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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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Thank You

Before I begin my post tonight I think I need to clear something up. I think there was an awful lot of misinterpretation of my blog last night. It was after midnight when I wrote that piece. I was tired,and yes suffering from a little melancholia, but I had just finished a wonderful meal, shared with good friends, in my beautiful garden with my amazing husband. I am concerned and worried because my husband lost his job, or as he puts it, “his job lost him”, but I am not a lost sheep. When I spoke of not hearing the voice inside me I was speaking of my own voice. I was kidding when I spoke of my monkey-esque brain getting in the way of prayer, thus the use of the word monkey-esque. When I spoke of being impatient and my prayers not being answered it was in a humorous moment with Dan. I do find myself searching and wondering, but it is not because I find something lacking in my soul. I’m human, I’m worried, and despite the postings of a wife who is concerned for her husband, I have not lost faith. While I truly appreciate the thoughts and prayers sent my way, those of you who know me know that I am rather fond of finding humor in my life, particularly when talking about myself. My faith life is and always has been a private and personal relationship. I can be a bit of a loner, and it suits me to be that way in my spiritual life as well. Yes, we are going through hard times, but that is out in the world, at home I have no empty space to fill. I am a very loved woman, and in that luckier than most.

I decided tonight to post something I wrote several months ago with the intention of sending it to my local paper. Shame on me, I didn’t send it, but maybe this is better, this platform that reaches far beyond my local community. If you want to know where I live my spirituality then you need to read this.

                                                                                                                                                  MY FRIEND
I am an immigrant. No, not the kind that seems to be of great concern to everyone, the other kind, a pasty white Canadian with parents straight off the boat from Ireland. No one seems to care if I am legal (I am), but that really isn’t the point. For those of you who live in the Temecula area we suffered a significant loss recently. Most of you aren’t aware of it, particularly those who don’t attend our marvelous Saturday Farmer’s Market in Old Town. There amongst the fruits, vegetables, and restaurant fare was a man selling flowers. He wasn’t the only flower vendor, there are two or three others, but he was a gentle man with a lovely smile, and he was an immigrant. He was the immigrant you are all so concerned about, the Mexican kind. My husband and I attend the market weekly. There are many vendors there that recognize us on sight, and with those vendors we exchange pleasant greetings. The flower vendor was different. Week after week we would buy flowers from him and exchange a smile and a “Thank you”. His English was poor, our Spanish is nonexistent. The language barrier didn’t matter, or that we didn’t know his name, and he didn’t know ours, that gentle smile on that weathered face said everything. We became friends. Eventually he began to give me an extra bouquet, something he chose to add to whatever my husband was buying for me. In return I began to bring him a little something I baked, and the gift of a watercolor painting I had done of one of his sunflowers. He disappeared for a while and there was a great deal of concern for him from the people who attend the market every week. I knew this because when we asked about him, his niece told us that her uncle was recovering from surgery, and that it meant so much to her that so many people cared for him. A few months ago he returned. He looked older and a little feeble, but the smile was still there. I know that there is so much anger and even some hatred for immigrants in this country, but there are also those of us who understand who and what they are. My dad came here with a pregnant wife and two daughters because he wanted a better life. I don’t condone illegal immigration, but I wish everyone in this world could have the opportunity that we all have. I don’t know if the flower vendor was legal, I do know that by looking at his rough hands that he probably worked hard all of his life. Maybe we can all set aside a little of our hostility and stop and really look at one another. Many of you couldn’t or wouldn’t do the kind of work that would give a man hands like that. There has to be a better solution than anger. There needs to be compassion and understanding. Two weeks ago when we attended the Farmer’s Market we saw a picture of him surrounded with flowers. The flower vendor has passed away. For those of us who saw him weekly we will miss that smile. I will miss my friend.

For those of you that were lovely enough to offer the gift of your faith, your church, I thank you, but I have found mine in the face of humanity.

Tonight I am working on the last of the three portraits that I’m doing, but instead of posting the work in progress, I am posting the sunflower I painted for my friend, it’s brilliance could never match his smile. God bless you my friend.May 2011 199

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.

