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Pearls Of Wisdom

We often hear about wisdom that comes with age. My personal experience is that its true, at least for me, and at least in terms of how I view myself. I was talking to a friend earlier today, she is a wonderful, warm, loyal, and very loving person. She suffers from a terrible lack of self-esteem. She puts up a fairly decent front, but I know her well. She is several years younger than I, and I feel very protective of her. I was trying today to impart some of my hard-earned wisdom in terms of how I have learned to deal with my own issues. It has taken me a long time to realize that I will never be good enough in the eyes of some people, some who know me well, some who don’t but think they do. I have spent years feeling inferior, and I believe that in many ways most of us do. We live in a judgmental society, bombarded with ads of how we are supposed to look, dress and act. Family expectations based on who our families want us to be, but not who we are. Religious judgment, people who claim to love God, any God, but are quick to condemn their fellow human being. Not smart enough, not pretty/handsome enough, too thin, too fat, wrong color skin, wrong color hair, too old, loving the “wrong” person…I could keep going, but I think everyone gets the idea. Do we do it to make ourselves feel better? Think about what we are doing to each other. Think about times when you feel bad about yourself. Do you really want someone else to feel that way? We can’t make everyone happy, we have to make ourselves happy,  we should cut ourselves and others a break. I want my friend to realize, I want everyone to realize, that the only opinion that matters is the one inside your head. Am I perfect? Absolutely not! I am stubborn, and messy, I procrastinate, have absolutely no coordination, I eat out of stress, worry about everything and anything, continually leave every cabinet door in my kitchen open, I can be controlling, opinionated, have a sometimes foul mouth, have a horrific temper, and still frightened of far too many things in life. I am also very kind, considerate, compassionate, loving, thoughtful, creative, artistic, a terrific cook, inventive, generous to a fault, a good wife and mother and a bleeding heart Liberal. I’m working on a few of my issues, particularly the messy cabinet door opening foul tempered parts of me. The thing is that when you weigh the good against the bad, I’m a pretty decent person. Do parts of me bother others? Yes, but I have learned that it is their problem not mine. I can’t please everyone, neither can my friend, neither can any of you. Be nice to each other, be considerate, help one another, but don’t judge each other no matter how much you disagree with how the other person lives their life, it’s theirs not yours. Believe in yourself, make a list of your best qualities, and those you want to change for yourself, the person who matters most.

To my friend (and she knows who she is), it hurts me to see you in so much pain, as I said this morning, you keep telling me how “Amazing” I am, if you really believe that then you need to remember that my friends are “Amazing” too.

Tonight options. Working on stuff for the show next week. One photo I took in Paris, two identical boxes, two designs, two techniques. two lids, all interchangeable. Haven’t completely finished either, haven’t decided which lid will go with which box. One more fault of mine, sometimes I can’t make up my mind.

3 26 14

Overdue Apology?

Parents often speak of the joys of parenthood, and there are many, but there is one that most don’t speak of. That is the joy of annoying your teenager. Some may think me cruel, but despite the many people who see me as not having a sense of humor, I can actually be quite funny. My sister Marion once told me that for her I’m sort of a female Bob Newhart, dry wit that comes out of nowhere. I can be very quiet, and still at times painfully shy, but when I am comfortable with the people I’m with I open up a bit. I’ll never be the type who can dance on a table top, but who would want to see uncoordinated me do that anyway? (I’d compare myself to a blossoming flower, but at my age I think the only thing I could be compared to is something that blooms in the fall…like cabbage) I digress…My children are no longer teenagers, but full-fledged adults. It is very difficult to annoy Jessica. She is such a sunny pleasant person that it is hard to find an angle, and as a teenager she studied voluntarily. (Where did I go wrong?) I remember once finding her studying the Periodic Table of Elements. I asked if she was having a test. Her response? “No, I just thought I should know these.” Supportive and proud mother that I am, I called her a weirdo. (Just kidding Honey, love you!) Brian is now twenty-three. He is intelligent beyond words, which is really interesting since he hated, and I mean HATED school. It is my firm belief that he charmed his way through school. He is very charming. Well that and he once asked me to bake a cake for a teacher. He didn’t tell me his grade was bad and that he was buttering the man up, only that his teacher like strawberries. We fought about school from about the sixth grade when he announced that he would no longer do homework. Schoolwork was the teacher’s job, and if they couldn’t do the job in six hours it wasn’t his problem. I’m sure you know I had a lot to say about that. We butted heads through most of his teenage years, arguing about just about everything. He was so stubborn. (Gee, I wonder who he gets that from?) I fought back the only way I could, sarcasm and humor. I knew he didn’t think I was funny, but I thought I was funny, and better yet I knew it annoyed the crap out of him. (Forgive me Brian, but it was my best defense!) My favorite story, and I hope he thinks it’s funny now, is when he was into existentialism. What? I know, when he told me he was an existentialist I said, “I don’t even know what that is.” He explained that we might not really be here, that the bed we were sitting on might not really be here, that we had no way of knowing what was real. (This is where the fun starts.) “I know we are here. I know you are here. I know that because I gave birth to you and pushed out all eight pounds and nine ounces of you. Trust me I know you’re here.” He was very upset with me. “You have no respect for my feelings!” Conversation over. I thought I was hilarious. He of course did not. I knew he was searching for his identity, and maybe I could have been a little more understanding, but he wouldn’t do homework or clean his room. A mother has to have satisfaction somewhere, right? I really am sorry Brian for not taking it a little more seriously.

