Control vs Controlling

I wrote a little about control here but I wanted to elaborate on my thoughts about this subject.

Just to reiterate, I still maintain that total control is an illusion. I still believe that.  Control is a force of nature, like water.  You can't control water.  It flows to places where it will encounter the least resistance, forging creeks, rivers, lakes, and oceans. 

We think we are in control, because we do things and hold onto small things that make us feel like that we are masters of our universe. But that is not real control; that is being controlling. Real control and being controlling are two very different things.

Being controlling is giving away your power, and letting your flight/fight response guide you. Being controlling is reactionary, based on fear and insecurities. When we try to push people to our whims, when we try to manipulate situations to mirror our wants and desires, regardless if the players consent to this or even aware of this, this is what being controlling means.  Sometimes these efforts work.  But it's like deception, at some point it becomes burdensome and unyielding.  Then you become a slave at maintaining this illusion. 

Real control encompasses power, influence, effort and luck.  Real control is tempered by responsibility, integrity, and compassion. Real control is complicated and is an exercise in patience.

Only when I learned to let go of control did I understand real control. I needed to step back and see the big picture and that all those small details that I would obsess on were distractions. To understand control, one must know yourself, know your strength and weaknesses, question your motives, and take risks. It is the choices you make and constantly learning from them and refining them.

Portraits

My ex-husband painted a portrait of me using traditional renaissance techniques , using hand-made ground pigments in oil, dammar varnish and gesso on a panel covered in linen sized with rabbit skin glue.  I am posed laying on my side, dressed in my blue pajamas, with my hands laying in front of me, my hand framing my face while my left hand prominently  displaying my gold-leafed wedding ring.  I am not smiling, rather, I am in contemplation.  Not because I'm lost in profound thought, but because posing for a long periods of time is a test in endurance.  As far as paintings go, the portrait itself is not very big.  It is sizable enough that I've had problems displaying it on walls or mantels without leaving an impression that I'm vain.  So, it's currently not anywhere in my home.  I do love it, and I couldn't ask for a better representation of me in a particular time and place. 

When we separated, my ex-husband gave me my portrait.  He also gave me  another painting that  represented love in its early stages for us.  He couldn't be near me without being hurt, so any remnants of me needed to be purged. He took those paintings off his gallery on his website.  For awhile, I couldn't look at my portrait either.  For me it represented youthful idealism long faded.  It hid behind a door for a long time. 

I've since displayed it in my last home, on a the mantel in fact.  It was one of the first thing people noticed when they walked into the front room.  I look at my portrait with fondness.  It wasn't a bad time for me, I just needed to find the true me.  Then a week ago, while I was writing this and trying to figure out where this piece was going, I went to my ex-husband's art website.  I'm not sure when it happened but to my surprise, my portrait was on display.  He even updated the description to say that it was a portrait of his ex-wife.  It made me smile.  We've been friends for awhile, so my portrait has become a fond memory for him.

If someone painted another portrait of me, of the me that is now, I would wonder how it would look like.  Would someone paint me like the stereotypical dominant female, in a corset carrying a crop?  Oh God I hope not.  I do hope that whomever this artist is, he or she will capture my spirit, this new energy I'm emanating.  I would not be so shy, I would hope that I'd be painted in a dress, that shows my figure, with my hair flowing in the air, displaying a look on my face that I am comfortably with the me that I have become.

I feel the need to put myself in display.  It's time to describe myself in my words, to tell my story, to tell you who I am.  It's as if the universe is telling me, it's time to get out of my shell, you have processed enough of the pain of the past few months.  Because the universe have given me more people in my life,  to occupy my thoughts, to wrap my legs around, to feel them, to touch them, and to crave them.  But the universe has not settle with just this.  The universe has felt the need to test me, to see how I would react to others negative influences.  The universe is telling me to ask for what I want.  So, you might see me writing selfishly, about me and distilling what I do and why I do them.  It's time to display my feathers.  It's time for another portrait.