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Just Listen

Late night post, one of those days when I over schedule myself. I always think I can do more than time allows for.  Alas, as always neglecting to put myself first, and again not making art a priority. I think I’m producing good work these days, but I also think that I could produce better work if I gave it the time. It seems to me that too many of us feel guilty when we give to ourselves. What a difference we could all make in our own lives if we  allowed ourselves the time to be quiet and find what it is we love. The noise and obligation of every day life drowns out our inner voices. Have you ever tried to hear yours? I wake nearly every day to a promise that today will be the day where I make that time for me, and every time I make that promise I break it. I am the kind of person who is good for their word. If I say that I will do something then it gets done even if I don’t feel like it. Not for myself.  Do you make the New Year’s list? The list of all the ways you will be better? My life is that list. A trail of paper lists and empty notebooks. It really is my last hurdle. Lately I’ve been cleaning out boxes of paper. So many hours lost tearing out ideas for projects, paintings, or just stuff to read. The collecting became the project. Not that I didn’t do a few. There always needs to be something to justify what I’m doing, a promise of something on the road ahead is better than the thought of an empty life, so every now and then I would look through the boxes and do something. Mostly I just reorganized the paper. I’m done with that. Maybe it’s time to stop making promises before time runs out. I did however notice that the piles of papers to read had a recurring theme, self-esteem. (The O magazine in particular, it’s like the self-help bible) I had an epiphany of sorts today. As I was looking through the papers I realized that I no longer want or need to read those self-esteem articles. This project has done incredible things for me. I’m not all the way home where my self-esteem is concerned, but following through on this one promise to myself has made a difference, it has introduced me to some confidence in my artistic life, something I never thought I’d have. I just realized that maybe I had my quiet moment and it led me here.

Tonight a Hollyhock in watercolor on paper. I love Hollyhocks, they apparently do not like me. I planted some three years ago in my garden. They lived for a few months and were gone. I was very upset that they didn’t return the next Spring. They did return, but not for me. They have been lurking on the other side of the fence. The side where a neighbor who does not care lives. For the entire summer there have been two dead stalks of something that tower over the fence. How does she not see them? Why doesn’t she cut them down? Why are they bothering me so much? And then it shows its face, the Hollyhock, my Hollyhock (I know she didn’t plant them), tangled up with the dead stalks, peering over my fence, taunting me. Betrayed by a garden flower.

 

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Expanding The Horizon

It’s early, at least for my writing, only eight forty in the morning here in California, but I find myself already thinking about what I want to write this evening. If you read my ramblings on a regular basis, you know that it primarily has to do with what I have created and why, and though it still sneaks in from time to time, I believe the blog has become a little less “woe is me”. To be honest I’m boring myself just a little. I think I need to change things up. I’m not talking about abandoning the project, I fully intend to see it through, but maybe to expand beyond the talk of the what and why I create art. I have noticed that when I check out many of the people who “like” my postings, their blogs reveal a great deal more about them. It isn’t as though I haven’t told a story or two, but I’ve definitely held back. The photo on my blog isn’t even me, it’s my grandmother, I just love the picture, and frankly never like the ones of myself. I may have mentioned that my dear friend Theresa, has often told me that I need to “put it in the book”, by that she means the never-ending stories of the funny, not so funny and weird things that have happened in my life. I think it may have something to do with my Irish heritage, I hear that we are “gifted” story tellers. I think that it may have more to do with my Irish parents, my dad in particular, he can be quite a character. My intention at the end of this year of blogging was to have the blog and its accompanying art turned into a book for my two children. Something they could have of their mother, as I have very little of mine. So, tonight there will be art, maybe a little something about the piece, but a little more about me and my life.

I have mentioned that I won my first art competition in the third grade, I haven’t however revealed the project I made, or the inspiration. As mentioned above, I’m Irish, but my dad looked just a little Asian as a child. (Weird, I know) I looked exactly like my dad when I was a little girl, one of my nicknames was “Daddy’s Double”, my dad occasionally will still refer to me as “double”, although in my eyes I look a little more like my mother now. (He won’t hear of that, and I had two other nicknames, Cookie and Natalie. The second one is a whole other story for another time) My sister’s and I had our hair cut really, really short. This was thanks to some whack job doctor who told my mother that long hair holds germs, seriously. The traumatic event of having our pony tails snipped off still haunts me, maybe that’s why I still like my hair long. With my short hair and my dad’s face I looked a little Asian. We went to see the Ice Capades, and it was Chinese New Year. The beautiful skaters came out on the ice with rickshaws, they pulled children from the audience to pull around the ice, I was chosen. Now whether or not it had anything to do with how I looked I wouldn’t know, but I always thought it did. The next day at school we were asked to draw whatever we wanted, I drew a clown, but a clown with big, multicolored plumes coming from his hat, and I outlined the entire drawing very carefully in black. Completely awed and inspired by the show the night before. I was very proud of that drawing, and even more so when I won. My dad must have been too. He had that drawing in a frame for years. He finally gave it to me, but unfortunately I was in a place in my life where I just didn’t care enough. It is in pieces now, I still have those. It is a remnant of the first time in my life when I felt really special.

Tonight, just a play day with watercolor. A vintage phone, a photo of a flower that I took in France, and finally, I came across this watercolor inside one of the pads in my studio. I’m not sure when I did it, I just remember trying to recreate a sort of comic book feel.

