Observations From The Coffee Shop

I’m waiting. A practice I am normally not good at, but then again it depends on who or what you are waiting for. I’m sitting in a Starbucks in Dana Point, California. I believe it is a fairly affluent community, most of what lies along the Southern California Coast seems to be. At least that’s my first observation.  I’m waiting for Dan who has a job interview up the street. Like I said, it depends on who and what you are waiting for. In my case, my whole world is up the street in the hands of people I don’t know. I can only sit here and wait, hoping that they are smart enough to recognize what I already know. He’s the best man…for the job, as a father, as my husband. Loyal to the core, hardworking, thoughtful, and intelligent beyond description. He’s one of those annoying people who’s turn takes forty minutes playing Trivial Pursuit, or who knows just about every answer on Jeopardy. I asked last night for good karma, I can only hope he feels mine as I write this. Do they care how loved he is? Probably not. Do they care about how many people in our life are pulling for him right now? No. They (and by this I mean all employers) look at a resume and make assumptions, or do the math and figure out how old he is, and then decide he isn’t worth talking to. But if they really did the math they would also figure out just how quickly he went from the guy walking the streets of Chicago selling beer, to running the military for one of the biggest energy drinks in the world, and doing it very successfully. He is the guy who cares about everything he does, no matter what it is. The guy who sees the old person at the store and asks if they need assistance. The guy who can’t walk by someone in need without offering help. Not long ago down in San Diego a homeless guy thanked Dan, not for money, but for the full takeout dinner he bought him from the nice Italian restaurant we were eating at, and more than that, for talking to him like a human being. So people on the other side of the desk up the street, take a good look, and if you see even one tenth of what I see, you will hire him on the spot.

My second observation. When I walked into Starbucks the young man in the line ahead of me was obviously handicapped. He purchased three drinks, and as I watched him put his change in his pocket he handed the barista a twenty-dollar bill, I’m assuming a tip on an order that was less than twenty dollars.Right away it struck me as wrong. I don’t know exactly what was wrong with this young man, but I am old enough to recognize disability. Obviously I don’t know him, he could be a millionaire for all I know, but I just felt that it was wrong to take that twenty. (Then the young barista called me “Miss” instead of “Ma’am” and I forgave him on the spot….just kidding) As I sat sort of stewing about it I remembered something out of my own young past. Mr. Norian. He was a customer at the grocery store I worked at. Cute as a button, probably in his 70’s. Actually if Dopey of Seven Dwarfs fame came to life, he would look like Mr. Norian. He came in the store almost daily. He would flirt with all of us girls in the service desk, sometimes he would bring us coffee. He really liked me, and there were days when he would come in and ask to take me to lunch. I always went. It was always at the Burger King across the street. It went on for several years. Turns out when all of us “Dominick’s Girls” got together, we all knew him, he was doing the same thing at about four stores. Then came they day when we all found out the truth. Mr. Norian was broke, he was playing the system. He befriended all of us in the service desk, not only at Dominick’s, but also our competitors, Jewel and Treasure Island. He was passing checks. Not to accumulate wealth, but to survive.  We were all guilty of overriding his check cashing limit. He simply wrote checks to cover checks, for years, before it at last caught up with him. I never would have taken those lunches had I known, in fact I would have bought him lunch. As always, I need to remember not to be too hasty in judging someone else. Sometimes you are young and you just don’t know.

Dinner on the other side of the hills, no time for art. I did of course make more fairies today, but I also did a little doodling at the coffee shop.11 19

Setting Sun

Steps in the right direction today. We did make the move to set up our home office for our business, and I made an effort (again with Dan’s support) to get to a project earlier in the day. I had planned on working on my grandfather clock, but  need to get a few supplies for that, so I instead had planned on a watercolor. Then I went out as the sun was setting behind the Santa Rosa Mountains. The mountain’s silhouette edged in rose and gold, the sky still clinging to its vibrancy as the sun set over the Pacific. I love watching the sun set here. Unfortunately for me the mountains stand in the way of witnessing it more often, but I’ve seen it enough to imagine how magnificent it is. The rose and gold gave way to an almost turquoise, fading into a deep ultramarine blue. The moon was a near perfect circle edged in white, but forming a crescent to one side. As soon as I saw the sky I knew that my project had changed. I will never have an ego big enough to think I can do justice to Heaven’s palette, but I felt inspired, and knew I needed to try to capture what I saw. I thought about oils, but I decided to give pastels another try. These are soft pastels, chalk like (note to self: Do not use soft pastels while sitting on white couch!) I think I might like to try this same drawing with an oil pastel as well. There have been days during this project when I have struggled with what to do that day. Not feeling inspired, or just being plain lazy. I love feeling inspired and knowing exactly what I want to do.11 5

