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Our trip to Nebraska is full of nostalgia, memories and memories being made. There’ll be more to write (and paint) later, but for now, this gem.
Charlie: “Pioneer Village is the BESTEST thing I’ve done in my entire life! Well, almost”.
Me: “Almost?”
Charlie: “Yah, I don’t know yet”
Me: “What do you mean?”
Charlie, gesturing wide: “Well, I DO have MORE life”
Bald Reality
I’m a middle aged, menopausal midwestern mom with a chip on her shoulder about unrealized artistic potential. I have deep-seated insecurities about my ability to create “real” art and be a “real” artist. So, I use self deprecating humor to dodge any real discussion about my goals or vision. Also, I hate the word vision. I don’t have one, I just like to paint. Somewhere along the line I learned to feel better about my own abilities (and lack of education) by internally judging other amateur artists work with snobbery. I did this the most when I wasn’t actually doing any drawing or painting at the time myself. Ick. I own more than one fancy camera and I pretend to know how they work.
What I Thought I Was Supposed To Achieve To Count As A Real Artist and Valuable Human Being
I received my BFA from bladedah blah expensive art school and my MFA from another urban and urbane school far away from where I grew up. Though steeped in family artistic roots, I left my midwestern home for more exciting and interesting locales around the world. I have shown in NYC, Chicago, LA, and throughout Europe where I honed my skills in oil painting, photography and print making. Currently repped by gallery such-and-such in LA and fabulously dressed by so and so for every gallery opening. (That last part is all I really want).
Where I Want To Be
I like to paint. I’m growing my skills, and really enjoying watercolor. I grew up surrounded by creative art makers, hobbyists and doers that influenced my interest and knowledge of all sorts of art and crafts. Currently, I make paintings of open, natural places that I visit, landscapes and places that bring me mental peace. I use my photos for reference and my memory for expression. I make paintings in between raising two kids, working and having life-long treatments for stage 4 metastatic breast cancer. No, I don’t want to paint about that. I paint to escape that. I don’t want to sell a lot or have shows, not really, except to make people happy. I love to give paintings to people who enjoy them.
Someone once said that my Mom and I are so alike we “are like one person”. That was odd, and kinda creepy. We are our own people, but I think, given some grace, what they meant was that we are in synch, simpatico, strongly bonded.
We are close, but able to have conflict. Loving, but not best friends. She is a mom, not a buddy. And thank goodness, because when I fucked up or when I was fucked up or now as my life is getting fucked up, I needed a MOM. This Mom.
This woman who in just two months has been elected to the residential committee, taken on shifts at the gift shop, joined the annual festival committee, and is currently mid-coup in the garden club…this working mom who anonymously paid for braces and eyeglasses for strangers kids. This artist who got bored sitting on the board so decided to actually work IN the domestic abuse shelter. This traveler who never before sailed or spoke another language who sailed the Mediterranean in her sixties.
This bright light, an Eldest Daughter and my North Star. Also, one hell of a stealth farter. Seriously, don’t get behind her at the Target.
The arrival of midwestern Spring has been slow and temperamental. The kids have been restless and temperamental.
I ask them to play outside for at least a few minutes every night after dinner. I have visions of their youth spent playing in a bucolic garden, on a leafy charming street of bungalows as the sunlight dims and the vintage streetlights glow…
So far, I’ve had to bring them back inside for screaming at “bloody murder” levels because:
-The hose was too slippery
-Felix told Charlie he was annoying
-There was a puddle
-Charlie had the worst day of his life, EVER
-The cat got out (and just sat there, but still caused screaming)
-Someone put a sock on someone’s head