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A Different Vision

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The thing about being in the middle of not great stuff happening in your life is that the really important things, the things that really mean something, start to stand out even more. I think we as society get so caught up in work and money, and the race of every day life we sometimes tend to only look at the big picture, and lose sight of the small things, and most of the time those are the things that mean the most. I have a beautiful home, and it’s full of beautiful things, but these days I find myself not caring about “stuff”.  Instead I find myself appreciating what it means to have a home when so many people don’t, and being grateful that we had a little money when trouble hit. I have been married for twenty-four years, and have been spending every minute of every day for the last three months with my husband, and what has come out of that is the really, really important stuff. Such as? Despite troubles, a lot of support, a lot of understanding, a lot of worrying together, surprising to some, a lot of laughter, and most of all a lot of love. I was thinking about that earlier today and it inspired what I did tonight. I was in the mood to something different. I have a couple of photos I’ve taken over the last few years of hearts. Not the typical Valentine heart, but just noticing the shape in structures, in nature, and weirdly in a tar formation in a parking lot. inspired by what is the focus of my life these days, and the photographs I’ve taken, I wrote a verse and created a collage. Collage is definitely outside my comfort zone. The randomness of it is at odds with the perfectionism issue I have.

I only know this, whatever happens in our life we will always have what’s important, and that is each other.

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Back On The Road

The road block took a hike, I barely started the last of the three portraits I wanted to finish when I let “life” get in the way of my creativity. Tonight I happily sat here (yes, on the white slip-covered couch, but it is watercolor), and am pleased to say that Kylar is just about finished. I am also very happy to say that I’m not sweating this one. When I say “just finished” I mean just that. I’m out of good light for the evening so I will need to finish in the morning. I feel like I made a giant leap in my progression towards artistic confidence here. There was a time where I would have just given up, put half-finished work face down in the studio, never to be seen again. I let my guard down due to stress and my alter ego “not good enough” took advantage and got inside my head. I’m finding it easier to banish it to the basement of my brain. I over worked the last portrait, but it is still good work. With this portrait I could feel myself feeling confident. It’s an amazing feeling to see something develop from my hands. I never take my talent for granted, I know it is a gift, and I appreciate all that I can do. Of course I’d still love to have a great singing voice, or know how to dance, but you can’t have everything, although a little coordination would be greatly appreciated. Despite my minor moment of melancholia the other night, things are good. These are difficult days at times, but there are moments in each of them that bring a smile to my face and lightens my heart. There is of course also the benefit of living with the best friend you’ve ever had, especially when he does goofy things just to see you laugh. The journey continues, and it is never a straight road, sometimes it curves, and sometimes it is has road blocks, but it wouldn’t make for a very interesting life without them would it?

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Step Away From The Canvas

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An addendum to last night’s blog. I confessed to being a somewhat messy painter, I noticed this morning, again while on my stationary bike (a place for observation apparently), I realized that the book I was reading had paint on the cover. I have no idea how it got there. Just thought I’d let you know.

I am posting two photos tonight. One that I started yesterday of Keira, and today’s subject the absolutely adorable Kelsey. I had a battle of the wills with “not good enough” who chose today to poke it’s nose into my artistic business yet again. I wasn’t completely happy with Keira’s portrait last night, this despite the approval of her mother, Jill and my daughter, Jessica. The biggest problem (besides me) is that I was working in watercolor. There’s not a lot of room for error in watercolor. Once the paint hits the paper you are pretty much committed. I worked on Keira for a few hours, I think I’ve finally got it, but I still have one section that I want to revisit tomorrow. I think I may come to a moment where someone needs to just tackle me and take away my paint brush.

As for Kelsey, I was honestly not sure I could pull it off. Babies, though I love them so, do not have developed features. Their cute little button noses and tiny bud like lips can be difficult to paint/sketch without appearing too harsh. Kelsey was very cooperative. Not that I don’t need to revisit her tomorrow, I do. Her beautiful, sparkling brown eyes are much more intense than I have portrayed them in the painting. They will have to do for tonight, because my eyes are tired. I do see a few other adjustments I’d like to make. Sometimes I need to step away from the painting and revisit it when I am rested.

