Racial Tensions are created not Born

"Celebration" 20 x 16 acrylic on gesso board

I’m always attracted to scenes comprised of people; especially of other cultures and races. I find people of color to be interesting and attractive; they manage to tell the most amazing stories like my latest painting, above, “Celebration."

How many times do you take photos of friends and family at special events or significant occasions? Most of us enjoy celebrating birthdays, graduations, promotions, weddings, engagements, births and deaths with our favorite people. The photos save the memories and document the life processes of the past. Sharing special times with those you care about creates bonds of love.

"Tansy's Pride" 9 x 12 Pastel on Bristol

Painting an intimate scene that reminds others of those joyful times gives me pleasure. If my artwork can help bridge the gap between racism and understanding then I am fulfilled. 

Each culture and people we come to know adds to our knowledge. Seeing people in new ways may eventually bring acceptance. We humans are more alike than we are different.

Creating meaningful relationships between people is a slow process. If I can help others see similarities rather than differences, I have achieved my goal.

Hatred is not born, it is taught and nurtured. Children show us the meaning of acceptance when they play. They make friends easily and seem to take people at face value in non-judgmental ways.

"With these Hands Hope" 16 x 20 mixed-media/canvas

Oppression and discrimination are learned traits that fester in a climate of fear. Why do some people think they are better than others or that white skin is somehow purer or better than colored skin? Why do some people think they are spiritually or religiously better than anyone else? Most likely they were shown this through ignorance and example; but in the eyes of God we are all equal.

I may not agree with everyone I meet, but I can certainly accept their uniqueness and the value that they bring into the world. My religion and my faith bring me joy and salvation, but someone else may have their own set of beliefs that I must respect and acknowledge.

When you judge others, you lose sight of your own faults and failings. Being self centered or allowing our own feelings and opinions to get in the way puts up a barrier that is difficult to remove. You come across as arrogant, unapproachable, and rigid.

"Fish Market" 24 x 18 acrylic on canvas

Everyone on this earth has their own perspective based on their environment, upbringing and life experiences. Rather than quarrel and try to disprove “the other guy,” we should listen and hope for understanding. We will never all agree. But we can become peacemakers, and listen with our hearts.

If other people are unwilling to meet you half-way or they become aggressive toward you and invade your space, you have every right to defend yourself. Better to “agree to disagree” than to come to blows. Don’t marginalize your own principles and beliefs out of fear or to assuage someone else’s anger. Stop this kind of behavior before it escalates. Get help if necessary. Walk away!

Violets are Blue, or is it purple, or lavender?

An old song chimed:

“Lavender blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender green
If you were king, dilly, dilly
I'd need a queen.”

Now “lavender green” is a new one on me. This little ditty has had many variations since its creation as an English folk song and nursery rhyme dating all the way back to the seventeenth century. Various forms have been sung since the twentieth century.

“Lavender’s Blue” as some call it, has a Roud Folk Song Index number of 3483. Burl Ives's version first sung in 1948 was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Original Song.

Roses are red, violets are blue. . .

"Roses are red"
Roud #19798
William Wallace Denslow's illustrations for "Roses are red", from a 1901 edition of Mother Goose The Rose is Red The Violet is Blue Sugar is Sweet and so are You!
Written by	Traditional
Published	1784
Written	England
Language	English
Form	Nursery rhyme

The question as to whether violets are lavender or blue may never be answered.

My mother loved African violets. She had several that continually bloomed. I gave it a shot as a young mother, but mine eventually died. I had a tendency to over water. The instructions said they like damp feet. In order to keep them “damp” I hovered over them, feeling the soil and stressing out about what that really meant.

My daughter Pam gave me an African violet plant for Mother’s Day last year. She said she remembered that I grew violets, but she may have been thinking of my mother. The photos in this blog will prove to her (and to myself) that I can actually grow them. I have a routine of once a week watering. The instructions say plastic pots are best, but all I had at the time was a clay pot.

