"Our Place in the Mystery" - mixed media on Canson art board, 16" x 20".  Available on Artfinder.

It's been a long time since there was a baby in the house.  Twenty years, to be exact.  And ok, a five-year-old Great Dane is not actually a baby.  But we took some time last week to bond with our new boy, to take extra walks, give extra snuggles  and  to perfect our drool clean-up routine.  

By the end of the week, Pongo was at home sprawled across the studio floor, which gave me a little time with the paint and with the process of abstraction.  

Creating an abstract is a lot like learning to communicate with a large dog.  There is a lot of listening and observing to learn the language.  Abstracts do not like to be told what to do, any more than a dog who is determined to play fetch with his rubber pig.  Both want you to play, and not to be on the phone or sweeping the floor or watching t.v. or looking in the cupboard for salty snacks.  Abstracts are very uncooperative when you try to make them conform to a pre-conceived notion of organized chaos.  Dogs are the same.  They do not want to sit when a squirrel is in the yard or ear drops need to be administered.  

In this week's chapter of Nepo's Seven Thousand Ways to Listen, there is a phrase he used - there is no lesson plan for living but to live. - this landed squarely in my lap like a drool-covered toy.   This moment, this paint moving under my fingers across the board, this fur-baby galloping through the house like a huge goof-ball - our place in the mystery is right here, in these moments, savoring its simplicity.

"Nightmare After Hamster-Wheeled Stress Thinking" - mixed media on watercolor paper, 30" x 22".  Inquiries.

It's October - that time of the year when we are free to explore all things frightening, or to (for one night) become scary monsters and creepy ghouls  ourselves.  So it just makes sense to have a scary painting challenge, right?  But you know me...I can't just choose a scary vignette and paint it.  I have to explore what terror feels like to me and let the painting do a little talking during the process.  This one was quite a surprise!

It began as a what seemed to be three floating skeleton heads in a sea of color, but somewhere along the layers this screaming person in her pajamas and night cap appeared, and she happened to be chased by a floating skeleton head, who seemed poised to CHOMP at any moment!  WHAT?  Ok, ok.  We have to dissect this, right?  

Apparently  I am afraid of  insomnia. Probably because it happens a lot.  I know, I'm at "that age" where sleep can't be taken for granted anymore.  Sometimes the thought wheels are spinning in the middle of the night.  Mark Nepo wrote an exquisite chapter about fear in Seven Thousand Ways to Listen.  He called it "Raven Talk", and describes perfectly the grip of spiraling thoughts: "I was already drowning in what-ifs, and the fear began to circle like a raven gliding near my heart, waiting for an opening to tear its piece...I am stuck in its dark wing.  I cry out to no one."   It never fails to stun me how stress thoughts can amplify in the dark of night, taking on strength and mass and becoming monsters.  Nepo goes on: "So now I'm up again in the night trying to shoo the dark bird of fear."

Once I finally drift off, dreams drag the thought ravens into my sleep world in bits and pieces, turning them into houses without exit doors and never-ending hallways.  But when I wake, except for a brief sound of wings carrying away the last of the dreams, the worries have been swept away.  Nepo calls this "dreaming the fear from our hearts".  

So as I contemplate this frightened character and her nightmare, I consider one more Nepo-ism: ​"The things that frighten us just want to be held."  With that one sentence, the monsters are rendered small and in need of comfort, and the raven just a bird on a tree limb.

​"All That Remained" - mixed media on yupo, 26" x 20".  Inquiries.

Dear Reader,

I last wrote about listening.  Deep listening at the edge of the cliff.   This post is about one of the things I've been listening to.  It's both personal and societal.  But it isn't an easy conversation.  So if you want to skip this one, I get it.  If you want to read on anyway, thank you from deep within my heart.

Jen


Recently I ran head-first into a Facebook post that asked one question:  why do white people hate black people?  It tossed me into a tailspin for days.  The writer is a prominent local artist, and one I happen to admire.  So I decided to listen.  He was gracious enough to take the time to personally answer my questions, speak his heart and educate me on his perspective.   This lead me to probe more deeply into why I stumbled over my words when talking about this issue.  After all, my husband and son and bonus boys are black. I've basically had a private tutor on race for the last two decades.  But I haven't felt confident that I understand the issue well enough to speak without causing more misunderstanding.

And then I tripped over an article about Jane Elliott.  You might remember her - the woman who pioneered the "Blue Eyes/Brown Eyes Exercise"  decades ago.  On her website, she has a tab labeled Learning Materials.  I thought these might be something sweet and helpful on the topic, but instead, Typical Statements and Clarification to Typical Statements slapped me in the face and woke me up.  

More thinking at the edge of the cliff.  Which had me asking myself what can I do with my white privilege that will help solve  instead of perpetuate the problem in our country?  This will be a question I ask myself often, as there are new opportunities each day.  But one thing that came to mind immediately was to use what I have to amplify the voices of the  minority. 