Addendum Part Deux.  Just in case you were wondering, I’m painting in a tan linen skirt, a cream-colored tank and a silk shirt. I didn’t get any paint on my clothes tonight, it’s what I’ve been wearing all day, including while I made homemade pizza sauce. I wish I could say that went without incident. When the mood strikes…

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Learning From Myself

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I had a moment of self-realization this morning. It occurred while I was on my stationary bike and glanced down at my exercise clothes. My black yoga pants are covered in paint splotches. Actually you’d be hard pressed to find a pair of jeans in my closet without at least a single spot of color, and then there is my big fluffy Pottery Barn robe that Dan gave me for Christmas a few years ago, that’s right, a nice big smattering of black paint right in the front of the robe. Then there are the countless shirts I’ve ruined, now labeled “paint shirts” because I can’t bear to throw them out because I like them so much. Why do I do this? Because when the mood strikes I go with it. It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing, or what time it is, if I feel the need to paint, I just do it. This is the reason why I also own a number of paint stained nightgowns. (Very sexy I assure you) On countless occasions Dan has given me a piece of clothing with the warning, “I don’t want to see any paint on this.” Oops! I can’t help myself. I know, that is a lame excuse for what amounts to a little laziness. The truth is I’m not lazy in the least. I can barely sit still. I just get inside my creative brain and lose focus. Clothing doesn’t seem important. I have to admit clothing is not important to me unless I am going somewhere special. I pretty much spend my life in jeans and a shirt. Not that I don’t look nice. I always want Dan to think I look attractive. I am also my mother’s daughter. I don’t leave this house without full hair and makeup. I don’t own a pair of sweat pants, and will never own a pair of sweat pants. I feel that sweat pants are unnecessary to the universe. No one looks good in them, Brad Pitt and his significant other, Angelina, wouldn’t look good in sweat pants, and when you add a slogan across your ass, well, I have no words….OK, enough about that, my point is that when I feel a creative surge, I need to answer the call, despite the white slip covered couch I’m sitting on. I know, long rant, long explanation, possibly TMI, back to the self-realization. I have spoken at length about my struggle with perfectionism in my work. I apparently do not have this need for perfection in what I am wearing while I work, or to be honest, how I work. As rare as a California tornado would be, you might think one had happened by the time I finish working. It’s a mess! A giant mess, including me. Paint on my face, occasionally in my hair, all over my hands, and yes my clothes. With all of that indifference one might think that my work would come with that same sort carefree attitude, but it doesn’t. I will admit that I am letting go of a little of that, but I think before I work I need to pay a visit to my closet and take my cue from my poor paint splattered clothes, and make a mess on the canvas. I might just be surprised at the results.

For tonight, a not quite finished project. One of the best gifts in my life in the last year has been the addition of my new son-in-law, and of course John has family too. Among them some very adorable children, and since I have no grandchildren…hint, hint, no pressure…I was in search of something to draw, so I am borrowing some grandchildren. This is Keira. She isn’t quite finished, but I have a date tonight with my husband. I’ll be finishing Keira up tomorrow, and then begin working on a painting of one of her equally beautiful sisters.

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Kindred Spirits

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If you are really lucky in life you will have one really good friend. I consider myself very fortunate in that I have four or five women in my life that I know without a doubt could be called upon for any occasion, good and bad, that would be there for me without hesitation.  I am also blessed to have a husband who without question is the best friend I’ve ever had. I’ve always loved Lucy Maud Montgomery’s book “Anne of Green Gables”. Anne finds her kindred spirit in Diana. I have three sisters, but I believe I may have found the fourth. Twins, possibly separated at birth. ( It just might be possible, we were both born in Canada)   Theresa is my Diana, my kindred spirit. Dan always says that he doesn’t know what we would do without each other. I think he is right.  We have leaned on each other quite a bit in the last few years. When I first came to California I didn’t know a single soul, it was lonely and I missed my family terribly. I of course gradually met people, some of them the same irreplaceable, wonderful women I mentioned above. The story of how Theresa and I became friends is really quite lovely. Her son, Zachary is a friend of my son, Brian. Zach was at our house quite a bit and was often offered something to eat. I’ve mentioned often in this blog how much I love to cook and bake. Zach would often ask me if he could bring a little something home to his mother to try. When he got home he would tell Theresa that I sent food for her to try. Sneaky plan, but so wonderful! Eventually Zach told his mother that we should meet, he thought we should be friends. Zachary is a very intuitive young man. Today is Theresa’s birthday, and because she is such a light in my life I wanted to give her a little light in return. My project today is a hurricane lamp. I printed four panels vellum using photos of my paintings. All four paintings were floral, I had considered using pears because she does have a (dare I say it?) pear fetish. It is an addiction that I usually feed, but today I wanted something different for her. The panels are applied to plexiglass, and then attached at the corners. I trimmed the corners out with color strips I printed on canvas paper and copper tape. Throw a candle in the middle and it looks pretty cool. I just might have to make one for myself. Happy Birthday my dear friend.

