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

 

Sanford And Daughter

The title of tonight’s blog is what my Mom called my Dad and I. We collect things, no Precious Moments, no Hummel’s, or God forbid clowns, but every scrap of wood, door hinge, nail, screw, door knob…you get the idea. Everything has a purpose, everything can be put to use. It’s not as if my Dad or I keep house like the hoarders you see on television, we are highly organized individuals. In my Dad’s basement workshop you will find old baby food jars and box after box of nails, screws, nuts and bolts, all sorted by size. My studio is much the same. Although I will say that my garage sorting is lacking, my Dad was very upset with us the last time he looked out there. Every time he would see me throw out an empty jar he would point out how I could be using it. I have already written about my litter obsession, I hate waste, sometimes something so ugly, or something that is headed for the garbage can be turned into something useful and beautiful. All it takes is a little elbow grease and imagination. We live in a throw away society, and I think that is so sad. Maybe that’s why I love antiques. Someone loved something, or appreciated something so much that they took care of it. Most of my family is in Ireland, I have few family heirlooms, having the treasures of someone else means something to me. The history of a piece means something to me. I like breathing new life into something that otherwise would be taking up space in a landfill. Tonight I don’t have a finished project to show for today, but rather the beginning of a project. My dear friend, Theresa has just finished remodeling her kitchen. Yesterday Theresa offered me her old cabinet door fronts. I’m thrilled. I already have a few finished pieces in my head, one of which I started today. I will post what I have begun, but also post a few pieces that I’ve worked on over the last few years. The next time you have a piece of furniture, an old wooden box, or anything that you think you are through with, take another look. Sometimes you will be amazed at what you’ll see.IMG_9715This was an old hall bench that a friend no longer wanted (thanks, Theresa), I took one look at the lines and thought baseball. It so happens that my new son-in-law is a NY Yankees fan. That Christmas he got this…IMG_9761I found an old silverware box at the thrift store…Acrylic paint projects (51)and my friend received this as a birthday gift.Acrylic paint projects (1)Acrylic paint projects (8)So today I began the process of turning my treasure of old cabinet doors into new things.8 13 (2) 8 13 (3)Old door, new tricks! Stay tuned…

Don’t Drink And Draw

My wonderful husband was reading last night’s blog this morning and sneaking glances at me. Why? Because last night’s self-portrait was way off the mark. I am hereby instituting new self-imposed rules for my project.

1. When there is so little light that you can barely see you might want to reconsider drawing.

2. Don’t draw and try to watch one of your favorite television shows at the same time. (I couldn’t help myself, the Newsroom is so good)

3. Two glasses of wine and self-portrait drawing don’t mix. I admit it, I’m a total lightweight.

4. Mixing all of the above activities might cause you to look at your work from the night before and say, “WHAT?”

My first attempt at drawing me. I never liked the idea of the self-portrait, I really think it has to do with the teeth issue, but I went for it. I guess I figured any self-respecting artist does it sooner or later. Dan said all he could do while looking at it was look at me. He wasn’t getting it, and justifiably so. I set about correcting the drawing and quite frankly, it was one of the hardest drawings I’ve done. I couldn’t get my own nose right, much less the fractured tooth. It took me hours, meanwhile subjecting Dan to countless critiques. “Is it right yet?”, “How about now?”, “Is this it?”, you get the idea. I think maybe there is a reason I always see portraits of artists looking in mirrors to draw themselves. You see yourself differently in a mirror than you do in a photograph. It was torture. I’m done, I’m really glad I’m done, and we won’t be seeing another for any time in the near future.

Aside from hating my face for most of the day, I actually did finish one project that was long overdue, made another invite for my special four-year old friend, Emily, and started another painting. Amazing! For tonight the real me (I think, and if you know me and see a problem with the sketch, please don’t tell me for at least a week), Emily’s invite, the beginnings of a painting of an Angel’s Trumpet, and Theresa’s (she of the pear fame) finished gift.8 128 12 18 12 2IMG_0681

Out Of Focus

An emotional roller coaster of a day. I said last night that my Dad was doing better, and he is as far as his injury. At least they have figured out what the issue is, or so they think, tests on Thursday will hopefully answer the question. The hard part is his confusion and fear. Shortly after my Mom died a friend said of my Dad, “What happened to the strongest man in the world? Samson has lost his Delilah.” My Dad is old school macho. He has very definite ideas of how a man should be. He does of course have a soft side. It’s just difficult to hear the confusion. Lots of phone calls back and forth from the hospital today. I am grateful to my sisters for being there. Someone has been with him all day. I just wanted to say “Thank You” to them.