Ok, that's all well and good, but whose voice and how?  The universe heard my question and sent me an answer the next day when my son sent me a poem he wrote.  I cried.  I am still crying.  It is based on something that happened when he was three - in a loving, unbiased mixed-race home.

you were three

when your mother
saw you trying to scrub the skin your father gave you
off in the sink
trying to sand the pigment from your forearms
until the raw-dust dampened and clogged
the drain.

until all that remained was porcelain.

grating your arms until you were white enough
until you hit bone.

This poem dragged me to the edge of the cliff and hung me over the edge, wind whistling through. Even the youngest, most loved of children in the best of environments can feel what society is telling them.  My son gave me permission to share this with you.  

There isn't time nor space in this small arena of blogosphere to say all that needs to be said.  But perhaps, just maybe, this little platform and the heart-felt words of one man can cause a trickle of thoughts and conversations.  And if everyone is thinking and talking with open hearts, we can change this thing.

"Merle and Melanie", mixed media on aquabord, 16" x 20".  Ready to frame, or can be leaned upon a shelf.  Available on Artfinder.

Here is the final finished piece from the mixed media cooking show demo last week.  Such a sweet-souled pair!  They are making the studio feel a lot calmer...plus the crazy cats are now on display in a gallery, so there's a lot less malarkey for the moment. 

I've been taking some time to pause and reflect this week.  Everything in the world is overwhelming, and my instinct is to withdraw and hide under the covers.  But I picked up Seven Thousand Ways To Listen again, and guess what?  The next chapter is called "In the Hut We Call Self."  WHAT?  The universe is smacking me in the head.

This line..."I've been listening way inside, where the Universe rushes through me like wind through a hole in an old door in a hut near the edge of a cliff."    Whoa.  That's what listening feels like when the world is in chaos.  It goes on..."life like a storm can rough up our hearts" and "I can only say that my heart and eyes and mind keep being worn open."  Ack.  For all of us, our hearts and eyes and minds are being worn open over and over again.

But I learned something while listening deep inside.  These times when I most want to hide away are the very times to step out.  When I am most unwilling to speak is the time to talk.  And when the conversation seems too overwhelming it is time to have it.   This listening is prompting me to make some changes - things long past due, but I was busy hiding from the decisions, averting my eyes and pretending I didn't see or feel or know.  

The universe meets us when we step out.  As soon as I began to listen and to act, a whirlwind of wonder began to surround me, and delightful surprises appeared here and there until I wasn't afraid (or worried, or hesitant) anymore.  This gives me such hope.  If we all stand near the edge of the cliff and listen - if we all step out, speak and have the conversations the world needs to have in order to heal, great things can happen.  Change can take place.  Divides can be crossed.  And if you allow me a momentary burst of sappiness...we can make the world a better place for you and me.

"Fat Cat" and "Tiny Trouble" - acrylic on reclaimed wood.  Ready to hang (backs are wired for hanging).  Available at Clay Glass Metal Stone Gallery during the Cat-O-Strophic Event opening this Friday.

So what's a girl to do once 30 paintings in 30 days is over?  Keep painting, of course!  The momentum is rolling and the "season" here in Florida (when snowbirds and tourists return to the land of sunshine and sand) has just begun.  Next up, a new show in Lake Worth featuring cats.  

I am not much of a cat person, despite being a big cat (Leo) myself.  There have been plenty of sweet kitties in my life in the past, but I some point I morphed into a dog person.  Maybe it's because I like it when my animals follow me around with worshipful eyes, and all my cats ever did was ignore me and then demand canned tuna.  Plus they wouldn't let me dress them up for holidays.

But for those of you who feel an affinity with the felines, what might that mean?

If the cat is your spirit animal, he is an excellent helper when you need courage to handle problems that have been hanging around for awhile.  He has an exquisite sense of timing, so every action will be efficiently perfect.  If the cat is your totem,  your strength is patience, the ability to watch and wait, and then to act when the time is right.  (This is SO not me...patience is not in my daily vocabulary!)  You're also flexible...not just physically, but mentally and spiritually.  Able to adapt to changing circumstances instinctively.

Of course, cat lovers are also independent, free thinkers.  You might be more energetic at night.  And you also might become easily bored, moving from one interesting activity to the next.   Your friends had better keep you entertained if they want to keep you around. :)

Cats are mysterious...some traditions hold they are in constant communication with the spirit world.  When a cat comes into your life, someone (or something) has a message for you!  And the cat is said to be a calming energy, neutralizing the stress of humans when held in the lap.  Perhaps in this crazy modern world, everyone should have a lap cat?

 Right now, for example, it might seem like a lot of things aren’t working very well in our government.  But this week I had the delight of seeing the other side of the federal government at work when I attended the Sammy Awards in Washington, DC.

I thought this trip would be all about celebrating my sister’s nomination for her work with mosses and in uncovering hot spots of pollution in cities.  And to be sure, we spent a LOT of time celebrating (including a clandestine acquisition of a souvenir cutlery set for someone special).  What I didn’t expect was to find myself feeling excited and proud of what goes on behind the scenes in government.