Art On The Road

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Not a lot of time for art today. Driving to see family through the desert, and then dinner out. We did stop along the way for a break and lunch at a rest stop. I was enthralled by one particular tree. My favorite color is green. The Palo Verde is a beautiful monochromatic green, standing out amongst the pale hues of the desert. I made a quick pencil sketch, and tonight a small watercolor from my sketch. Don’t ask me why I didn’t take a moment to photograph the tree, but I intend to on our return trip. I’d love to do an oil painting of it. Early in this blog I had complained about the desert, later retracting my complaints because of some incredible photos I took. I really took the time today to study the colors and textures as we drove. Of course when you are driving by at eighty miles an hour things tend to blur, but when you really take the time to look the desert is rich in color. Like a perfect dance of soft hues blending one into the next. As the sun moves across the sky the mountains change from subtle color to rich brilliance, absolutely stunning.

Heading Into Midterms

At the birth of this project the object was to use up the supplies I have on hand in my studio. The project evolved into much more than that, but the original purpose is still a challenge to be met. It’s been a while since I’ve written about my artistic self-doubt, and feelings of inadequacy due to my lack of artistic schooling. I bring it up again because I am nearing the halfway point in the promise of a year of art. I am roughly two weeks away, and decided to step back a little and check my progress. I have produced a tremendous amount of art since April when this all began. Not all have been pieces that I love or even like. There are some that I am immensely proud of. It is without question the most productive I have ever been artistically. The state of my studio? It pretty much looks the same. I have gone through quite a bit of watercolor paper, several canvases, some drawing paper, but for the most part it looks the same. Which is strange considering that a great deal of my materials have made their way down to our dining room, our family room, our guest room, the kitchen and even the garden. In terms of cleaning out my artistic refrigerator, I am a total failure. I might also mention here that I tend to be a bit untidy as an artist (OK, in other areas as well, particularly when creating in the kitchen), I’m working on it. However, the clutter in my brain is beginning to straighten itself out. Not that I don’t still have total meltdowns and think my work is crap. Years of self-doubt aren’t that easy to shake off. It is just that I am feeling more fearless in my art. I don’t give up when I begin to feel “not good enough” trying to sneak back into my brain. I do have to admit that there are a few recently orphaned canvases that need to be addressed. Oil is still my big hangup. Patience is really in need of attention.I have of course recently professed my new-found love of pen and ink. My watercolor skills are much better than I realized. So as I near that halfway mark I think I’m doing OK. I give myself high marks for growth in artistic confidence, but I am failing in making myself and art a priority. I am still cranking this work out after dinner. That’s right, ninety percent of the work that I have produced and posted on this blog have taken place between the hours of seven and ten at night, including writing. I guess I have to stop and ask myself what the problem is. What is the roadblock in my way? I don’t know. I do know that I can see what I am capable of in three hours, imagine what I could do if I actually gave myself time.

I decided to head up to the studio and dig out something different. Pastels. Which I will now admit I am discovering are not my favorite medium. The point is to use up the supplies. I’m trying! This piece is based on a photo from La Jolla Cove here in Southern California.9 24