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Two Of A Kind

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Last night I promised the “Natalie” nickname story, but before I get into that I wanted to explain my choice of title and subject for this evening. Two of a kind. As I  explained the other day, as a child I looked just like my dad. Neither of my two children look exactly like me. My son resembles Dan’s family much more than he does mine, although my Dad claims that Brian looks like him. (Of course, because he is handsome. See Natalie story at the bottom of the page, it will explain everything) Brian has my teeth, famously known around here as “Osmond” teeth, they’re big, Osmond big. When I was younger I could do a mean Marie. She and I are only days apart in age, although my face still looks like me. (Just saying..) Jessica is a real mixture of her Dad and I. When she was younger she resembled him more, now I see a lot of myself. I bring this up because the piece I painted tonight is from a photo Jessica took in Ireland. In 2009 my Dad wanted to take all four of his daughters, their husbands, and the eight grandchildren to Ireland.  I didn’t go. Love my family dearly, but me on a bus with my family for ten days would not have been pretty. Fortunately my lovely husband and I were celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary.  Oh, so sorry, can’t go to Ireland because I’m going to Paris. (Have I mentioned how much I love my husband?)  I had also been to Ireland twice before, and had dreamed of going to Paris my entire life. No question about which trip I was taking. So, while my children were in Ireland with my family, (Ha ha) I was in France with the love of my life. This is where the two of a kind part comes in. I took more than two thousand pictures in France, Jessica wasn’t too far behind in Ireland. Two different countries, two different photographers, the pictures? Interchangeable. We take the same shots the same way. Same angles, same detail shots, same composition. The only difference is that she occasionally allows humans into hers, mine are landscape only. (I even photo-shopped an unfortunate tourist out of one of my pictures, sorry. She really shouldn’t have been wearing those sweat pants.  And, because no one told everyone to get off Monet’s bridge over the water lilies in Giverny….gone, sorry once again)  Jessica is also very artistic, a graphic designer by trade. Beautiful work and I’m not even biased.

When Brian was small he began to paint, he was three. He would watch Wile e Coyote and the Roadrunner and then paint desert scenes. I was thrilled. Then he grew a little and realized we might have something in common (God forbid!) so he quit. I think he spent years denying he actually had a mother. One of the nicest things that has happened with this project is that my son now wants me to teach him how to paint. I’ve waited nearly twenty years to hear that lovely request.  I might also add he has a good eye for photography as well. I’m a proud mother OK?

The “Natalie” story. Here it is… my Dad, as I have stated previously is quite a character. He is also quite narcissistic. He is a good-looking man, even now at eighty he still looks good, and since he sounds like he just got off the boat, (he got off in 1956) his brogue is quite attractive to the ladies. Since I looked like him as a child he gave me the nickname Natalie. No it isn’t my middle name, that is Frances. (I’m named for Jackie Kennedy, middle initial F., last initial A. Get it? J.F.A….J.F.K.? We’re Irish Catholic need I say more?) Natalie is for the beautiful Natalie Wood. Why? Because I looked like my Dad and if he were a woman he would look like Natalie Wood. Really. I wouldn’t lie to you. Slightly twisted, but you have to admit entertaining. By the way, my artistic talent isn’t mine, its his. He told me so. It’s kind of like osmosis, his thoughts, his ideas, my hands, I kid you not.