Today’s work is for my Brian. I love him dearly and am very proud of the kind and compassionate man he is. He recently moved out and I offered art for his new place. He is a different kind of guy, so I thought he needed a different kind of art. I knew from the onset that I was going abstract, a style which I am very new to. It pulls me way, way out of my comfort zone, because I reside in the land of “supposed to look like”, this isn’t in my territory. Abstract forces me to let go of control to a certain extent, and lack of control is a very scary place. I wasn’t exactly sure until today what existentialism was (I just looked it up), but I thought about the universe and nothingness, and what might be happening out there in the cosmos. In my vision it is darkness, bursts and flashes of light, and more stars than you can possibly imagine. This is my Universe.

3 25 14

Growing Confidence

It’s been some time since I visited my orphans. For those of you who may be unfamiliar, they are the pieces of work that I have left undone. Many months ago when I first relayed the tail of my “orphans” I had offered the explanation that it was because I was suffering from such a lack of artistic self-esteem that I was in effect, afraid to finish in fear of being judged. This project that I have been working on for the last year has done tremendous things for me. I no longer sit in fear of judgement by anyone, particularly myself. (And I do that better than anyone) Last week I was sick and did a really crappy piece of art, and you know what? It happens, it isn’t the end of the world. I was hung up on perfectionism in a world that is far from perfect. I’m still not happy when something doesn’t work out, but I no longer use it as a means to tear myself apart. That is some real progress.

Several months ago I began using my friend Theresa’s old kitchen cabinet doors to create new things from what essentially would have been material for a landfill. Recycling maniac that I am, that just wouldn’t do. Theresa had been kind enough to offer the doors to me knowing that I would do something. At this point I’ve used only five or six of them with plans for the rest. I had used one of them to create a mirror. When I posted the photo not all  the pieces were fully attached. I had painted the piece out in a silvery blue, but in the end I wasn’t happy with it. The pieces languished in my studio for months. The other day as I began to look through my things for pieces for my upcoming show I came across it. I decided to revisit the piece. I took a section away, and added another, and then changed the paint color. The blue was flat, boring, and did nothing to highlight what I liked most about the piece, the raised curved lines, the crevices, and the intricacies of the added floral wreath. Using a combination of metallic paint colors, silvers, antique bronze, and a champagne, changed everything. The colors really made the mirror come to life. It no longer looks like a kitchen cabinet door, but what I wanted it to be, something that looks like it’s been around for a while. Something beautiful and elegant. It left me anxious to get to the next one, and gave me a little more confidence, so much so that I may be adopting more of my orphans in the near future. First a reminder of the mirror with the blue paint finish, and then the new metallic finish.

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3 24 14

The Price Of Impatience

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Twenty four hours have passed. Where is my second box? I didn’t wait long enough. I know, I know, I said I would, but the impatient me just couldn’t wait. I ruined it. I did wait twelve hours, so I thought it would be OK, nope. I had to start again. This time I absolutely promise to wait, maybe even forty-eight hours.