Here are some of the other every day heroes who were recognized at this event:

• A team of people at the DPA and DOJ who worked together to halt a scheme by Volkswagen to evade emissions standards
• A man at the CDC who was the key player behind a program to scale up a system to deliver medicine to those suffering from HIV in developing nations
• The treasury inspector general, whose team led a multi-agency investigation and public awareness campaign to halt the scamming of senior citizens by those pretending to be from the IRS
• A team within the FDA who accelerated the approval process for an artificial pancreas for those with diabetes, reducing the approval time by three whole years (how many lives they must have saved!)
• A woman in the marine corps systems command who developed body armor 45% lighter and more flexible for female soldiers
• A disabled veteran working in the Department of Veterans Affairs  who designed special equipment and innovative wheelchairs to improve the lives of combat veterans
• A man in the U.S. Agency for International Development who led the effort to organize relief for those in Syria, even coordinating with neighboring countries to bring aid into Syria on donkeys (we all know I have a sweet spot for donkeys).

So perhaps every fluffy bunny isn’t as sweet as it looks, but on the flip side, every ferocious rabbit isn’t as awful as we are led to believe, either. We might have raised a few too many glasses to toast the award winners and nominees at this fancy gala, but after the hangover subsides I know there will be the soft glow of pride in knowing some things in the government are working really, really well.

I’ll leave you with this thought, direct from the lovely gala program:

We get in the habit of speaking of the government as if it were something apart from us.  The government is us—we are the government, you and I.
            President Theodore Roosevelt.

Learn more about the Partnership for Public Service and the Sammy Awards at ourpublicservice.org.

"Mona" - mixed media on aquabord, 20" x 16".  Ready to frame, or can be leaned upon a shelf.  Available on Artfinder.

KEEPER: Heh heh. Stop! What is your name?
ARTHUR: It is Arthur, King of the Britons. KEEPER: What is your quest?
ARTHUR: To seek the Holy Grail.
KEEPER: What is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?
ARTHUR: What do you mean? An African or European swallow?
KEEPER: What? I don't know that! Auuuuuuuugh!
BEDEMIR: How do know so much about swallows?
​ARTHUR: Well, you have to know these things when you're a king you know.        
     -from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 35

Good King Arthur is nearing the end of his trials and tribulations, having outwitted the bridge keeper with his vast knowledge.  Turn about is fair play, I say.

Do you ever think about the wealth of knowledge stuffed into your brain?  Goodness, I can sing a jingle from 40 years ago without thinking twice.  But I can't remember if I turned off the lights when I leave the house.  I wonder what criteria the mind uses to decide what information is important to store, and what gets tossed off the bridge, so to speak.  Perhaps I should sing-song things as I am doing them, in hopes I might recall them later.  Thank goodness for notebooks and lists.

And spreadsheets.  Oh how I love a good spreadsheet!  Especially now that the "season" in Florida is underway.  There are eleven simultaneous shows over the next two months.  Bits of malarkey strewn about the area willy nilly hanging on walls.  But I have to keep track of who is where, otherwise my little painting will be the lonely one when mama doesn't show up in the carpool line on pick-up day.  Which has happened before.  There is nothing like getting a phone call asking when you will be arriving to pick up your art.  And me responding "what art?"  Oy vey!

This little love, Mona, was begun during the  whimsical demo.  She was named by an audience member after she refused to go into the storage bag with all the other paintings.  In fairness to her, the dress was still wet with glue.  But another bossy girl ruling the studio is the last thing I need. :)

"Latishia" - mixed media on aquabord, 20"x16".  Ready to frame, or can be leaned upon a shelf.  Available on Artfinder.

MAYNARD: It's the legendary Black Beast of aaauuugh!
ARTHUR: Run away! ALL: Run away! Run away! [roar]
NARRATOR: As the horrendous Black Beast lunged forward, escape for Arthur and his knights seemed hopeless. When, suddenly, the animator suffered a fatal heart attack. [ulk] The cartoon peril was no more. The Quest for the Holy Grail could continue.    
   - from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 34

Another brilliant scene in which the line between the fiction and the movie crew is blurred.  

Which is something I really like to see in art as well.  I want to know how someone made magic on canvas.  It doesn't change the magic for me.  It might even make it better.  Because even though that person can do it, it might be a while (if ever) before I could.  I am beginning now to sign up for some challenging classes in the new year, focusing on artists who seem magical and will make me stretch.  It is months away, but I am already excited.  This past winter's Stan Kurth workshop altered my process in a million ways.  

This piece, which will be followed by others over the next few days, was part of mixed media demo I was delighted to present earlier in the week.  It's a cooking show format, so many pieces are "half-baked" to move the process along.  This one is a sassy girl, full of attitude and strength.  She insisted on having two ducks, instead of the one songbird all the others had.  So bossy, this one!  One of the audience members named her, and I think it suits her perfectly.

Only three days left in this marathon of malarkey.  I am going to miss Arthur and his noble knights.