So in honor of my slightly strange Dad, and because I love him, a little watercolor of his favorite place on Earth, Ireland. Photo by Jessica, painting by Jackie (alias Mom)

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We Are All Artists

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OK, I know last night I said I would be entertaining all of you (and me) with my writing, and had intended on telling you all the reason behind the “Natalie” nickname, (which really is worth the wait…stay tuned until tomorrow) but then I received a comment from someone who reads this blog. ( This is where I’ll be getting all philosophical again) The person who sent me a comment (and I publicly thank you again) said that they wished they were talented like me. What he failed to realize, and I told him so in my reply, is that he is an artist. I read his blog, a place where spirituality is the subject. Beautiful words, beautifully written, as I said in reply, he paints pictures with his words and prayers. In my family we all have our assigned roles. My older sister is the smart, educated one, I am next, the weirdo, the artist, the quiet one, then there is the funny one, and finally the baby. We all have so much more to offer than those labels would imply. (To respect their privacy I will only use initials) M is the oldest, and yes, very smart and the most educated, but she is also very gifted with her hands, just in a different way than me. Sewing, knitting, needlework, beautiful, beautiful work. I am next, obviously artistic, but also very smart, and on occasion quite funny. C is next. Funniest woman I know. I can’t spend an evening with her without crying from laughter. G, “The Baby”, is anything but a baby. Strong, smart, and I think the most athletic of us (we know it’s not me). Unfortunately, despite how much our parents love us, sometimes they just don’t think. M’s creativity is overlooked, it isn’t her place, it’s mine. C was complaining once to my dad (not sure about what), his response? “Look at Jackie, sure she can paint but she has no personality”.  (And one wonders why I have issues) C is a very intelligent woman, who can multi task with no match, and an artist in the garden. (Note to the powers that be at Wrigley Field, this woman will give you a playing field to die for, and she’s a fan) She has no appreciation of how smart she is. She had two concussions as a child within weeks of each other. The story of how smart she was before “the accident” is family legend. The implication might make you think she was brain-damaged, not so much, very smart lady, and no one can be that quick-witted and dumb.  Finally G, as I said nobody’s baby. She ends up in management where ever she works. Also a beautiful baker, makes gorgeous pastries, creative right? The mere fact that anyone is writing a blog is creative. Putting a beautiful meal on the table is creative. Composing a speech, writing a song, raising a child, each is creative. We all have it within us to be an artist. My point is that we all have something to offer, it doesn’t have to be with a brush or a pencil, those are just my tools of choice.

And by the way, I have been told that I actually do have a personality.

For tonight, my handsome son Brian. I saw a photo in the LA Times many years ago that I loved. This afternoon Brian was kind enough to sit for a portrait for me, posed in a similar way to the photo as I remembered it. Watercolor on paper.IMG_0341

Recycled Art

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Anyone who knows me well can tell you that I’m kind of crazy when it comes to recycling. My poor family has been lectured more times than I care to say because I have found something in the trash can that should have been in the recycling.  They live in fear of the recycling police. In my defense I feel like it is one small thing that I can contribute to the world. Then there were also Myra and Emma. Who were they? I’m sure everyone has a story about someone from their childhood that made a lasting impression on them. These ladies lived down the street from us. I believe they were sisters, and one of them unfortunately had something wrong with her face. Rumor had it that she was bitten by a squirrel, (nice children, weren’t we?) I really don’t know what the issue was. Anyway, when these ladies saw a kid pick up trash they rewarded that child with candy. Needless to say our street was clean, although there were some kids known to plant trash in order to be seen picking it up. It must have made quite an impression on me, I can’t stand litter. At one point in my life I owned a home on an alley, my little piece was the cleanest alley you would ever find. Even today I cannot eat in one of those restaurants with the peanut shells on the floor. It drives me insane, I want to grab a broom and sweep it all up.  There were also The Box Car Children. If you never read about them, they were in search of their grandfather, but couldn’t find him, so they made a home in an abandoned box car.  Their entire home was filled with stuff they found at the dump. It made the dump sound very glamorous, (there was no discussion about sanitation or odor) so that explains my obsession with thrift stores and antique stores. (I was obviously an impressionable child) I also believe it is responsible for all of the  various scraps, junk, crap and other materials I have, all with the idea of my turning them into something else. Some of that may actually come to fruition since I am on this journey to use all the supplies in my studio.

