened.  Racial tensions are being called out.  The Earth is LITERALLY DYING. Climate change is wreaking havoc.  Politically speaking…honestly, I can’t even go there, but one of the worst fears I have has to do with our White House and global war. Not to mention the divide within our country that only seems to be getting bigger by the day.  I mean, in what universe did I ever think that white supremacy would be an issue in this day and age?

One of the biggest mind fucks for me has been the realization that I have been living blind.  Women haven’t just now begun being treated unequally.  Many if not all black Americans will tell you that race problems have been here this whole time.  People have been screaming about environmental issues for a long as I can remember.  Remember Save the Whales in the 80s?  That’s probably my first memory of seeing environmentalists at work.  That was almost 40 years ago!

So why now?  Has the age of the internet managed to disperse information so effectively that we are all now finally well educated about the health of our planet?  Has the ability to upload videos of white people calling the cops on black people, who are simply living their lives, finally shown us the reality of race relations?  Have we been so indoctrinated into a Hollywood culture that it took famous people calling out other famous people’s unforgivable assaults and sexual objectifications for us to take this shit seriously?

Or does it even matter why now? 

We’re here.  We’ve created this pile of transformation either through our own actions, indifference or denial.  Now we have to work as a people to get out of it.  Queue panic here because this is where it gets hard for me.  Are we past the point of being able to do that?  Can we work together at all? We are so divided.  


This is not comfortable.  I am not comfortable.  Change is not comfortable. 


But then there is hope.  I have a substantial amount of hope in my heart that all of this is leading us to a better way of living.  I know from my own personal transformation, that change is fucking hard, but possible, and so worth it in the end….until the next change, that is.  I am a woman who used to be completely ruled by fear, who is now having lengthy conversations with friends and strangers about how to get past it.  It’s a surprise to me too.


Acceptance, hope and patience is what we need to embrace in order to get us out of our P.O.T. 


We must accept where we are now, and accept how we got here.  We must keep hope alive that we can dig out of our pile and also accept that this is going to take some time.  Even if there is a shift in White House power, this is going to take a minute to resolve.  And I’m not sure resolution is what we’re looking for. 

Evolution may be a better word.  When I was a kid, and we were learning about evolution, I would look at that drawing of man, as we went from walking on all fours to standing upright with a spear in hand, and often wondered if man noticed evolution as it was happening.  Did man ever look around and say, “Hey Guys!  Anyone notice we don’t walk on all fours anymore?” or, “Hey Y’all! I don’t have so much body hair these days! You?”  

Granted, this current evolution may be a psychic change more than a physical one, but that is what we are experiencing.  We are in the middle, if not at the tipping point, of an evolution.  If you think about it, that’s pretty freakin’ cool.  Scary, yes, but cool never-the-less.

So, what in the hell are we supposed to do?  I wish I could say.  I think each of us has our own way of dealing with the current P.O.T. and so I will only speak for myself.  I have come to the realization that I cannot remove myself from the P.O.T. and that I am also not above it.  None of us are.  I must engage, but I also have the option to engage in a way that is healthy for me. 

I do know that the time for me to be quiet and polite is over.  I’m not saying that we all have to be out on the street, yelling and carrying signs (although that’s fantastic), but we can all be doing something each and every day to help make the world a better place.

For starts, we can be kinder to each other.  We can look each other in the eye.  Even strangers.  Even the one holding the sign that says, “Anything Helps”.  I can’t afford to give everyone money, but I can certainly make eye contact and say hello. 

We can start by treating people, ALL PEOPLE, like they matter.  It’s small, but it’s something, and hopefully something that will give people hope because, frankly, we’ve each been acting like the world revolves around our individual selves for far too long.  We are small, so let’s help each other crawl out of this P.O.T. and walk upright, with spear in hand, because if kindness is step 1, then step 2 is fighting for myself AND the person standing next to me regardless of sex, race, economics or politics.  We are one.  Let’s start acting like it.


The painting at top is from my Lovely Mess series and is titled, Night Rainbow (24x24, Acrylic & Paper on Canvas, $1200). This is a nod to one of my favorite children's books by Cooper Edens called, If You're Afraid of the Dark, Remember the Night Rainbow. Edens also suggests, "If there is no happy ending, make one out of cookie dough."  Making our own happy ending seems like good advice, these days.  


I am an artist and writer, living in Talent, Oregon with my husband and daughter. I play in the ocean to stay strong and inspired, and I often visit my hometown of New Orleans, where the rhythm of my heartbeat is renewed. Follow me on Facebook and Instagram where I post stuff sometimes.  To hear from me more regularly, join me on this crazy, beautiful Artventure