ORIGINAL BLISS

Beautiful Mess

"Beautiful Mess" spread — Soul Journal Entry January 3, 2013

Still attempting to clean up my insides...

I don't know what I am trying to say here. Obviously.

The first layer is a letter of apology. Which of course has to be covered in collage—my favorite lock on my diary entries.

 

"Some Kind of Pedestal" — Soul Journal Entry January 3, 2013

Then on the left hand, I see I am naked...

bare...

on a pedestal...

reaching...

possibly for my halo that no longer exists.

 

"Beautiful Mess" — Soul Journal Entry Janurary 3, 2013

On the other, I am no longer on a pedestal, but I am still reaching. I've given up on my halo and would settle for a little enlightenment now. But my consciousness is a dusty moth, not a butterfly.

Then there is the dead fish hanging out to rot there next to me...and a slow moving caterpillar on the bottom right. They mean something, too, I'm sure.

Maybe you can see something in there I don't. Any interpretations out there?

I'm still working it all out. It isn't getting prettier. The page I started today is HELLA hideous. Just wait...you'll see.

Namaste,

Shannan

Throw Open a Window. Let Love In.

"Love Without Boundaries" — Soul Journal Entry January 2, 2013

 

There is a difference between Art Journaling and Soul Journaling. A big difference. And I forget it all the time.

Soul Journaling is not about art. It is not about pretty and all about ugly. It is about processing emotions—complex and crazy feelings—without going through the brain trying to figure them out first.

It is about ripping paper, spooging paint and gesso, digging our fingers into it, and sticking images and riff raff onto a page, WITHOUT THINKING AT ALL!

Being in the thick of it, delving into the depths and throwing the muck into our books. Who the hell knows what we are going to get?

 

Afterwards, when we are spent and panting, we see what we see. It is like reading tea leaves.

"Oh! So this was what THAT was about."

I was in a frenzy during these spreads, massacring magazines in a blind fit then pasting them on the page and writing whatever popped into my head.

In the end, it is about regret. 

Do I feel better now?

No.

More pages to come...

 

Namaste,

Shannan