For tonight I wanted to give the chalk pastels a shot again. As you may remember, I am not fond of pastel paper, so I grabbed some Bristol. Horrible, wouldn’t blend at all! Then I remembered, several weeks ago I was watching a design show where an artist had been hired to do pen and ink drawings on pieces of newspaper. I loved the results. I grabbed a piece of this mornings paper from the recycling and began drawing. I love it. The chalk works beautifully with the surface of the paper, and I love the combination of the bright chalk sketch against the regimented font of the paper, and I’m recycling!  I want to try this again.

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A Day At Play

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I have no masterpiece to post tonight, but maybe then again, I do. I spent my day working on Emily’s House, the paper doll house for my special little friend. I have to admit I got very carried away with this project and I’m only halfway done. I woke at 4:30 this morning, (Thanks neighbor for leaving your lights on in the garden all night! I thought it was daylight and got up too early) then I came downstairs, saw the clock and cursed, tried to go back to sleep on the couch, but it was hopeless. The universe, and two of my cats, had decided that I needed to be more productive. Last night I had left some of the pieces of Emily’s paper doll house sitting out, so I went to work. That’s right, four-thirty in the morning and I’m making a paper doll house. I didn’t mind in the least. With each wall I make I am that much closer to giving it to Emily, and the thought of that brings a smile to my face. I worked on it pretty much all day. At one point this afternoon the thought occurred to me that I should be working on my art, but I realized I already was. I’m going to post a few photos, including my rather impressive fridge that has a door that really opens, but I can’t reveal too much yet, I will post the entire house when its done. To say I’m getting a little crazy is an understatement. My mother commented once when I was a kid that there was something wrong with me, I was always  cutting paper. I still cut a lot of paper, I’m still a little different, and I still make enormous messes (I mention that last part because as I write, Dan is picking up tiny scraps of paper off the couch) but I have never lost the love of creating, no matter how big or small the project, it’s the process that brings me joy.

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Back To The Drawing Board

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I never did get to putting the pages of my box/book together. Not surprising, I know, but other pressing matters, such as my overgrown garden took precedence. I realize that it is just another obstacle I created for myself. All I can say is I’m working on it. Some of you may be saying, “Where’s Jessica?” I know, I haven’t gotten back to my full figure portrait. It isn’t really that I’m avoiding it, I just haven’t been sleeping well, and when I don’t sleep well I tend to screw things up. I also get frustrated more easily, and I really want the portrait to turn out well.

I worked so hard today that I have a couple of blisters on my right hand.That would be of course that I, who rarely stops to think and just jumps into the creative pool head first, always work without gloves. The garden looks beautiful, my fingers hurt, and I’m very tired.  So what seems to have become the norm happened again. I cooked dinner and then set off in search of a project. I thought about a small painting, my usual, a watercolor, but then when I looked at the shelf where I keep paper, actually it’s shelves, many shelves. I have over the years purchased a great deal of paper, and received quite a few pads of a paper as gifts.  Many, many of them are regular inexpensive drawing paper, and following through on my promise to use up my supplies, I decided to practice my drawing skills. I had intended to do a few quick sketches, but that didn’t happen. I only did one drawing, as I was leaving the studio I noticed a new package of charcoal that was sitting on my table. (I am ashamed to admit that there are a lot of new, unopened art supplies, some that moved there with me ten years ago!) I decided to use the charcoal. It turns out that the charcoal is actually “black chalk lead”. What? Do I know how to use this stuff? No. Did I read anything before I tried to use it? Of course not. It’s me, the artist who flies by the seat of her pants. Let the frustration commence! It doesn’t erase! My drawing was going along very nicely until I got to the hand. Attempt number one was a mess, way out of proportion. I tried to erase and it didn’t work very well. I tried again with no success. I finally got smart and grabbed a regular pencil, sketched it in, and then ran it past my in-house critic, Dan. Satisfied that it would work out I went back and finished with the lead chalk. I’ll play with the lead chalk again, but I think I’ll save it for a little free form sketching. I am glad I got at least one finished piece from my efforts, and it is one I like. Not too bad.6 13 (7)