Raquel English

I’ve Found My Way

Hello darlings,

Boy, the time is certainly swift these days. These past few months have been absolutely delightful in so many ways. I’d love to share with you what I have been experiencing these past few months. In the most wonderful way, I’m rediscovering myself, writing and my first love; my art. Let’s start back from the beginning and I’ll give you a little abridgment.

I’m finding myself to a greater extent, refocusing on my love of painting and recognizing the reality of my dreams are lining up ever so nicely as if I were a child again.

I may have not ever expressed the love I have had of painting, and how I’ve always been an artist and a writer. As a young girl, my dream was always to be an artist and a writer. This blog seems to reach new perspectives with each passing day, but I do believe I’ve surely found my way for good now.

Let me step back for a moment and tell you a little story about myself.

As a young girl, I would spend most days reading, writing, and painting while sitting in my little tree house that I managed to build and piece together myself. I would scavenge my father’s wood shop for all sorts of extras.. wood, spindles, cedar, rusty nails, etc. anything that I could find that looked interesting to me that I could use to create my very own little refuge. I would use pillow cases, and old little baby blankets to assemble as window treatments; making it like my very own teensy sanctuary. That’s the place I would go every day, and play pretend. My mother would take me to the public library and I’d get to check out the maximum books for a two week period, which was twelve. I’d always ask if my brothers didn’t check out that many, if I could use their library card amount, so I could retrieve as many as I could carry. I have written since I could hold a pencil, never to fail always excited to make pen pals and write consistently throughout my life. The written word is a timeless act, a glorious art that is slowly dissipating.

Even as a young girl, I have always had a fascination with old clothes, and old century style living. I do believe I was reincarnated, and that I was once a confederates wife. I was a farmer raising livestock in Europe with one little toe-headed daughter.

I was eventually trained and conditioned out of my old way of dress and living. I would always fantasize that I was Laura Ingalls Wilder. In primary and middle school I had my aunt and my friends (they lived on a chicken farm) mother make me 1800’s style dresses, bonnets, petticoats, bloomers and blouses to match. I would wear them every single day.  I was a young mother that dressed old, with laced up Victorian boots, smocked and embroidered my children’s clothes, canned and grew my own food, and made everything from scratch, even making all my children’s fresh baby food. My children had never had store-bought bread until they were five years old.

After somewhere around my mid to late twenties  I was slowly being trained and conditioned to stop dressing and behaving in that manner. Most look upon eccentric individuals such as myself with either revelry, respect, or either ridicule. For many many years, I began to slowly lose that part of me. I even forgot that I could draw and paint for over thirty years. I had even received a four-year scholarship to an elite art school right after graduation ( which I turned down). I had completely forgotten about that until I was forty-two.

Let’s forward now to these last few months. I’ve been going through a glorious transformation for several years now, and I’m just now actually being mindful of the self-care and self-nurturing that belongs to me. I am now with my soul mate and forever companion that has been the greatest and most delightful force in my life. He is forevermore encouraging me to embrace my olf self, the real Raquel that had been stored away like a gorgeous piece of heirloom clothing. I’m recapturing all of those moments of my bygone years. I’m overwrought with emotions, all being sheer beatitude and euphoria beyond one’s capacity to articulate in words. Try as I might.

I daresay I remember that little girl with strawberry locks, freckled face and freckled knee caps, and I love her ever so much.

I’d be remiss, if I didn’t say, “Welcome Home dearest, Raquel.”

Thank you for staying beside me as my metamorphosis continues, for reading this blog, and supporting my work as a full-time artist and writer.

Yours truly, Raquel




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