So far things are working well. I water from the bottom only, never allowing water to touch the leaves. I’m also in the habit of clipping off any dead flowers, so the plant always looks fresh and new.

I’ve always adored flowers, but, unlike my mother, I don’t naturally have a green thumb. I’ve had to work at it. In fact, for many years I had arrangements of dried flowers and silk flowers adorning my tables.

Every room in my house was brightened with an array of cheery fake blossoms. My mother once called me “the flower lady.” Was she being sarcastic because they were all fakes? Perhaps. She’d be pleased to know that I finally figured out the right formulae of water, light, and temperature to grow and enjoy real plants. I guess I’m just a slow learner.

A Red, White, and Blue Salute to Our Veterans

"With These Hands -- Wonder" 18x24 mixed media on canvas

I remember vividly where I was on 9/11, do you? I stood with my fellow co-workers in front of a large-screen TV and wondered what was happening to our country? We watched in horror and disbelief as the replay showed a plane plowing into the first Twin Tower. In shock, we witnessed live another plane crashing into the second building. This couldn’t be happening.

At the time, my two sons were in New York. One lived in lower Manhattan with his wife; they both worked on Broadway. The other son worked between the Twin Towers and CitiGroup. Where were they now? Cell phone use had been cut off due to the emergency. My anxiety was in overdrive. I prayed.

"Hey, Coconut, Mon" 18x24 mixed media on canvas

Eventually, one son managed a communication from NY to California. The person in CA called his wife who lived in CT and I learned that he was okay. He was scheduled to meet that day on the 8th floor of the second tower, but the meeting had been moved to another location. We later learned there were many small but mighty miracles going on all over the city that limited the usual number of people who were supposed to be in the Towers that day.

Thankful that my boys and their families were safe, I rejoiced with other people who had been spared, and offered up prayers for those who hadn’t. Americans joined hands and hearts, praising God and showing their patriotic colors, but not all. Even in those dark hours, there were some who ridiculed “those flag wavers,” and blamed American Imperialism for the event. It was our fault. We deserved it for allowing such desperation and poverty in the world in the first place.

Unfortunately, those naysayers are still with us. The hate-America-crowd never seems to get tired of bashing the success and hard work of others or demeaning American values held dear by many.

(This is what I'll be doing on the 4th of July!)

My own father was a welder who took pride in repairing the ships that were damaged during World War II. He worked on the Arizona, the Missouri, and many of the ships prior to and after Pearl Harbor. As a child, we lived in government housing in Bremerton, Washington. Sailors, soldiers, and patriotic workers were part of our everyday lives. We took pride in their service and in their accomplishments. 

My Danish grandfather and his Swedish wife traveled all the way to California during World War I to work for the war effort. Papa worked in a factory as a welder, and Mama sewed clothing and uniforms for the soldiers and their families. They kept America’s factories running while the men were away fighting a war to preserve our freedoms. God forbid that Hitler should come here! People everywhere worked together for the good of America: the last bastion of freedom on the earth!

Papa and Mama came to this country via Ellis Island. They were proud, hopeful, and legal. They pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and carved out a life for their posterity. When you put down my flag and put down my country, you’re trampling on everything my ancestors fought and died for. These freedom loving people would give you the shirt off their backs, and they often did because it was the right and honorable thing to do. They earned their success through their own blood sweat and tears.

(Two beautiful red pears I plan to paint)

Several years ago, I was between jobs and feeling down and out. I had a medical background, so I managed to get an interview with the VA hospital where I lived. I was unprepared for the feelings that overwhelmed me when I walked through those double front doors. 

People in wheelchairs, old people, people on crutches, many with limbs missing coming and going down the hallway and gathering in the foyer. Flags and photos were everywhere. A feeling of reverence, and yes, despair, permeated every smell, every corner, every water-filled eye. I didn’t get the job, but I left a changed person.

I was so overcome with gratitude that I wanted to shake every hand, kneel at every knee, and hold every trembling, frightened person I passed and say: “Thank you;” but it seemed so inadequate! I was living my life with the hope of opportunity; whole, well, and free because someone here in this hospital and elsewhere in America gave up an opportunity, a limb, a loved one, a life of security for me.

