Series

Whenever I am troubled about my life—like I have been for the last several weeks—I tend to start working in series. Just off the top of my head, I remember doing 40 mandalas after my novel was rejected. Then Dad had his heart attack and I made drawing after drawing on a note cube one of David’s friends had given me. When my cousin was dying, I worked compulsively in a rubber stamp journal so I could put off going to bed and worrying about her.
I’m not sure what it is about doing a series that’s so comforting…continuity perhaps? Something to ground you while you’re navigating around the shoals of life? Escapism? Healing? Whatever it is, I’m just grateful that I have art (and Photoshop) to express what’s going on inside me.