It’s not possible or practical to write (on this blog) about every little detail that happens around here that relates to art. If that were the case, gentle reader, you could be, no, would be bored to tears. One particular heretofore unwritten about opportunity that has been a huge part of my summer is a commission. But alas, it’s a surprise for someone else’s loved one, and therefore, out of courtesy to the client, has been off-limits as a blog topic. I didn’t want to spill the beans if this particular person was a blog reader…or if someone recognized the subject in the painting and innocently mentioned it to said loved one….way too may variables. It has been one of those projects that has been worked and re-worked through times of elation and frustration. It had gotten to the point where I wanted to start over from scratch. The Amazing Reese encouraged me to keep at it. He reminded me of other paintings that I had wanted to chuck out the window, but with perseverance turned into happily completed paintings. With Reese’s gentle persuasion, I painted and painted and painted. As of this afternoon, I’m VERY happy with the completed painting and am certain the client will be, too. Some day soon, when the time is right I’ll share a photograph of it….but not yet.

This was an exercise to see if I could re-create with paints what I do when sketching with grey scale pastels. It’s quite different. In order to not be tempted to add color, I painted one of my small indoor concrete statues. What I stupidly did not anticipate was the way oil paints cover the surface. With pastels, one can move, erase, smudge, add, and manipulate to continue to alter the drawing until it is what one wants to portray. If one does all that mixing with oil paints, one ends up with a big messy muddy mess. So this painting, even though it looks like a sketch, took several sessions to complete, because I had to let it dry between painting, in order for it not to be a muddy mess. It’s 8″ x 10″ painted on a prepared linen canvas, which mostly means that I had painted the orange red background and let it dry before beginning the painting.

“Drop anchor!” said my friend, John.

We’ve been away from here for a couple of weeks. While it’s nice to be back home in Houston, it was great to see sister, brother, in laws, nieces, nephew, and various 1st, 2nd, and 3rd cousins while celebrating Papa’s 70th birthday in Mississippi. One of the highlights of this trip was when Erin was able to identify her 1st cousin once removed, or maybe it was my 2nd cousin once removed or her 1st cousin twice removed. Whatever it was, she got it right, I whooped, high-fived her, and a small victory dance ensued.

This is a photo of some 9th and 10th generation of Heidelberg cousins after several cousin families had left the small “Heidelberg” celebration. We missed the Heidelberg family reunion this year, so it was terrific that so many came to visit while we were in Jackson.

On a sad note, my glasses are nowhere to be found. Naming this blog Finding My Glasses was a play on words — my glasses are oft misplaced, and these artistic pursuits are a fresh new vision (of mine) being applied to linen canvas. This time, however, I’m pretty sure that my eye glasses were left in a pew at First Pres after church on Sunday.

Bummer.

Reese and I went back to church Sunday afternoon to find my glasses with no success. Reese is still hoping that they will be found in the car or in some luggage….we’ll see.

It wasn’t a vacation, but it was fun. Reese, Hilary, Joy, and I just returned from an extra long week in Guadalajara Mexico. Mornings were spent mixing concrete, painting, cleaning, and destroying in order to rebuild a school in the Santa Ana district of Guadalajara. More than the job and the accomplishment of an amazing amount of work, we, along with other members of our church’s high school youth group, hope that our time working alongside the Mexicans was as much an encouragement to them as it was to all of us.

The photo on the left was taken at a spot just down the street from the school. We were there during the Fiesta de Santa Ana, a week long festival to honor the patron saint of the area. Every day at noon, fireworks would explode in anticipation of the parade at week’s end. The noon time explosion signaled something completely different for our group. Noon meant that there was only one more hour before quitting the day’s hard labor. We eagerly anticipated the firework “clock.”

Sumptuous Mexican lunches were lovingly home prepared for us by Lulu, one of the members of the church congregation in Moctezuma. Lulu starts from scratch with all of her ingredients. All from scratch, all the time. EVERYTHING WAS DELICIOUS. Now, I have the inside scoop on how to acquire her locally famous recipes. Woohoo!

After lunch, in Moctezuma, our group helped host a Vacation Bible School for children in the neighborhood. In spite of a potential language barrier, everyone found a friend from another country by the end of the week. We played games, sang songs (in Spanish,) did some crafts, and talked about faith in El Señor.

The most amazing thing to me about the whole trip however, was how well everyone gelled — within our group, and with the Mexicans. The potential for high stress was huge, but it never seemed to be an issue. Every night we had a sort of debriefing to give everyone a chance to discuss their day. We used the analogy of a rose bush for our talking points. A rose was some one’s favorite thing of the day. A thorn was the least favorite thing of the day. And a bud was something for which someone was hopeful for the coming day. It was great. Some experiences overlapped, good and bad, but all in all the longer than a week week was extremely positive, like a sweet smelling rose.

This painting might or might not be finished. For three years, three years, I’ve been working on it. Sister Friends lives on a wall in the studio. Every now and then I’ll add a little brush stroke, or re-work and entire section. During my recent 21 days days of painting quest, many of the little painting projects that have been indefinitely postponed were re-worked, this being one of them. It is interesting to note that after writing the Pocketful of Posies blog entry (most recently published,) I realized that I had started a painting three years ago of my young daughters bringing Mommy a bouquet of flowers one Easter morning.

