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! 
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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.
A Different Vision
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.
The Art Of The Plate
My only artwork for today happened in my kitchen. We actually started our day at 6:00 with a garage sale. Someone needs to remind me the next time I say I’m going to have a garage sale how much I hate it. After that a quick house cleaning, and then we had friends come for dinner. That’s where today’s creativity kicked in, handmade ravioli with ricotta, Parmesan, green onion and crispy pancetta, served with a brown butter sage sauce, with mixed greens dressed in a twenty year old aged balsamic and olive oil. Main course, macadamia nut crusted tilapia with mango purée, mango lime butter sauce, and pineapple salsa, served with rice and fresh asparagus. Finally for dessert, puff pastry crust, brushed with white chocolate, that had a touch of almond extract added, with pears, sprinkled with sugar, cinnamon, and ginger, served with homemade vanilla sauce, and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Have I painted a picture in your mind yet?
I actually did one small piece of art. One of my guests was my friend Emily. She is four and a half. I promised her an invitation to play would come in the mail. I started working on it as soon as she left. I may not have painted a masterpiece on paper tonight, but I definitely had a creative day. Back to the drawing board tomorrow.
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.
For Mom
It’s early evening here in Temecula and I haven’t attempted anything new for the day. Busy work in the garage, and to be honest a little stressed about stuff I can’t seem to let go of. There is also this, I know I mentioned it earlier in the month, but today is the sixth anniversary of my Mom’s passing. Never an easy day. I inherited “not good enough” from her. She never realized how fantastic she was. I am hoping that this project will eventually free me from myself, and maybe in some way she will gain something through me. I also realize that my daughter has a hint of the “not good enough” and I want to vanish it from her life too.
Speaking of “not good enough”, I mentioned it last night, and boy was it back this morning. I worked on Kelsey this morning because I wasn’t happy about it last night. The other issue is that I wait so long in the day to work that by the time I’m finishing up its dark outside, and I’m tired, and I don’t work with enough light…excuses, excuses, but all true. The stuff I can’t let go of? Perfectionism. I wrote last night of how Kelsey’s portrait didn’t give me any trouble. That was then, this is now. I worked that little baby’s portrait over and over, I almost ruined it by dropping a big blob of water on her poor little face. I finally put it down. I spoke to my daughter Jessica about it later in the morning. She said, “Mom, if they just wanted a picture they’d take one.” She’s right. I need to get it through my stubborn Irish skull that I’m not a Xerox machine (if you are too young to know what that is, google it!) I am an artist, I am evoking a feeling, or an essence, not a Sear’s portrait. I took on the garage stuff today because I needed to shake this off. I was doing so well, progressing and feeling confident. I’m not sure what happened that set me back…ding! Light bulb just went off. Most of the art I have been producing these last few months wasn’t for anyone. There were one or two pieces for Dan and Theresa, but they are like my other halves. It is because it is for someone else. My new family. Do I think they are going to get the portraits and put a big red check in the middle, or publish a bad review in the local paper, of course not. But I’m me, and I want them to love the portraits of their children. I’m sure they will, because this isn’t about them, it’s about me and my issues. I’m sure I’m slightly insane, and that all will be well. I just have to remember that “not good enough” is very sneaky, and will find the crack in the door if I leave it open even the slightest bit.
Two hours later…
I talked to Dan about how I was feeling, and of course his words pretty much echoed Jessica’s. I was in fear of being judged, thus the “revisiting”. Finally I just began to cry. It’s a hard enough day, and I make it harder on myself. In the midst of all of it another light bulb moment. There is always a root for every problem, and sometimes the person who planted it doesn’t even realize they are doing it. When I was a little girl, and had already begun to show talent, my dad handed me a photo of John Kennedy and asked me to draw it for him. In my recollection I was around five, but at the very least I was seven, because I still remember where I was sitting when he asked. He walked away and I cried because I didn’t know how to draw that picture and I didn’t want to let him down. Who knows what he was thinking. It’s a sad memory, but Dan said at least now I know where my lack of confidence started. Maybe I should rename the blog “365 Days to Psycho Analyze Yourself”, lots of stuff going on in my head these days. I want to say right now to my two children, if I have ever said something that made you think you weren’t good enough, I’m sorry. You have both always been amazing and the joy of my life.
Tonight, something for my mother. When she died her coffin was covered in yellow roses ordered by my dad. I don’t remember yellow roses being her favorite flower, they are his. I know that because my mom told me so. I remember lilacs, and that she smelled like Heaven Scent when I was young. I had some small pieces of wood, left overs from something, they aren’t even cut straight. Lilacs in acrylic on wood. Love you Mom.
Step Away From The Canvas
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…
Kindred Spirits
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.
Two Of A Kind
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)
We Are All Artists
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.
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