I had a difficult time today thinking creatively. I looked at doing several projects, but nothing was really speaking to me. I printed out a handful of photos from my files, but just couldn’t find the motivation. I finally decided to work on one of the many wooden boxes that I have laying about. I have a very quirky confession to make. I so often speak of the “not good enough” thoughts that seep into my brain, but I realized tonight that it only happens when I am going to paint on canvas. When I work on “craft” projects, or painting furniture, I’m fearless. I never second guess myself. I think that I somehow in my twisted brain I have elevated painting on canvas to the epitome of artistic greatness. It’s ridiculous. I have done some beautiful painted wood pieces, but I never think of them as real art. I belittle the stuff that comes to me mindlessly, and the stuff that I imagine is harder, I condemn myself for not being good enough. (This is where everyone forms a line and takes a turn slapping me, all the while asking, “What the hell is wrong with you?”) There is nothing that I do that I don’t give every ounce of myself to. So why am I placing more value on one over the other? I don’t have an answer, and if anyone reading this has some armchair psychology that they want to pass on, please do. I am at a loss to explain my own way of thinking.  Its got to be the monkeys in my brain messing with me.

Another wood burning project, and those amazing Martha Stewart Pearl Paints. Love, Love, Love them. Project isn’t finished, much intricate work to do tomorrow.8 10 (5)Before with initial sketch

8 10 (1)Half finished project8 10 (3)And Mia, one of my cats, I don’t think she understands me either.

 

My Ruby Slippers

Some good news today, my Dad Is doing a little better.  I had more than one nurse tell me over the phone today how charming he is. It’s the brogue, does it every time. I’m still really worried about him, but he can be quite funny, and knowing he is up to his usual goofy behavior makes me feel better. I’m still praying for him, anyone else who wants to join in is more than welcome.

I spent part of the day working on the logo which is giving me more trouble than I expected. It’s tough to create a piece of art that will reproduce well in a two-inch size.

For tonight a little trompe l’oeil. It’s been years since I’ve done it, but tonight I came across a small wooden art box in my studio that I’ve been meaning to do something with and decided to play with that. I painted a pencil on the lid tonight. but want to add a few other items to the top. I had really intended to do a lot more today. I’m about a third of the way through this project. Seventeen weeks in to be exact. I had planned to celebrate with some fabulous piece of art, it just didn’t come to me. I think part of what is getting between me and the logo project, and the work from tonight and from last night, is worry. Things still don’t seem to be going our way around here, and then with my Dad getting sick on top of it…let’s just say that sometimes its tough to stay positive. I am worried for my Dad, for Dan, for myself, and our family. There’s a Death Cab For Cutie song called, “What Sarah Said”, it is a song that has a great deal of meaning to it. It’s as though someone was watching in the ICU when my Mom got sick. There’s one line, “And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time”, I’m not even sure I can explain how that line resonates with me. I have wasted so much time in my life focusing on the wrong things, or being angry about things that really don’t matter, and especially not taking care of myself. I think about my Dad, soon to be eighty-one, and I know he has his own little prayer for more time. This entire project where I am discovering myself as an artist, might not have been necessary if I had stopped worrying about the crap, and focused years ago on the one thing that could really make me happy, my work. I did a little altered art card, not a good one, a very early attempt at Photo shop, but you will understand it when you see it. I made it a year or two ago, and the message was right there, I wrote it, but I still didn’t get it. It’s a little sad to discover, like Dorothy’s ruby-red slippers clicking together to bring her home, that I had what I needed all along. So here I am, with my prayer to father time, trying to discover who I am, and what I am capable of, in the Fall of my life. Grandma Moses jokes aside, it is more than time to be who I was meant to be. Small work tonight, but its about all I can manage at the moment.8 9

 

 

Artist Jackie

Cashing The Check

A few days ago I had issued a blank check to myself in order to give myself an out when I needed it from my project. The following day I thought I voided it. Today however, I find myself without something to post. I did indeed work on a piece of art today, but it is a logo design that my daughter and I are working on together. Jessica is an amazing graphic designer, but since the client wants something that looks like a vintage fruit crate label, I am doing the artwork. I have been working on a final proof all day, but since it is for professional use I cannot use it here. I would have tried to finish a smaller piece to post, but it has been a very difficult day. For those of you who don’t live close to your family, I’m sure you can relate, my Dad is in the hospital. It is a horrible feeling to be so far from someone who you love and not be there (Chicago) to do what ever you can. I have spent the day worrying, crying, and waiting for texts and phone calls. He is an almost eighty-one year old with a bad heart. He fell this morning in his home, and there are now serious issues that have arisen from that fall. He is in a good hospital, in ICU, and I have spoken to him a few times today. I told him that I love him, but that doesn’t replace being there, and having him know that you are just outside the door, or a phone call away. Yes, he can call me, but it is a more than four-hour flight to get to him. Six years ago I got to see my Mother for just a minute, one last time before complications took her from us, arriving straight from O’Hare Airport to her hospital bedside. I dread the thought that I might not have that chance with my Dad. So it has been a day with a heavy heart. The work I did today on the logo is not my best, my mind was somewhere else. It isn’t finished, I’ll do that tomorrow, when I will hopefully get a call saying that for now everything will be OK.