Out Of My Element

Ten years ago I left Chicago for Temecula. For the first year all I did was piss and moan about how my life was horrible, Temecula was so boring, I even wrote a four page love letter to Chicago, waxing poetically about the wonder that she is. On occasion I took it out on my poor husband, blaming Dan for moving me away from the city I love so much. That was ten years ago. Don’t get me wrong, I still love Chicago. It is an amazing place, and if I had the kind of money that would afford me the life I dream of, there would be a downtown loft in my future. That being said, Temecula is my home now. Southern California is where my children are. It’s a beautiful area where I have a beautiful home. There are also all those wineries, the gorgeous weather (for the most part), and I have made some friends, the kind that you know will be your friends forever. Of course my family is still here, and I miss seeing them regularly, but I’ve made a life in California, and right now I’m missing home. I think some of that has to do with the fact that my son isn’t feeling well, my inner mother is really feeling guilty, I also think that whatever he has, I’m getting. I want to be in my own bed with the covers pulled over my head. I’m also a little discombobulated with my art. I never travel without supplies, and this trip is no different. I do have watercolors, markers and pens with me, but I think being away from home disagrees with me. I am definitely a homebody. I’ve told Dan on more than one occasion that I’d travel anywhere in the world as long as I can sleep in my own bed at night. We went for a walk in the incredibly beautiful McDonald Woods this morning, and normally I would feel inspired. Instead I am sitting here watching the clock, waiting anxiously to go to bed.

A while ago I mentioned that Dan and I have a little, actually not so little, project in the works. We are going into business together. We are beginning to put together the pieces. Tonight I was working on an idea for a sign that will be in our business. A little pen and ink on paper. I think I’m headed in the right direction, something that looks a little vintage…like me.image

The Power Of Perspective

If you’ve read my blog you know that perspective is my nemesis, but that is artistic perspective.  There is the other perspective, the kind I try to use in my daily life, the kind I use when I want to stop myself from being judgmental, when I try to put myself in the shoes of someone else.

Today was a tough one. I posted last week about my Dad having an accident, and although he is out of the hospital things are not well. When you are weeks away from your eighty-first birthday and sustain a concussion it really takes its toll on your brain. Dad has been with my sister for a few days and while he has moments where he seems his old self, more often than not he is confused. I am still hopeful that he will regain some of his memory and cognizance. What worries me as well is the rest of my family. I have three sisters, each with our own families and health issues. The stress and burden of caring for an aging loved one can take its toll. It isn’t about not loving someone, there is a great deal of that, but just how much it can break down communication between siblings, between couples, destroy families. I talked to my sister earlier this evening and told her how I felt. We all need to be respectful of each others lives and needs. Two of the girls are carrying the weight of what is happening to our Dad. I live hundreds of miles away. Yes, I can sympathize, I can and do make phone calls for them, but the reality is that it is their lives that are affected. I have said often in the last few days that it is easy for me to suggest something because I am here, and they are there. I told both women today that I don’t want this to come between us, most of our family is in Ireland so there is just us. If we want to truly honor what our father and our mother would want, then we need to stick together. Everyone needs to recognize that what is important to one isn’t important to another. Perspective is a powerful thing. When we as the individual suffer we see it only through the prism of our own lives. When we feel pain, it is no more or no less than what someone else might feel, but it is our pain, and for that it should be respected. In situations such as the one we find ourselves in now it is easy to look at someone else and think that something is trivial, or less important that our “stuff”. It’s not. I want to make sure that throughout this process that no one of us feels alone, singled out, or less valued. Relationships can be damaged beyond repair with a single sentence. I love my Dad, but I love my sisters as well. I would like to get beyond this and be able to look back, say we did our best, but that more importantly, we remain as sisters, as friends. Tomorrow my Dad is back in the hospital for a test that could lead to a pacemaker. Wishes for good karma, and prayers are appreciated.

I don’t have the finished “up-cycled” cabinet door to post as of yet. I am putting multiple coats of the Martha Stewart chalk paint on it. I had done two yesterday, but upon closer inspection earlier today I sanded the corners down and redid the paint. It is a project that I am hoping to sell and want it to be perfect.

