by Jennifer Paros
February 2018
Years ago, while in art school, I accidentally lost eleven pounds. It wasn’t the result of physical illness, more like mental unrest. I wanted to make art but also doubted I was skilled or capable enough. What I believed about myself and what I wanted were in conflict, so I was stressed. Then, one day, I made an interesting decision.
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January 2018
I’ve been in a funk lately. I entered it unwittingly and have had trouble finding the exit, and when I do, difficulty remembering where it is. I don’t like to use the word depression, which makes me feel blanketed – as though it’s wall-to-wall sorrow. There are always corners and areas where all is clear.
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December 2017
My son and I have been watching Ken Burn’s documentary, The Civil War. In it we’ve learned of General George McClellan – a major general, and for less than a year and a half, general-in-chief of the Union Army. At first, McClellan was a great asset with fabulous skills at organizing and training troops; but when it came time to fight, it was a different story.
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November 2017
Years ago I used to write down my dreams and think about their possible symbols and messages. Sometimes before sleep, I’d even ask a question and record my answer-dream in the morning. Occasionally I got what felt like a complete solution, but more often I was given insights that opened my eyes a little bit more – pieces of an answer.
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October 2017
When I begin working on a new picture, I start out feeling free. I sketch and see what lights up for me, then strive to develop it. There’s some waiting, staring, and listening for whatever comes into play next. Gradually, I recognize daytime or night, inside or out, wind or stillness, water or land or both, where I am, where I want to be.
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September 2017
When I was nine I wanted to be pretty. But, in truth, that was code – I actually wanted to feel secure. The previous year I’d had a kind of breakdown involving intense fear of my new school. After some hiding and running, I changed schools again. I got what I thought I wanted: a place in which I felt cared about.
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August 2017
A friend of my father’s visits once a year. He is part of my childhood memories — one of my Dad’s colleagues who periodically helped animate our home with conversation and laughter when I was a young. Several times while visiting with him again, he mentioned how I was “feisty” as a child. I immediately noticed my young (inner) self rear up like a horse, reminding me of that fiery, rumbling feeling — whatever defiance and stubbornness are made of — and also the stuff, I now believe, of heroines and heroes.
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July 2017
Our cat Charlie likes to find new places to sleep. We have a part of our living room, which has evolved into the cat area, where comfort and casual accommodations are freely offered. But Charlie is on a hunt for something different – like an office chair, under the covers of our bed, or inside a closet. Once a spot is selected, he remains dedicated to it for several weeks – until the hunt begins again.
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June 2017
It’s a story that’s now a speck in the rearview mirror of the news, but most likely one to be remembered: A paying passenger pulled off an airplane against his will, resisted and, in doing so, sustained a concussion, lost two teeth, and broke his nose. Due to overbooking and the airline’s need for seats for staff, the man was selected as one of four to leave.
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May 2017
When I was in high school, I had an English teacher with some very specific ideas of how we were to write. For a time, in fact, some of us received surprisingly poor grades, as we hadn’t yet grasped the particular form she required. Though I felt resentful of her somewhat rigid system, one rule she imposed was okay.
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April 2017
Recently in the news, the phrase Deep State has gotten traction. It refers to a shadow structure in the government operating on its own, outside of the law. The Deep State implies an unseen criminal network attempting to undermine us. My problem with a Deep State – whether or not it exists – is that as a construct alone it creates fear.
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March 2017
Recently, in the middle of a heated disagreement with me, my son yelled “Shut up!” – then immediately added, “I’m sorry, I love you.” I found the quick succession of phrases funny and was impressed with how efficiently he traveled the emotional spectrum.
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February 2017
My youngest son finds math hard. When he sits down to do a problem, anxiety often sets in. He has told me that if he can’t do math, it means he’s stupid. He puts so much importance on being able to do math correctly that he now resists the process of learning it.
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January 2017
When my oldest son was eleven and about to graduate from elementary school, he broke out in hives that were so large and pervasive they covered his back. I told him hives are sometimes stress-related and can go away on their own. And so they did. But soon, a pattern emerged: when he was home, the hives appeared; when he was at school they faded.
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December 2016
Years ago, I discovered my enthusiasm for photography, and took several classes in it while at art school. What I liked most about taking pictures was how quickly the process clarified what interested me, including which angles and approaches created work that was resonant or was not.
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November 2016
When my youngest son was four, he made up a song that went, You have to get along/But you gotta have free, which spoke to his desire to join with others without hampering his individuality. That’s a jingle that has continued to suit him and his life throughout his seventeen years.
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October 2016
My younger son has often dealt in worst-case scenarios. I haven’t kept track of the times he’s concluded a family member or friend was dead because the person was late returning from an errand or appointment – but there have been many. Once, we were all enjoying a fire (in the fireplace) at Christmas and he said, “What if a flame leaps out and burns the house down?” When he was small, I addressed his concerns in a practical fashion – pointing out the fireplace had a screen, or that someone being delayed didn’t mean he/she was no more.
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September 2016
My husband and I were in an ongoing argument-like debate. After years of using a cell phone with questionable intelligence, he wanted something smarter – an iPhone. I agreed that his phone needed updating; compared to what the other kids were playing with, the phone seemed homemade. My problem wasn’t that I didn’t want him to have a shiny, new, fun thing. My problem was my relationship to my IFC.
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August 2016
When I was a little girl, I often felt negative and sometimes feared being seen as bad-tempered. My astrological sign, Cancer, has the crab as its symbol and I hated that it was a crab; I didn’t want to be a crab. I wanted to be something great and beautiful and seemingly uncomplaining – like a zebra.
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July 2016
I’m not certain when I first heard the phrase, “You’re not the boss of me!” It might have been while working at a daycare years ago. Maybe I heard it from the determined 4 year old Ella who greeted me, my first day there, wearing a long strand of beads and an air of leadership. Or maybe it came later from my own children.
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