Beautiful Chaos- A piece about alcohol ink, mullets, and life

I started painting with alcohol ink back in July, which is surprising because I feel like this medium is the extension of my soul that I never knew I had or was missing.

I am always looking on Pinterest for inspiration or new techniques and found these gorgeous pieces that were created with alcohol ink. I knew that whatever these artists were using, I wanted some of that… and NOW. For those who don’t know, alcohol inks are highly pigmented ink that have bright and gorgeous colors, have the consistency of liquid, are usually painted on nonporous surfaces, and alcohol (the kind that you find at any drug store) is used to spread the ink around and helps to create pieces that are truly magical.

Hi. I’m Deanna. I’m an art junkie and I definitely needed a hit of that.

What I didn’t take into account was the learning curve that came with alcohol ink. After working with acrylic paint for a while, I thought I had this art thing handled and could manage. Um. Yeah. No. My first pieces left me scratching my head and wondering what the hell I had just spent my money on. Lots of practice, many hours, and so many trial and errors later, I learned that I had to let go. Let go of what I wanted or thought I should do with this piece of creativity. I succumbed and gave in and let the art happen… and magic started to happen. Most nights, when I’d sit down to paint with my inks, I had no idea what was about to come out. I opened my soul to the universe, picked my colors, and let it flow… and oh my goodness. What an amazing feeling. It doesn’t always work. Sometimes, I work pieces too much. Sometimes, I try to control too much. But, when I give in and let whatever creative god is out there guide my hand, it is truly magical.

Lately, I felt that there is more to this process that I was missing. Usually, I’m a pretty complacent person. For a while, I was just happy to create art and let people enjoy it but there has been another ache deep in my soul that needs to be stretched out.

Less than a month ago, the thought came to me, “You need to dig deeper. There is more here. It’s time to step it up.”

So, I sat down with my inks and created a beautiful piece using colors that reminded me of a sunset. In the past, this might have sufficed.

“Dig deep,” the ache called out. “More.”

I let go.

Slowly, out of the chaos of color, images started to emerge and beauty was created.

I can take no credit except for the fact that I let go. What once was chaos and nothing, sat blooms starting back at me and the ache said, “See? I told you it was there.”

I went to bed that night reflecting on what had happened in my tiny little art room that overlooks the lake.

Isn’t this such a metaphor for life?

I am no stranger to chaos. While I love both of my parents dearly, I grew up feeling the tension between them. I always wondered when the next fight would break out or if and when they were going to split up. After my mom passed, my anxiety went through the roof. I feel it daily. I like to be able to plan and really struggle when things are thrown at me and I’m not prepared. But, I am learning, slowly (because I’m frickin hard headed) that most of the time, these chaotic moments are when the wildflowers grow. We become stronger. We become more resilient. We change and we bloom and we are able to look at the sweet side of life a bit sweeter… and we are able to handle the future hard stuff with more strength.

Which leads me to mullets….

I have two beautiful boys. I am a bit of a hippie and love when their hair gets long and they look like little surfer boys (I’m also just plain ole busy and getting hair cuts does not fall into top priority).

The boys finally decided to get their hair cut. I *joked* with my husband about mullets trending. NEVER would I have thought that he would think, “Oh, hey! Mullets are cool! Let’s get THOSE haircuts!!! It’ll bring me back to my rat tail days and I can live vicariously through my boys.” (Side note: Yes. My husband did have a rat tail during his middle school years. I have seen the picture. Gag.)

I’m in my studio. Working on a piece. And I get a text. Not to me but to our family group chat.

No he fucking didn’t.

My pulse quickened and my immediate thought was, “Holy shit. We exposed.”

Let me backup a bit.

Ya’ll. I can’t even lie. I’m just white trash in a pretty dress. I’m from South Louisiana. I have lived all over, can class it up, but there are a few times when the coon-ass slips out from me. Get me pissed and I’ll make you start sweating like a whore in church and then I’ll close it up with a, “Bless Your Heart.” You put on some zydeco and that Cajun booty doesn't care how classy of a joint we are in. This ass is gonna dance.

My husband? Total redneck. My Wyoming/ Texas boy often dons wife-beaters and has been known to sit in our front yard, fire burning, with his boots and shorts. While we can camouflage quite well, I have often felt that we don't fit into our very nice, white suburban town. You can take the Southerners out of the South… but… you get it.

So, in walked my two beautiful boys, Teddy Ray Cyrus and ole T-Gus, proudly rocking their new mullet-do’s.

Chaos.

Later that night, while tucking them into bed, I snuggle close to Gus and ask if he likes his new hair-do. My proud boy looks at me, fingers making his rocking out sign, and says, “Rock-n-Rollllll, Mom!!!” I say, “Don’t you want me to cut the back of it? Just a little? Trust me, your 30 year-old self will thank me.”

My boy looks at me with his big blue eyes and says, “Nope. I look awesome!”

And isn’t that the most beautiful thing, ever?

So, while I don’t love the fact that my kids look like they are about to ask for a can of Natty Lite to go with their Lucky Charms, I do appreciate the confidence that a hideous haircut can bring them and that, my friends, is the most beautiful chaos that there is.