L'shana tovah to all! May the new year bring you good health, peace, and good news.
The Jewish new year is a deeply reflective time. In honor of the new year, I want to pick up my paintbrush and fully immerse myself in the beauty of the season - feel gratitude for the changing trees, for birds and apples and dragonflies. It's a beautiful time of year in northern Michigan.
Yet in my art I also want to be my authentic self. I want (need) to allow myself to paint what is going on inside my head and heart. That's pretty raw stuff right now.
As an early morning fog hovers over the vineyards and orchards, two sandhill cranes land in the field in front of me. Their beauty takes my breath away. The dissonance in the emotions within me is hard to wrap my head around.
My anger and fear are personal and global. Watching environmental destruction occurring in front of our eyes while climate change and global warming is being denied is beyond my comprehension.
Concurrently, COVID-19 deaths in the U.S. have reached over 200,000. Two hundred thousand. And those numbers are only part of the story.
COVID long-haulers, people experiencing symptoms months after having contracted the virus, are coping daily with their life and health being upended. One of those being my daughter who was exposed in early March - before we understood as a nation to "mask up." I can reason that we just didn't know better. But our leadership did know better and chose to remain silent. Withholding that information had a direct detrimental impact on a person closest to my heart. Watching her struggle to take a hike, cook a meal, study, have enough energy for the day is heart wrenching. This past week, the administration suggested 20-somethings are not getting COVID and families are not feeling the impact. My blood boils.
As an artist, what do you do with these emotions? For a bit, I found it very difficult to paint. Then I reminded myself of the healing power of nature. The loons were calling while I sat outside and painted "Otter Lake" - the small painting to the left. It was a moment of pure soothing salve to the heart.
Yet, as an artist, I need to acknowledge and share all of my emotions through my art. Hence, "I Am Here For You" (the heart above) and the painting to the right, "Trapped In The Grey."
I am honored that "Trapped In The Grey" will be shown in the upcoming "Citizen's Coping" show at the Higher Art Gallery in Traverse City. My words on the plexiglass are "trapped" in the grey of the painting and in the texture of the paint. (You can read the words below.). The plexiglass reflects the viewer 's image noting we are all "trapped in the grey."
We are weeks away from one of the most critical elections of our lifetime - perhaps our country's lifetime. My love for our country and our world feels at stake. The safety of all that I love feels at stake. We cannot put teflon around our hearts and pretend that all is well.
I know I am not alone with my mixture of loving the day and being afraid for our future. May we all vote with our hearts and for humanity.
Wishing you good health and love and lightness.
From my heart to yours,
Trapped In the Grey
“Feels like an elephant sitting on my chest.”
I breathe in. I breathe out.
Try not to panic.
She's trapped in the COVID cloud of grey.
My energizer bunny. My athlete. No energy. No answers.
"Try meditating." I say. Lost for words.
"Be your own best advocate." Lost for words.
Her anger erupts. Understandably.
Breathe it all in. Love it all out. She'll get better. No one knows.
Ventilators. Deaths. Asymptomatic innocence. Long-haulers. Headlines scream.
My love for her immense. My fear for her concrete. Heavy. Looming.
"Not a good day" she says. "Go to the emergency room" I plead." "No. They don't know what to do. It's better if I meditate." My words bounced back at me.
"It's a marathon, hon, you'll turn a corner."
"Feels like a long walk, mom, with no corners."
"I don't understand why people don't wear masks. It's easy."
They need to hear the fear. Experience the grey. Feel the grey.
Love it all in. I tell myself.
Breathe it all out. I remind myself.
Trapped in the grey.
“You and I are flowers of a tenacious family."
From March through June, I taught online classes focused on finding beauty everywhere. Beauty in the chaos. Beauty in our fears. Beauty in the world. Beauty in being.
I thought of the classes as helping to right ourselves during the midst of sheltering-in-place and our fears of the virus. Helping place focus on the beauty that surrounds us every day. Helping to see the loneliness and lack of hugs in a different light.
We continued on, and I kept painting...while my daughter was sick...while my mom healed from her fall...while we moved out of our family home. My art and classes focused on the beauty of love, the beauty of health, the beauty of change. I taught. I painted. I intellectualized.