I love spring. When you grow up in a place that has harsh winter weather the first day of spring is cause for celebration. There’s nothing to beat those early warmer days. I’ve lived in Southern California for ten plus years and I still miss the change of seasons. I don’t of course miss the frigid weather, or the ice and snow. I have to admit it is pretty nice to have seventy degree weather in January, but I miss the feelings that come with the change. I think maybe for me spring seemed a little more hopeful when it came after a hard winter. We need new beginnings around here. Let’s hope the new season ushers some in.

In honor of the new season a drawing of an Iris done in watercolor pencil. I chose to paint the background black to make the colors pop.

3 21 14

Watching The Clock

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Still a little breathless, but I feel like maybe things are getting better. Of course me being me I rushed things. (Explanation to follow) I am usually a very patient person. In fact my Dad always says that I remind him of my grandmother. The roof could cave in around her, and she’d look at it and say, “I’ll get to that tomorrow.”  I am that way about quite a lot of things, but when it comes to art I can’t seem to wait. It is really one of my biggest issues with oil painting. I have ruined quite a few great beginnings by turning them into mud because I couldn’t give things a day or two to dry enough for the next step.

…Before I continue I’ll explain the process. A wooden box coated in a light color paint, for this one I used a very pale gray. A reverse image photocopy from my home computer. I used a photo I took in France that I changed to sepia. One coat of decoupage medium. Place the copy print side down, top with another coat of decoupage medium. Here’s the hard part, for me at least. Wait twenty-four hours. (That’s like asking me not to breathe for a day) At the end of the wait period simply dampen the paper, wet but not soaking wet. Then rub the paper with your fingers. The paper will rub off and leave the image behind. Amazing!

I said last night the fumes prevented me from finishing my project from Tuesday. I went back to it today, knowing there were no fumes for the next step. Here’s where I went wrong, I was so happy with the results that I began another. (I’m an idiot, feeling the fumes just a touch. I am now publicly vowing to behave!) I’ll finish that one tomorrow. I’m not finished with the first piece as of yet, I’ll be adding some hardware, possibly some kind of feet to the bottom, and a small mirror piece in the interior. As for the second piece, no photos yet, but I did all four sides of the next box. All I have to do is wait twenty-four hours….

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Let The Sunshine In

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My personal forecast is looking a little gloomy. I need a little sunshine in my life. Yes, I live in Southern California. I’m sure those who live on the East Coast are crying their eyes out for me right about now, but its true. I’m still wheezing, and honestly afraid to go to the doctor. I’m afraid that it just might be pneumonia once again. Meanwhile I am not only hitting the one year mark of this project, but we are closing in on a year of Dan not having a job. On the positive side, the reason it is only gloomy and not a Snoopy-esque “Dark and stormy night”, is that this might just be forcing us into a plan for what we have wanted all along. A business where we can work together. I’ve mentioned our business here, but we had kind of let go of the dream in the last few months. I think worry and stress began to get the best of us. Money as always is the biggest issue, the economy is still not fantastic, and of course the fear of taking the plunge. The one thing I know for sure is that we can do it as long as we are together, because again, it has been a year, and not an argument in sight. I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I should rule the world, and while that is still true, I am perfectly happy to let Dan be the boss in our business. We will as always be partners in every way, but I know my strengths as well as my weaknesses (Yes, I do have a few…just a few), I know his as well. There is also an old saying that my Mom often used, “Too many chiefs and not enough Indians”. (Sorry Native Americans, no offense intended)  I want to make sure that the people who work with us know that there is an order to things. A business can’t survive without that. So there’s a plan, kind of, but enough to reassure me that things can change, and a bad situation might just be the ticket to making our dream come true. (Dan, this one was for you.) We need to make our own sunshine…so I did just that.

I love watching Sunday Morning on CBS. In particular I like all the creative ways that they end each segment with a sun done is some creative manner. This is mine, a paper mache sun, painted in acrylic. As for last night’s project, I did some work on it earlier, but fumes began to upset me. There’s always tomorrow.

3 19 14

Feverish Perspective

Still on the mend, but slowly feeling better. I wanted to do something today for my Dad for St. Patrick’s Day. In 1956 he left Ireland with all the big dreams that young men have. Heading to Canada in the bottom of a ship, taking a chance on a better life. My Mom followed about three months later. He was just short of his twenty-fourth birthday, my Mom was only nineteen. I can’t imagine the courage it took to leave home and family, to leave everything they knew, and jump head first into the vast unknown. Then just four years later to do it yet again and move to Chicago. Another new country, starting over, except that this time they did it with two children and a third on the way. Amazing. Happy St. Patrick’s Day Dad.

