The Art & Poetry of Mary Coleman

There are so many things I want to write about but I need to be patient and let them come out of my subconscious in due time. Unlike with my paintings, I don’t have much control over my poetry. It just comes out of nowhere, materializing in my head almost whole. There is a little bit of editing afterwards, but not a whole lot.

My artwork is more deliberate and planned. There isn’t much spontaneity or improvisation in it. It used to be more like my writing, but I have this crutch of maladaptive perfectionism when it comes to painting and it inhibits the flow of creativity considerably. I think as a result I am a better poet than I am a painter. It wasn’t alway that way, but that is how it is now.

I will never write my autobiography. There isn’t much to write about. Sure I have many mental health struggles, but for the past two decades I have tried my hardest to live a quiet, relatively undramatic life. I’ve been married for 19 years now and my home life is very predictable and repetitive. The routines and repetition are essential in keeping my brain as stable as it can be. I don’t want to live a wild life and excitement isn’t something I crave.

I was really stressing over some money woes (a huge tax bill) and then my best friend’s husband got diagnosed with colon cancer and my worries were put into perspective. The cancer has spread and there are nodes on his liver. This made me glad that my husband and I have our health and some financial worries are pretty trivial in the grand scheme of things. I am just happy to have my husband whole and well. We have each other for hopefully many years to come.