Then Zach called. "Mom, have you seen what is happening in Portland?" I turned on the news. I paid attention. And I put down my paintbrush.
I give a lot of thought to my role as an artist and to the role of art in the world. Art can help people heal. Seeing beauty everywhere in everything is powerful.
Yet, it is also important to recognize, to see and to name the ugly side of humanity that surrounds us. To see the racism. To see the generations of pain that is surfacing. To see the unchecked violence of the police. To see the gassing of peaceful protesters. And to be outraged. To say loudly: black lives matter. I can't even pretend to see beauty in what is being done to human beings around me; my friends, my neighbors, the youth, the people.
What is the role of the artist in these times? To document history? Help people find joy? Inspire people? Wake people up? Express collective emotion? All of the above?
I put down my paintbrush trying to figure out the role I want to play. During this time, I have been told: "But people need pretty. People want to see pretty art. People need beauty." Yes, I agree. But enough is enough. Voices need to be heard. Change needs to happen.
I do still see beauty all around me. Beauty in the murals popping up in urban areas across the U.S. Beauty in the street art. Beauty in the dancing during demonstrations. Beauty in the voices speaking out. Beauty in the strength and power of people.
But I also see ugliness. Ugliness that is being made visible over and over and over again.
I know I need to pick up my paintbrush again. Right now it is easier to take paintings off my walls of my home as we move. To think. To listen. To reflect on my role in the problems and the solutions. To grow. To re-find beauty. To ponder how to make art that touches the heart while being an active citizen of this world.
Yet pondering is not enough. If you are asking, like I am, how can we do better as a society?, this comprehensive list of resources is worthy of close examination. The list includes organizations to support, books to read, artists to follow and much more.
Seeing beauty isn't enough. There is too much at stake.
Enough is enough.
From my heart to yours,
“Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it."
Today is my mother's 83rd birthday. Happy Birthday Mom! It is also the day Jeff's brother, my brother-in-law, died 26 years ago. I went into premature labor with Sarah during Brad's funeral on my father-in-law's 60th birthday. This is a week filled with memories.
Why do I tell you all this? Because I missed the arrival of spring that year. When I suddenly realized the trees were budding and flowers were blooming, I was so mad.
How could the natural world have continued on? Nature was my heart and soul and it didn't wait for me. I now know I was being offered a gift that I didn't see - the gift of everyday beauty. But I wasn't open to receiving it.
This very clear memory was why I picked back up my art journal when Michigan (and most of the nation) started shelter-in-place. I knew I had to remind myself to see beauty in the midst of my worries and fears. Art helps me do that. And it was very clear I was not alone.
I so appreciate the folks that jumped on board to art journal with me and joined Good Morning Creativity! - Seeing Beauty. A community developed of creative, kind, thoughtful art journalers who were ready and willing to learn new techniques, new ways of thinking, and new on-line friendships.
Like everyone, for me, the past month has had it's share of family drama. Jeff and I drove 21 hours (nonstop) to pick up our oldest and bring her home where she has been quarantining in our house for the past three weeks. My middle daughter had a scary ER visit in a state too far away and is now slowly recuperating. My youngest is on the west coast in the mix of it all. And we have worked very hard to keep my mom out of the hospital - with a bad fall last week being an exception to our carefully laid plans.
Through all of this, my art journal has provided a haven to contemplate beauty. I DID see the daffodils bloom. I DID hear the red wing blackbird singing. I DID contemplate what my comfort foods are. And I DID observe carefully a pileated woodpecker in my backyard. I so appreciate the power of art to remind me to pay attention and provide a place to lose myself in the page. I think what surprised me the most about the first 4 weeks of Seeing Beauty was how much beauty is actually out there when you pay attention. So we are not done.
The next four weeks will be starting Monday. Anyone is welcome to jump in. It doesn't matter if you have never done anything "artsy" before or if you are an experienced artist. Everyone finds their place. You can be part of the Facebook community or not. Your choice.
The theme this month will be "Everyday Beauty." Prompts arrive three times per week for four weeks in your email inbox. There are so many ways to think about and journal around beauty. Included are special jumpstarts, inspirations, and tips given around the 4 C's: creativity, concept, color and composition. Intrigued? Join in!