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My Favorite Subject

I’ve been really happy with my work from the last two nights and had planned on painting in acrylics once again. I began to look through my photos for inspiration and came across a recent photo of my husband that I took when we stopped at a lake while out on a Sunday drive. I love this photo of him, and he is a good sport about everything I do, but in particular tolerating my near constant photo taking. I can’t go for a hike without my camera, and as much as I hate my own photo taken, I show him no mercy. A few years ago we were in San Francisco and stopped at a Starbucks, as I waited in the car I used my telephoto lens to capture him in line, and every second as he waited at a light and then made his way across the street to the car. All he did was laugh. I couldn’t ask for a more supportive partner, one who encourages me, who never doubts my ability, even I am in the midst of a visit from “not good enough”, who is willing to take on whatever crazy project that I have dreamt up.  He knows that the project is complete inside my head and believes in me enough to follow through on whatever part of it I need him to help with, will cook dinner after working all day just so I can finish whatever I’m working on, and a very handsome man as well. I am a very lucky girl.

I thought about those acrylics for half a second, decided since I hadn’t bothered see if I did indeed have the additives to slow the drying process, I was returning to my watercolors. I love the results.

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Inspired Day

I had a really productive day today. I started my morning in our beautiful garden taking photographs. I should say I tried to start my day that way. One of our cats, Mia, loves to come outside with us. We have three, all indoor cats. By mutual consent Mia has agreed to wear a leash and collar. (OK, maybe not so mutual, but I follow her upstairs by demand to turn the faucet on in the tub so she can drink, there isn’t anything mutual about that decision either!) Mia loves a good cat massage, particularly on her face. She followed me around the garden mewing until I gave in. I spent a good twenty minutes petting her until she decided she had enough. After Mia’s session was over, (no tip) I finished photographing the garden, and then I began finishing up last night’s portrait of my Mom. I really wasn’t happy with it last night, much happier this evening!2013 garden (24)

I wasn’t sure (as usual) what I wanted to do today. I was uploading the photos out of my camera and decided to use one of my photos for inspiration. Before I began working I looked at my daughter’s Facebook page. Jessica had posted some photographs from a trip to Venice Beach with her husband John, and their dog Otis. There was one in particular that I really liked, so that became my project. I have been really dying to get back to my paintbrush, but until I get an OK from the doc that my lungs are clear, watercolor will have to suffice. The painting of John and Otis didn’t take long, and I felt terrific doing it. I even commented to Dan how relaxed I feel in my work these days. Despite my evil nemesis, Perspective, and the unusually quiet “you’re not good enough” voice in my head, and my stubborn refusal to read direction of any kind, I feel like I am making leaps and bounds in my artistic confidence. So much so that when I finished John and Otis I decided to jump right into another painting. (I do want to catch up on those lost sick days) I looked through the photos from the garden and picked one of my Echinacea. I love the color, and wanted the challenge of painting the prickly tops. Success! By the time I was finished and looked at the clock it was after six. I need more days like today.

 

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The “P” Word, Yet Again!

 

Perspective. Just the sound of the word makes me freeze in horror. No, I am not admitting defeat. If you read last night’s post (and twenty other posts about it) you know that my evil nemesis had thwarted my plans to do a painting with perspective. Yesterday I had this grand plan to do a complete series of gates, windows, and doors. Then last night happened. I’m truly not giving up, just giving myself a break from the aggravation and frustration that I experienced last night. What you might find at the very least mildly amusing, is that I actually spent a good part of my afternoon beginning the panels for a paper doll house for a very special little friend of mine. Several weeks ago I did a pastel chalk of Emily. I turned that portrait into a paper doll, complete with wardrobe. Emily the paper doll needs a home, a friend, maybe some pets, probably some furniture for her paper house…..getting carried away here. There is no better thing in this world than the smile on a child’s face, I wish I could do it for every kid. I said I needed to do some catch up on my project, Emily’s house will be part of that. It might not be “fine art”, but quite frankly it’s so much fun I can’t wait to get back to it. I love design. As a child I didn’t really enjoy playing with Barbie dolls, I did however really enjoy designing their house. I have three sisters, and we never really had one of those factory made Barbie houses. We had random furniture, some Barbie, some generic doll stuff. My doll’s house was fabulous! I used a checker board for my flooring, (still love a checked floor) my mother’s jewelry box as an armoire, and her good Waterford crystal bowl as my pool, complete with color tinted water, that was accomplished by taking apart markers and dragging the inside material (not even sure what it is. Felt?) across the water to dye it to my color of choice. When my daughter was young and I worked at a grocery store I brought home empty cardboard cartons, which I then turned into individual Barbie rooms. Wrapping paper wallpaper, carpet sample flooring, artwork cut from magazines, and real fabric curtains. Eventually two stories high along a wall in her playroom. Barbie had quite the pad! I did stop playing long enough this afternoon to do something else for the project, a pen and ink drawing of a Day-lily. The ink sketch is what I will be posting a photo of tonight. Emily’s house is still under construction and will have its own special reveal, hopefully some day later this week. As I said, mildly amusing, the girl who can’t do math, and hates perspective, is creating an architectural doll abode. I guess even when you really don’t enjoy the process, (at least the perspective part) in the end it’s who and what the project is all about that makes all the difference. I guess you might say it puts things in “perspective” ( I know, insert cringe here).7 2