My brain is still foggy from my head cold, and this relentless fever, my perspective is again my own private torment, but it’s St. Patrick’s Day, so this one’s for Dad. He grew up above his grandmother’s fruit and vegetable store on Dominick Street in Dublin. I saw it once many, many years ago. I don’t remember much so most of this is imagined, with the inspiration coming from a watercolor book on Ireland. Finally, to end this post a little tale to amuse one and all. The little tree wasn’t in my original sketch. There was a man on a bench. (Before I continue remember that I am delusional with a low-grade fever.) When I was just about finished I realized that he was so out of scale, so out of perspective, that he looked like one of the “wee” folk, you know a leprechaun. I turned him into a bush. Artistic improvisation at its best.

3 17 14

The Fever Rages On

I’m alive! Well sort of. I still have a heavy head and a fever, but things seem to be moving in the right direction, although my couch does bear the imprint of my body. I lay here all day imaging the things I would be doing if I felt better. Of course if I actually did feel better I probably wouldn’t be doing any of them. I did feel sorry enough for myself to indulge in an ice cream drumstick, something I cannot afford, but I’m sick so I deserve a treat. (Right?) I talked to my Dad a couple of times in the last few days. He can be quite a character. He could hear that I was ill, shout, “Go to bed!”, into the phone, and then talk to me for another ten or fifteen minutes. He also offered his best medical advice. “Do you have any whiskey? You need a small glass of whiskey. That will take care of everything.” I still remember as a teen having the family concoction of tea, whiskey, and honey as the remedy for a sore throat. Horrid stuff. Last night I took Niquil. I am not usually a fan of sleeping medications, and for good reason. Let’s just say when I watched Walking Dead tonight I could relate. The stuff not only knocks me cold all night, but most of the next day I’m fairly close to a drug induced coma.

I based my watercolor tonight on a photo from a magazine. It was most likely inspirational due to the amount of tea I have consumed in the last few days. (No, not with whiskey.) Again working with a fever, my excuse for my as usual not so great perspective (but its true!), but not too bad for someone still battling a head cold. I just realized that my photo is slightly out of focus. Photo courtesy of Niquil.

3 16 14

Perseverance

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Many people who follow this blog may think they know me just a little bit. Those who actually know me know exactly how stubborn I can be. Tonight is a fine example of that. I’ve spent more time with my head down than up today, but I said I’d post every day so here I am. I managed to squeak out a doodle of sorts. I have a book on decorative letters. This is one of my own creation. I didn’t start out to do it, I was attempting to do something for tonight and this is what appeared beneath my pen. Not my finest work, but with a heavy head and 100 degree temperature it’s the best I can manage.

3 15 14

Inspired Amusement

Be careful what you wish for. Well I didn’t exactly wish for it, but last night I mentioned I’ve only missed one day in the last year due to illness. At 3:30 this morning I woke with a horrific earache and sore throat. I’ve spent most of the day lying around and really thought I had jinxed myself and would miss my project tonight. A quick cat nap and dinner prepared by my wonderful husband, and I found myself able to function once again. We spent most of the day yesterday in Los Angeles. My nephew lives in Echo Park, and my sister was in for a visit. The architecture in downtown LA is amazing. As much as I’ve grown to love Temecula, I am a city girl at heart. I want to spend a day there just photographing architectural detail. There is an amazing place there called The Last Bookstore. Well worth checking out on-line just to see the incredibly clever art entirely made from books. Dan and I are both horrible book fiends, we have a shared addiction for them. I picked up two books yesterday that both focused on pen and ink. One was a book about illustrated borders. The other is a book on the amazing work of Jean-Ignace-Isidore Grandville (1803-1847). The book contains 266 illustrations from “Un Autre Monde” and “Les Animaux”. In English, “Another World”, and the other section, Les Animaux, which consists of metamorphoses of animals, giving the animals human emotions. The drawings are delightful, and I couldn’t help but be inspired by them. They made me smile. I decided to draw my own “Grandville”. One of my cats, Riley, was kind enough to pose for me (at least her head). Riley sometimes looks lost in thought and gets quite annoyed when we bother her. She is very vocal in letting her displeasure be known. Here is Riley dressed to go to town, looking very bothered my interruption.

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