You are all my community. I hope you and everyone you care about is in good health, staying safe and finding positive and creative ways to spend time. And I most sincerely hope you are able to find beauty in the every day.
From my heart to yours,
“The object of art is to give life a shape." - William Shakespeare
I met Diana when I was 6 or 7. She was the older sister of one of my best friends in elementary school. We reconnected last month when I delivered a little wren to her. It was such a gift to sit on her couch, bond with her dog, and talk and reconnect after so many years. It is a gift I have found repeating itself over and over. I like to think of it as one of the powers of art - if we let it happen.
I made the decision in November to start painting smaller and be more visible. I didn't make a decision to build community or reconnect with people but I had forgotten about the magical side of art. And that we all need community.
There is so much confrontation and disconnecting in the world right now. Everywhere. Yet a natural part about being human is connecting.
As an artist you put your heart out there for the world to see. It's vulnerable. Galleries feel safer. You can remain invisible. You bring your paintings in, set them down and leave. You don't interact with the buyer. You don't even know who the buyer is. If you have a good relationship with the gallery owner, your heart glows when you drop your paintings off - and then you run away.
It is a little like being a goldfinch. Flit in. Flit out. Maybe be a little showy and sun shiny in the moment. Then be gone.
Yet goldfinches also seek company. You rarely see a solitary goldfinch. But you often hear about the solitary artist.
I am a bit of a hermit. I rarely paint in groups. Being alone in my head is a big part of my creative process. I need to be able to hear my heart.
Yet I so enjoyed sitting at LouAnn's kitchen table, a friend I hadn't seen in years. Catching up while she purchased a painting for a cousin who just received good medical news was heartwarming. It brought me true joy to re-meet Jann who had taken a workshop from me years ago. And I loved dropping off a painting to a mutual soccer mom. All of these connections are real and matter.
What I have come to realize is we all have a drive for reconnection. In these polarizing times, we are searching for relationships. I believe we need meaning, purpose and connection for a happy life. That is a lesson art continually reteaches me.
My goal with my art is to engage. I want a person to look and think and feel when they see my paintings.
At the same time I have to take a deep breath before interacting in groups or even picking up the phone. My mom tells long stories about pulling me out from between her legs where I would hide as a little kid. My mother-in-law still jokes that I always bring a book to hide behind.
Yet I need people. Art helps me connect. I just have to continually relearn this lesson.
I thank each and every one of you who is part of my community and allows me to be vulnerable. You are so important. I thank the magical side of art for continuing to reteach me these lessons.
As always, you can find my smaller works available for purchase on Daily Paintworks. Once purchased, I will put them in the mail or hand deliver them (and say hello!) depending on where you live. If you are interested in a painting on my website, please email me directly. At this time of year, you can also find my paintings at Lansing Art Gallery, Shiawassee Arts Center and Be.Gallery in Ohio.
From my vulnerable heart to yours,
"Our lives are shaped by our interactions with others.. (E)very interaction makes a difference. The results of our encounters are rarely neutral; they are almost always positive or negative. And although we take these interactions for granted, they accumulate and profoundly affect our lives."
- Tom Rath & Donald Clifton (How Full Is Your Bucket)
"You use a glass mirror to see your face; you use works of art to see your soul."
George Bernard Shaw
It's January. As I write, the sun is shining beautifully through my window. It is the type of January day we don't see often in mid-Michigan. Meanwhile I am preparing for the opening of my upcoming show, Trapped In The Grey.
February seemed like the perfect time to dissect what it feels like to be "trapped in the grey." When you are confronted by feelings of heaviness, weight and darkness. Yet you also know love is all around you. We are all special and have the ability to treat each other that way. And we are responsible for each other.
Yet we have been living through tumultuous times.
I don't see issues in black in white, with clear cut answers, and even my head and heart sometimes seem in conflict. Often what helps me the most is to paint.