God bless the men and women everywhere who serve our country! Thank God for the men and women in past generations who sacrificed their lives so that you and I can hope, and breathe, and choose our dreams. Freedom lives because somebody died—for you!

Your Name is Your Brand – Protect it at all costs!

"Collecting Sea Shells" 8x10 acrylic on panel

What’s in a Name? Ask a person who has had his identity stolen, and he’ll say everything! Ask a person who has just had her name dragged through the mud in error, and she’ll tell you how hard it was to regain her reputation.

A small business or corporation will tell you that name recognition is everything! They spend billions of dollars on advertising and marketing techniques to find the right brand for their market. Then they defend that brand name even if they have to go to court.

Men have their names for a lifetime. Women change their names, sometimes several times, before the end of their lives. But times are changing.

"Military Regatta"

I vowed I would never go through that hassle again, but yesterday I found myself sitting across a desk in the Social Security office to do just that. I did not change my name when I married my husband, and vowed I never would. People know me as his wife and they use his name, but legally, my name was my own.

We all have our reasons. As I told my husband yesterday, once you start a name change, you start an avalanche that keeps on going. Your name affects your will, your inheritance or that of your children. Your name is on census records, voting records, bank accounts, magazine subscriptions, medical records. Your name is your identity. When you change it, the world becomes topsy turvy, at least for awhile.

"Regatta" 18x24 acrylic on canvas (work-in-progress)

An artist’s name is his brand. Although, I have an artist friend who signs her paintings “Hope,” even though that isn’t her real name; that will become her brand, for better or worse. 

Name recognition is paramount in selling a product or yourself. Your name is linked to your reputation. They are inseparable. This combination becomes your character and affects your references and your repeat business. What’s in a name? Everything! Protect it at all costs.

Our Shrinking Economy – our Rising Debt

Everything is shrinking! Literally. My income, my stature, the size and quantity of the things I buy and what I can afford. Everything is shrinking but the price.

Like you, I’m paying more for less. My favorite things have gone from 8 oz to 7 oz to 6 oz or less in just a few months. A few packages stayed the same size, but the contents were less. I’m afraid It’s only the beginning!

I purchased some canvases the other day and instead of being .5 inches in depth, they’d shrunk to almost .25. Rather than fitting nicely into a frame or serving as a wrapped canvas painting, they leave gaps and spaces; they look cheap and skimpy.

Many artists are turning to treated hard board or plywood; still, framing is a difficult task. The prices for quality canvases have doubled while the sales price of a finished painting has remained the same. The cost of renting space has gone up to 40% commission. The artist receives 60% barely covering the cost for materials let alone time. Add to that cost a frame, and you see what I mean.

Is it worth it? I don’t know, but it’s what I do. Just when I think the economy is getting better, another one of my favorite businesses, restaurants, or products goes out of business. On the surface, things seem the same, but there’s an undercurrent of unrest. Everything is changing. Stores are being built as others are being boarded up. Hope rises in the midst of fear and failure.

We can only “keep on keeping on,” as my mother used to say. We put one foot in front of the other and hang on, despite the economic climate or the plight of those who risk everything and fail.

Hope is eternal the Bible says. We hope for better things, and we act as if they are possible. It’s how we survive. We hope for a better tomorrow as we wipe the tears of grief from our eyes and move on. What more can we do?

Two paintings featured today: “Sand Cranes at Twilight” and “Release” (with quote by Joseph Campbell) will be on display at Art for ACTS in downtown Fort Myers in August.

Featured Artist:
I’m going to start a new section called “Featured Artist.” There are so many wonderful artists and writers out there that deserve attention that I’m willing to share my space with them. Today, I feature: Ashish Das   If ever there was a second Picasso, he is it! I am amazed with his creative blend of cubism and abstraction. Enjoy the delightful and colorful work of Ashish. 

http://www.facebook.com/#!/ashis.das.z

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