What I did accomplish today is a watercolor. We spent part of our afternoon in the Temecula Valley Cheese Shop, one of my favorite places. The owner is a friend, and was kind enough to spend time with us as we consider opening a place of our own. We had some wine, and a plate of cheese. It was a little respite from my worried and troubled mind. Inspired by our afternoon, I did a painting of a cheese plate that I put together. Too bad I can’t share.8 14

 

Hello, It’s Me

OK, I figured it was time to bite the bullet, the self-portrait bullet. I’ve never actually done one. I did of course earlier in this blog do a kindergarten portrait, but I’ve obviously changed quite a bit since then. It’s getting late (what else is new?), so I will have to finish tomorrow. I actually did do art work during the day today, I have several projects that aren’t finished, actually too many, and decided to spend some time on finishing work. I didn’t begin the portrait until after seven tonight. The most troublesome spot in my portrait is my mouth. I have already mentioned my Osmond sized teeth, but what I failed to mention is the chip right in the front. Many, many (too many to mention) years ago, I in all my gracefulness was walking up the sidewalk tossing a ball in the air, my sister, Marion was sitting on the ground putting ants in a jar. Why? I have no idea. Anyway, I didn’t see her, fell right over her and landed on my mouth. Saved my parents a fortune in braces in a single fall. Prior to that I looked like a could have been David Letterman’s long-lost cousin. A few years ago when I moved here to California, more than one dentist spoke at length to me about how they could “fix” my teeth. I wasn’t interested in changing them. I didn’t grow up in the perfection obsessed culture that exists today. I feel for all the young girls who are daily assaulted with altered images of perfect models. We all know that I have my not good enough issues, but I like my teeth. (Well OK, the Osmond size is just a little disturbing)  I don’t love everything about myself, both physical, and there is that steel rod of self-righteousness that runs up my spine, but that doesn’t prevent me from loving myself. I think that age has a lot to do with my attitude. After a while a lot of the nonsense just doesn’t matter any more. I am who I am, although there is that twenty pounds I want to lose…

In my not quite finished glory, me, in pencil from a photo taken about two years ago.8 11

Lost Weekend

I have another very small piece of art for tonight. We had a lovely weekend with a friend that was visiting from out-of-town which unfortunately didn’t leave much time to work. A lot of cooking yesterday as well as a visit to one of the local vineyards. Today breakfast quiches, followed by a visit down to the San Diego Museum of Art, then dinner at a fantastic restaurant in Little Italy.  So, needless to say I didn’t have much time to draw or paint this weekend. Last night I whipped up a little something in the garden, little being the operative word.  I played with a little watercolor and pen tonight. I also took quite a few photos this afternoon,  just another extension of my creativity. I’m posting the little bit of drawing and painting from tonight, but also a few beautiful photos. I’ll be cracking that artistic whip tomorrow and actually produce a full piece of art. Sometimes you just need the weekend off!  8 4IMG_9747IMG_9753

Join The Club

I unfortunately didn’t even get visitation with my oils today. We made a trip into LA for business and it ate up most of our day. Three hours to drive eighty-four miles. Traffic was moving so slow that we were in danger of becoming intimately acquainted with the people in the adjoining vehicles. MS DOT  E  would disappear by either falling behind in traffic, or suddenly moving quickly ahead. I began to develop a strange affection for her, it was like seeing an old friend when we were unexpectedly next to each other in traffic. Of course I’m sure she barely noticed us…fickle.

What is this club I have asked you to join? Actually, it’s more like a movement to give identity to all those unfinished projects out there in the world. Projects like my orphaned art. The club has only a few members at this point in time. The current members all lived in the same apartment building on Artesian Ave. in Chicago. Essentially it consists of my family, Dan, our kids, myself, and our downstairs neighbors. We lived in what’s known as a three-flat, we were the top floor, our friends on the second floor, and finally our landlords on the first floor. The landlady was a lovely woman, spoke several languages, and was married to Misha. Misha is responsible for the movement. We lived in that apartment for six years, and in all of that time I don’t think any of us quite figured out what Misha did. What we did know is what he didn’t do. Actually it was more what he didn’t finish. He began to trim the bushes in the front of the building, he got half way across and stopped. Not for a break, or an hour for lunch, or a day. He stopped, FOREVER. The bushes remained that way. Christmas decor put up later (I mean after Christmas), and not taken down until much, much later. My favorite is the hallway. It was off-white, and then Misha began to paint it a very bright yellow-green. He painted the main hall, up the stairs past his apartment door, and then up the next flight past the second floor, and then…and then…nothing, he stopped. He stopped mid roll. A vibrant steak of green promise on the wall reaching for us, but sadly it remained there for more than a year. We had a party for our son, Brian, our guests passing the half-finished hallway with the green streak.  A year later we were having another party for Brian, and the hallway remained half painted. We had of course inquired during the year to see if it would be finished anytime soon. Empty promises were made. Finally Dan went down and confronted Misha. The night before Brian’s party, at around eight, we could hear Misha out there in the hall mumbling and painting. I’m ashamed to say we were on the other side of our front door laughing. I think he may have been up all night. To this day when we have an unfinished project it is called a “Misha”. When we see our former neighbors/friends we feel the bond that only the Misha experience can bring (Well, there are also “Uncle Clyde pants”, but that is a story for another time). I have given an identity to my unfinished work! It shall hereby be known as “Misha”. Have a half-finished project you have been meaning to get to? Its a Misha! I invite you to join the movement.