When looking through past work to post with my writing tonight I decided to post a few portraits that I’ve painted, on cakes, with food coloring. One is my son, Brian. It was for his 18th birthday, and yes, it does have a halo, that was a last-minute addition at the request of one of his friends. His only comment? “This says far too much about what I think of myself.” The other is my mother in law as a little girl, painted for her 75th birthday. Her only response? “I always hated that picture of myself.”  Sometimes you just can’t win.

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Jan 2010 050

Finally, one of my Dad and I from my prom night. I love you Dad, sleep well.Jackie & Dad Prom.jpg #1

 

Alias Grandma Moses

 

For years I jokingly told Dan I was going to be the next Grandma Moses. I didn’t actually think it would take me this long to get back to painting. I am of course not in my seventies, and based on the photo I saw of Grandma Moses on Sunday at the San Diego Museum of Art, Arnold Newman exhibit, I don’t look anything like her either. (Thank God and good nutrition) I am however in my fifties, an age where, at least in this country, many women are written off. I feel like I am just beginning. I actually look decent for my age, but more importantly, by this point in my life I understand that it isn’t an egotistical thing to say that I am good at something. It’s simply a fact. I find that I have gained a certain amount of self-confidence, it actually sort of crept up on me. We have a friend (thank you Wayne), who said there was something about turning fifty that gave him the right to say what was on his mind. (I’m paraphrasing here.) I am feeling the same way, and I’m definitely feeling it in my work these days. Expression is coming easier, it’s almost as if the paint is flowing easier. After yesterday’s breakthrough I had a moment earlier today, a momentary panic actually, that today’s work would pale in comparison to what I had achieved with the breakthrough. And then my fifty something brain kicked in, it said loud and clear, “who cares?” This is a no regrets project, I’ve said it before, warts and all, everything gets posted. But you know what? I have the beginnings of something really nice. No it isn’t garnering my astonished “Oh My God, I did that”, response of yesterday. And that’s OK. Breakthroughs don’t happen every day, if they did they wouldn’t be so spectacular. What I do have tonight is something that I entered into with fearlessness, and that is a great thing for me and my future as the next Grandma Moses, with of course much better hair and makeup.

Tonight, oil on canvas, orchids from a photo I took on Sunday in San Diego. My favorite color combination, green and purple. Not exactly where I want it to be yet, drying time frustrating me yet again, before I can finish what I want, but I’ve got a good start.

 

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A Change Is Coming

My last two posts were basically a write off. As I mentioned in previous blogs, when I committed to this project I didn’t take into account things like birthdays, anniversaries and illness. I failed to mention that I might get sick of the project, actually sick of myself. I am well aware that I did this to myself, and also aware that there are no blog police coming to crack down on me. I wanted to commit to doing something for myself mostly I guess to see if I would actually follow through. I rarely do things that are just for me. I am very maternal, a nurturer to the core…for everyone but me. When you lack self-confidence it is easy to direct all of the attention outward, that way you don’t have to look in. I can also say in absolute truth that I really don’t have a selfish bone in my body. Writing a blog daily is very me, me, me. Narcissism run amok. That’s not who I am, so I find myself being just a little bored of myself. Sometimes I just feel overwhelmed, and sometimes I actually have other stuff to do. This weekend I felt tremendous pressure to produce, and all that did was provide half-ass, half-finished work, that I quite frankly am not proud of. So here we go again, my blog, my rules.  When I have a guest staying overnight I might just post a photograph. Photography is as much a passion for me as painting, as is cooking. I have posted a few photos of food which people seem to love. I guess I’m saying that as I head further into this project it may expand just a little. I promise no toilet paper cover projects, just a little more variety so that I can look at my posted projects and not feel bad about myself. That unfortunately comes way too easy.

We had a lovely afternoon on Sunday, part of which was spent at Balboa Park in San Diego. There is a beautiful pond with Koi fish and waterlilies, and a few plants that I quite frankly don’t know the names of. I took a lot of photos, and today I decided to paint one of them. It’s oil, and you can see it isn’t finished, but it is ten o’clock and I’m tired. No “Misha” here, (see last week’s blog) I promise to finish tomorrow. I actually have a few projects to get to, and I will.

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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.