My Trapped In The Grey series had a definite starting point. I was walking in Central Park, reflecting on a conversation with my daughters and feeling frustrated with not being able to communicate my emotions clearly. My insides hurt. I felt trapped in recognizing nothing in life is simple. And suddenly a new series was born. I saw it clearly in my mind. Starting with black on one side and white on the other, I would write my emotions onto the canvas. Shards of plexi-glass would be added to the top to allow the viewer to see their reflection in the grey – indicative of the fact we all get trapped.
It, of course, was not that simple. But the muse had struck. I love how the artistic process takes on a life of its own. If you let it.
My good friend and fellow artist, K.W. Bell, is joining me in this show. Karen is a fabulous sculptor. Her sculptures are deep and thoughtful and meaningful.
We both push to communicate our emotions in our art. We both long for something deeper as well - to engage with life and all of its complexities. And we both enjoy the work itself, the process.
It is also such a lovely thing when you get to show with a friend and your work fits together so well.
For years my mom has asked: "Why don't you just paint flowers?" I do. At times. But, to me, art is also about painting the gritty, soulful stuff which helps me feel more alive and helps me learn about myself.
If you are in Lansing in February, please stop by the Michigan Institute for Contemporary Arts (MICA) gallery to see the show. And please let us know if you did. We'd love to hear your feedback.
If you are able to make it to the reception, you'll have a special treat. Karyn Perry from Karyn's Dance Place is working with a group of young dancers to do their own interpretive dancing of what it means to be "trapped in the grey." I can't wait.
I hope you are able to join us. If you live far away, you can see many of my Trapped in the Grey paintings on my website. And please check out Karen's work as well: K.W. Bell.
My love to all,
“Art is something that makes you breathe with a different kind of happiness.”
My closest friend called recently. She lives in California. I live in Michigan. Had I let her mom know about my recent holiday art sale? She wanted to see my new work and what I was putting together for the holidays. Oops.
I truly believe most artists are not naturally entrepreneurial. There's this sense that you are selling your soul. You hope your art will "speak for itself" and somehow sell itself. But, unfortunately, it doesn't really work that way.
Years ago I was challenged by an artist/mentor to think about why I paint. Mark suggested I draw a heart to represent my passion for painting, a star representing my desire for notoriety or fame, and a dollar sign for money. And then I had to decide what combination of these symbols represented my motivation. Three hearts? Three dollar signs? A heart, star and dollar sign? What I decided made a difference on how I proceeded with my art. I had the hardest time with the exercise and still do.
I am working hard on wrestling my muse into a form that works for me. I do believe I am savvy enough to figure out how to paint, help the world be a better place, and help pay my bills all at the same time. I have wonderful conversations with people who have purchased my art and told me they feel I have somehow magically been in touch with their emotions and put them down on canvas. The best compliment I can receive as an artist is that my art has touched someone.
When I look around my house, there are things people created everywhere. And they bring me joy. I am grateful for all of the creative souls whose talents grace my house whether it be visual, musical, literary, food related, etc.
I heard a very interesting question asked recently to artists who are sheepish about being creatives. "Do you want to live in a world without art? Do you want to win the fight against cancer and live without music, poetry, dance and great stories?" Oh my gosh no. My mom worked so hard this week to stay out of the hospital because she had tickets to see Aladdin at the theater. She was so happy listening to the music, watching the dancers, being out in the midst of art. And I was happy to share the evening with her.
I share these thoughts obviously in the midst of the holiday season. I encourage you to shop locally, know that many artists struggle with the same emotions I am exploring. Their art contains a piece of them, a piece of their soul and a gift to the world. Go to your local art fairs just to take it all in - breathe in the goodness. Help them know that what they do matters.
As I wrestle my muse, I am working on making my art more available to all. You can find my smaller works available for purchase on Daily Paintworks. Once purchased, I will put them in the mail or hand deliver them depending on where you live. If you are interested in a painting on my website, please email me directly. This time of year you can also find my work at Detroit Artist Market or Be.Gallery in Ohio. And my self-paced online classes, Good Morning Creativity!, are always available - wouldn't they make a wonderful gift for someone who wants to make art more a priority in the new year?
Thank you to everyone who has supported me. I appreciate you more than you can know.
May art, music, laughter, good books, good food, family, friends, love, good health and peace and prosperity all be part of your holiday season.