Broken Promises

Did I break the promise I made to myself last night? Of course I did. The last thing I wrote last night was a promise to myself to start my day with my work. As usual I let everything else get in the way. Cleaned my house, ran errands, you know the “anything I can put in my way” stuff. Are you like me? Do you keep your promises to everyone, everyone but yourself? Why is that so easy? When I say I’m going to do something I do it. Sometimes I don’t even feel like it but I do it anyway. Like telling someone you will call them when in fact you really don’t want to talk to them. I call. Or agree to help a friend do something, and then you are tired or lazy or just don’t feel like it? I do it. I have a sneaking suspicion that Catholic guilt plays a role, and I’m a woman. Women seem to feel bad awfully easily, at least I do. But if it’s for me, bottom of the list. I think I need to do a “Stuart Smalley”, remember Al Franken on SNL? I need to sit in front of a mirror and repeat, “I’m good enough”. But only after I clean the house, right?  I did finally sit down to do some art.  “And what time was that?” you ask. Well, if I’m going to be honest, about 7:30 this evening. By that time I was quite frankly ready for bed. Still unbelievably tired, but I was upset with myself last night. I did last-minute, under pressure homework for this blog last night, and it was crap. I really didn’t even want to post it, but I did say I would put up everything, even the crap. So as tired as I was tonight I was determined to put up something to be proud of.

When Dan and I went to Paris in 2009, I took in excess of two thousand pictures. The most beautiful, in my opinion, were the ones I took in Giverny. Every home and garden were spectacular. I looked through those photos today and pulled a few of my favorites. I believe I have mentioned my odd love of gates, windows and old doors. (If I haven’t then here’s the scoop. I take many, many photos of old doors, gates and windows. I never, ever take photos of people, except for Dan, who is of course my favorite human) I chose a photo for tonight of a gate I liked because of its color. Watercolor on paper. It was sort of last-minute, but its work I like, not something that I will feel bad about in the morning. No promises as far as a schedule for tomorrow, only the promise that I will put up work that I am proud to put my name on, and I will try really hard not to put myself last…I’m smart enough…I’m good enough…

 

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The First Date is Over

You know that feeling when you are going out with someone for the first time? You feel all nervous but excited at the prospect of what could be coming your way. That’s how I felt about yesterday. I was terrified of heading into this project, but at the same time excited about finally forcing my own hand (literally!) I spent time creating the page that would explain it all, I jumped head first into a few paintings, I told just about everyone what I was going to do. I got great feedback, mostly on my Facebook page. I had hoped, and still do, that my family and friends might offer feedback right here on the blog. (Hint inserted here.) I did get one wonderful comment that brought a smile to my face, and was excited to see people following my page.

By last night fear began to creep in. The excitement of the first date over, the did fear of, “Did he like me, is he going to call?” nonsense started. Yesterday was a pretty stressful day. Some issues relating to other parts of our life were causing upset to both my husband and I. We had a good day despite the stress, but I, as always, internalized the situation.  I find it difficult to be creative when I’m upset. The whole suffering for your art thing never made sense to me. I believe that in giving birth naturally to two eight pound plus babies, and having had six knee surgeries (Again, good with the hands, not so good with the feet.) I have suffered more than enough for my art and that of everyone else too. I am happy when I create. As the day wore on the weight of what I had done to myself was crashing down on me. I had committed to the world that I was going to produce one piece of art EVERY day. I pulled out my watercolors and painted. I didn’t just produce one painting, I did three. Two are artist card size. For those of you not familiar with the Artist Trading Card movement Google it.( Worth reading about and trying to do yourself if you’ve been hiding your own creative desires.) The size is similar to a wallet size. Two and a half, by three and a half in size, it can be anything, made any way as long as the size is right. I find it an easy way to do a quick piece of art, especially when I promised to do some! I will publicly admit right now that all three are falling into the “not good enough” category in my head. I am posting the three of them because I said I would, and I always keep my promises. So that being said and my excitement diminished, here are three pieces of work. Not my best, but not my worst, and at least I did it!

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