These two sister friends, now grown, are driving here for an action packed quick visit this weekend. Happiness abounds.

Back in the day, our young daughters would, out of the overflow of their hearts, gift me with a handful of clovers or dandelions from the back yard. They would rush in, fresh faced, excited, thrust the bouquet forward and breathlessly say, “here Mommy, these are for you.” These bouquets would go in all kinds and shapes of vases, glasses, jars, even plastic cups. One of my favorite things is to have fresh flowers in the house, but more than that, I cherished that our sweet daughters looked for ways to show mommy undiluted love and devotion.

When I was at the farmer’s market a few weeks ago, one of the vendors had bunches of fresh cut flowers stuck mish mash in a big plastic pot. The randomness of the posies reminded me of the impetuous bundles our daughters brought in long ago. So, I grabbed a handful, brought them home, put them into this vase and had a delightful time painting them.

What kind of flowers are these? Never having seen this kind of flower before, I would dub them sweet bygone days.

One advantage of being stuck in bed is having undiluted time to relish the luxury to read at leisure. Reese has kept a steady supply of various art books at the ready. As he was selecting a book to bring upstairs yesterday, he noticed that I have several books on Cezanne, several books on Monet, several books on Mary Cassatt…

When one likes a musician, for example, it’s not uncommon to have in one’s personal collection several albums (cd’s) of the same artist. People who swoon over Elvis generally have more than one Elvis album in their collection. Same with The Beatles; a true Beatles fan has more than one album by the fab four. It’s the same kind of thing with people who like certain artists…lots of books about one particular artist. Reese noticed this, and instead of bringing me a book of an artist I know and love well, he chose
Georgia O’Keeffe An Eternal Spirit by Susan Wright. I don’t remember ever having read this book. Turning the page to the introduction, it said,

Early in 1915, when she was 28 and teaching art in South Carolina, Georgia O’Keeffe decided to take stock of her career. According to her friend Anita Pollitzer, the artist hung all of her paintings around her room and proceeded to go through a monumental self evaluation of her work. O’Keeffe by then had studied at several schools around the country under notable teachers of the time. She concluded that each one of her paintings was derivative of these influences and so destroyed every piece.

Destroyed every piece! I can relate. When I first started painting, I took 12 classes from a local art instructor. While I’m eternally grateful for someone showing me how to get started, in that short amount of time I was becoming someone else. I was painting the way the art instructor painted. I didn’t want to be the next (insert teacher’s name here.) I want to be the next Sarah Hazel, just like Georgia O’Keeffe wanted to be Georgia O’Keeffe, not a derivation of each art instructor.

Day five of my imprisonment wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Still on bed rest for a few more days, impatience is barely disguised. Being still for days on end might be fun for some, but is slow, exasperating torture for me. The desire to get well overrides otherwise impetuousness to get out of bed before wisdom dictates. A lot of words to say that I want to get well as much as I want to get out of bed…..so therefore, I’m resting, so that my back heals as quickly as possible.

It’s also been one week since the completion of the 21 days of painting quest. I finished what I set out to do, painted every day for 21 days in a row. The two main things it taught me were that it’s not really all that difficult to commit oneself to the habit of painting; and, there are so many other things that matter in life besides painting.

In the week since the 21 days has been over I haven’t painted once. OK, so I’m not allowed out of bed, but that’s beside the point. Would I have painted if I had been able?

Yes, but not out of duty, which is sometimes how the self imposed 21 day test felt. I would have painted because I was compelled to paint. Something — love, desire, an unseen force — drives the spirit within me to paint. As a naturally goal orientated person, to keep pursuing painting without a specific goal in mind is almost silly. When I was a runner, I trained for specific races. But now, I don’t have any specific shows for which I’m “training.” There are no big art events on the horizon. The motivation to paint is derived purely for the love of it.

Rest really does help. Another week and a half of rest is what the doctor ordered. The doctor diagnosed a severe sprain of the sacroiliac joint, which basically means that my lower back is killing me. Our sweet, kind, wonderful family doctor laughed twice during today’s appointment. Once, when he was testing my knee reflexes; it tickled and I giggled which really seemed to amuse him. Then again, toward the end of the visit, he was writing a prescription and asked if I had any questions. I asked if there was any way possible that the back pain was psychosomatic? He laughed, and said no, the pain was definitely in my back and not in my head.

The fountain looks great! Well, I think it still looks fine. Reese has been making me stay in bed, so I haven’t actually seen it in a few days. It will look wonderful some day. Once my back heals, then work can be finished which was barely started last Saturday. I’ve got grand ideas for the fountain area of the
garden, but they will have to wait. Everything, basically, will have to wait.

From my resting perch (propped up on pillows in bed,) I can see a bit of the mural on our house. It’s a part generally unseen from the backyard, unless one is told about it and goes to a different part of the yard to look. I’m glad it’s here. It’s so much more pleasant and cheery to see a painting out the window instead of a blank wall.

Resting is difficult.

Photos and publishing this blog entry through the generous contribution of the amazing Reese.