My love to all,
“I hope you will have a wonderful year, that you'll dream dangerously and outrageously, that you'll make something that didn't exist before you made it, that you will be loved and that you will be liked, and that you will have people to love and to like in return. And, most importantly (because I think there should be more kindness and more wisdom in the world right now), that you will, when you need to be, be wise, and that you will always be kind.”
- Neil Gaiman
"It is hope that enables us to live, only hope." -- Edward O. Wilson
Is there a magic elixir to remaining hopeful?
Years ago I worked for the Kellogg Foundation. On a daily basis I was inspired by and in awe of people working diligently to protect their drinking water. The majority were young professionals following their passions. I often pondered what happens when young activists burn out? How can I help my grantees stay motivated in their work?
My curiosity lead me back to school. I asked these questions all the way through my doctoral program in adult education. Through my dissertation research I interviewed amazing environmentalists. I was gifted with being let into their inner thoughts, inner emotions. I was introduced to Mary Oliver's poetry during one of those interviews. I heard about hard fought battles and compromises and friendships and losses. But mostly I heard about hope.
Hope was the unifying theme. Remaining hopeful appeared to be a magic elixir to sustaining passion.
I am not sure exactly what hope looks like. Yet I do believe we are all hungry for hope.
Oddly enough in high school I had this stanza of Emily Dickinson's poem taped to my dashboard. My 17 year old self was hungry for hope.
Why bring this up now?
I often question as an artist how am I helping to protect the environment?
How am I helping people remain hopeful?
Every artist is going to play a different role in society.
I am not sure what my role is but I do know my commitment. I would like to provide a message of hope.
There seems to be two ways I can do this. I can help celebrate the beauty and joy of the world around us or I can provide thoughtful critique to our political, economic and social systems. I seem to flip back and forth. Perhaps that is necessary.
I want my art to connect with people’s emotions. Recently I have gone back to painting nature. Every time I paint a crane or cardinal or pine tree I feel a bit calmer, at ease, gentle. And ready to protect the world I love. If my paintings can help others feel the same way, then perhaps I am doing my small part in providing hope.
With love to all.
"Self-care means giving yourself permission to pause." ~ Cecilia Tran
Three years ago I received an unexpected phone call. Would I be willing to be an artist-for-hire for a friends' weekend up north? It was for a retreat of a close group of women. They annually rent a house, bring in good food and do art. Would I be willing to join them and lead them in art activities?
I'd met them in a workshop. I didn't know them well and I am inherently shy. It is the oddest thing. I love people. I love teaching. Yet it always requires taking a deep breath to go in front of a group.
When a door opens, walk through it, right? A group of women who want to do art for 3 days in northern Michigan - what could possibly go wrong? Actually, a lot of bad scenarios existed in my overly active imagination.
Yet, a door opened on a new experience AND life is meant to be lived.
So I said yes. It was wonderful. Fully absolutely wonderful.
We created art from Thursday evening through Sunday afternoon. They kept up with me and reveled in it. Our pajamas became our art clothes. We were a mile from Lake Michigan in February. Think ice, snow, and below freezing temps. By Saturday late afternoon I had to go for a run. I ran to the beach for the sunset and suggested they pick me up - to at least SEE the outdoors.
I tell you all this to give you insight to something I then put on my bucket list: To create an annual retreat for women focused on art, laughter, friendship, rejuvenation, good food, nature and being present in the moment.
Then I met Betty Gauthier, a sound therapist (think singing bowls and reverberating gongs). I would call her a "sound artist." We were at a funeral of a mutual dear friend and instantly connected. Betty is soft spoken, kind, authentic. Somehow our conversation took a turn to our joint desire to host a women's weekend retreat. An idea was birthed.
An here we are, walking through an open door.
June 2020 - over my birthday weekend - we are hosting our first annual Women's Well-being Retreat at the Inn at the Rustic Gate in Big Rapids, MI - an absolutely delightful Inn that was originally a dairy farm. My bucket list dream to help create a weekend of art, laughter, nature and relaxation, is being launched. I am thrilled.
Everyone should do something in life that takes you out of your comfort zone, right?