So little time, but a promise is a promise. A tiny painting (about 5×7) of a not so tiny subject. A watercolor pig, because Dan liked the photo.

Recycler Turned Upcycler

Before I begin writing about tonight’s piece of art I wanted to share a little something. It has to do with the subject I brought up a few days ago, that is my monkey-esque brain and prayer. I suggested that maybe God couldn’t hear me because of all the noise in my head. I happen to be rereading Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Eat, Love, Pray”. It is a book I read a few years ago that I got a tremendous amount from in terms of making me think about a few things in my spiritual life. Elizabeth and I share the same affliction. Minds that don’t know when to quit, although I believe by the end of the book she has hers in containment. I am in the middle of the book where she is in India, and it is where she is searching for and exploring her spirituality. Meditation is difficult for her, and near impossible for me. Someone suggested she focus on someone she cares about. I tried that this morning, I focused on Dan. I focused on my concern, my worry and my love for him while I prayed. I also asked for a sign, anything, anything at all. (Bueller,Bueller…tell me that doesn’t pop into your head every now and then…) I got one, I mean a sign, I actually think I may have gotten two. I won’t go into them, those closest to me know what I’m talking about, mostly because I haven’t stopped talking about it all day. I am grateful to Elizabeth for sharing her struggle, because as I said there was a lot of misunderstanding about what I wrote, and I think if I were to talk to Elizabeth she would get it. So, thanks Elizabeth, and thank you God, not necessarily in that order.

Tonight a completely different piece of art. I mentioned my freakish recycling obsession, symptomatic of that is my inability to throw things away. I always think I can use them in some way. My tombstone (if in fact there were one, but I don’t believe in it, think burial is a waste of land, told my kids to cremate me, mix my ashes up with Dan when of course he is available, and use me as fertilizer on a garden. Actually, considering my acidic tongue, hydrangea always were a favorite, particularly blue which needs a more acidic soil…) where was I? Oh yes, my nonexistent tombstone should read, “Don’t throw that out, I can do something with that!” There is my a fore mentioned ability to see things and turn them into other things in my brain, I would imagine this is where my monkey-esque brain comes in handy, because monkeys are very clever. (There is obviously one on the loose in my brain right now) We had a couple of pieces of scrap wood in the garage, I had some old wood appliqués I got from my dad before I moved West, and a couple of cool, old vintage frames in my studio. Dan was kind enough to use his router to shape the edges of the scrap board, and patch and sand where needed. I didn’t prime the wood, too impatient, I spayed the wood, the frames, and the wood pieces in a silver enamel spray paint that I had in the garage. When it was dry I gave it another light sanding, and then painted it using a few different shades of metallic acrylic paint. I printed out one of the photographs I took in Paris, which I had previously changed to sepia, and colorized in Photoshop to the size of one of the frames. I removed the glass from the second frame and added a mirror from the dollar store. I attached the appliqués, and the two frames to the board. Ta-Dah!  Landfill averted. I’m very pleased with the results. I plan to hopefully sell it on etsy. Not bad for a bunch of scrap.

By the way, as much as I love “Eat, Love, Pray”, I did not enjoy the movie. Sorry Elizabeth, the sensory delights of your book were lost in that film. Love Julia, love, love Javier Bardem, but really didn’t like the movie.

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