This weekend I experimented with crackle paste for the first time. As I look at my piece, I find myself fascinated by the weathered look the crackle paste gives to the picture (which is not finished yet).
Then, I ask myself when it became unacceptable to have wrinkles. I suspect, it was right around the time panty lines became a “don’t” and I was expected to wear the “devil’s dental floss” (aka thong).
I am not trying to be mighty and stand against any type of treatment/procedure that makes a person feel good about themselves, but where do I draw the line? Why aging gracefully has become unacceptable? Why getting old is so feared? And why can’t I be proud of the lines on my face that show that I have laughed from the gut, that I have cried the loss of the ones I love, or squinted in a bright sunny day?
I remember when the wisdom of the Great Mother was respected and revered. I want to grow old like the Great Mother. I want the lines on my face to show that I have lived a full life, with everything that it entails. I want to enjoy each season of my existence knowing there is meaning in each year I have lived.