Want to celebrate my birthday with me? Think recharge, rest, create. What could be better? We are purposefully keeping the group small, so don't hesitate. I want you to join us.
Love to all!
Inn At The Rustic Gate, Big Rapids, MI
The Space Between Thoughts
I went again to the wilderness area of the Boundary Waters this summer - a perfect place to disappear. Silent. Beautiful. Awe inspiring. Nature in its glory. And it requires work to be there. It's a well earned quietness.
I value activities which quiet my brain. I run. I paint. I hike. I paddle. Not thinking takes work. Yet I also value the fact that I am a thinker. The tension between not thinking and thinking plays itself out in many ways in my life. Art being one of them.
I often question whether painting is a release from thinking or a means to think?
One of the things I love about the Boundary Waters in northern Minnesota is the protection that has been given to the area. It's a unique treasure, a true jewel, with over 1 million acres of forests, wildlife, birds, and pristine glacial lakes and rivers.
There is nothing quite like spending days in a canoe just taking it all in. And sharing that quiet time and beauty with others.
Yet the pristine beauty and health of the area is being threatened. In 1909 the Boundary Waters Treaty was signed by Canada and the United States, requiring that neither country pollute the waters that flow across the border. Today the rules are being relaxed under the Trump administration to allow sulfide-ore copper mining in the region. The forests of the Boundary Waters Wilderness Area are deeply interconnected through streams, lakes, wetlands and groundwater. Sulfide-ore copper mining activities will disrupt and severely damage this relationship. It hurts to even think about.
So I come home and wonder: How am I helping the world to be a better place? What can my role, as an artist, be? How can I help the Boundary Waters with my paintbrush? And I think. And that thinking paralyzes me. I feel so small in the grand scheme of life. And I realize I need to find the space between my thoughts to keep painting. Let my heart talk.
Toni Morrison counseled:
This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.
So I pick up my paintbrush. And I keep painting.
With love to all,
How much do you share as an artist? Does the viewer want to know the artist's story behind a painting? Does that ruin or enhance the experience of looking at a painting, breathing it in? Can it still become your own? Should titles be broad and all encompassing or should they add mystery and intrigue?
"We Never Went Backpacking" could be titled "Hermit Thrush." Would you like it more? Does it influence how you see or feel about the painting?
My creative process usually starts with a title which is usually influenced by an emotion. Is that important to know?
My heart broke this past winter. My cousin died rather unexpectedly. Life isn't suppose to happen that way.
I loved Dean fully. When I think of him I hear his full bodied laugh. I hear him telling family stories loudly. I see him living on top of his mountain in Braintree, Vermont proud of his blueberries, hops, turkeys and family. As far as I am concerned all of Vermont loved Dean. It appeared every single community member in his small town, especially all his middle school students, came to hear the mourner's kaddish chanted for him. You loved Dean if you knew him.
Dean was my twin in his love for the outdoors. Every year we talked about backpacking together. Every year it didn't happen due to jobs, kids, broken bones, mismatched schedules. But there was always next year. We knew it would happen.
We never went backpacking.
Dean died in February. His funeral was on Valentine's Day. All of our hearts broke.
Art helps me process emotions. Art helps me express emotions. Art helps me feel. Art helps me heal. Art helps me love.
What do you want to know as the viewer? Do you want to know that the base layer of "We Never Went Backpacking" is a map of Vermont? Do you want to know that the vibrant colors were designed to communicate my deep feelings of love and loss? Do you want to know that I purposefully worked on cardboard because Dean taught me how to reuse materials? Do you want to know that I carved the Green Mountains into the cardboard to add the texture and depth that I was feeling? Do you want to know the additional textures are school letters and numbers representing Dean's love of teaching? Do you want to know the Hermit Thrush is Vermont's state bird?
How much of this information is important to share as an artist?
I recently listened to a podcast where the artist suggested that a title should never influence the viewer's perception of a painting. The viewer should be allowed her or his own interpretation. I understand this argument. Yet I also believe it is a choice both the artist and the viewer makes.
I asked my daughter what she thought my title combined with the painting was representing. She replied, "global warming."
With love to all,
Inhaling life one