Strike a Match, Burn a Candle, Light up the World

"Para Sailing Spoonbill"

Ideas are fragile. They come and go. If you don’t lock them down, they can disappear forever.

I used to keep a small notebook in my car for jotting down ideas driving to and from work. The only problem was, I could only write while I was sitting at a stoplight. So I thought I’d get a recorder and verbalize my thoughts, but I’m not a verbal person. I have to digest ideas and chew on them before I write them down in order to give them expression.

Fleeting thoughts are sometimes incoherent, nonsensical gibberish, but the gems within may grow and multiply whereas the losers fester for awhile and then dead-end into Never Never Land.

"Flamenco Flamingo"

When I lived alone, I burned candles in the bath, in my bedroom, and anywhere else I needed a glimmer of hope and light. Even with dinner, I’d fix myself something special and light a candle to make the dining experience last. Then one day, I became dangerous. I struck a match in the bathroom and the tip of it broke off landing on my nightgown. The flames were frightening. Luckily the sink was near enough to douse myself with water and put the flames out.

I decided that either I was getting flighty or the matches were being manufactured differently from before. A few days later, I struck a match in the bedroom to light my bedtime candle, and again the match tip broke off landing on my dresser scarf. The flames ignited instantly, swallowing up everything in sight before I could smother it with a wet towel.

From that point on, I eliminated candles and matches from my bath and boudoir routine. Whether it was the cheapness of the match sticks or my own clumsiness made no difference. I couldn’t afford to burn myself up over anything as silly as a candle.

Poster created from the book: "Inez Ibis Flies Again"

That experience has come back to haunt me again and again. How powerful and unpredictable that tiny light became once it was ignited. Ideas are like that. They shine but for a moment and then like gossamer wings they fly away unless we kindle the flames that brought them in the first place.

Where do my ideas come from? Some are inspired by past experiences. Others by books I’ve read or movies I’ve seen, or simply by the way light shines on a certain object in a new way.

Nature also inspires me. I have a vivid imagination and always think I see something different in my ordinary surroundings: an ugly face created by the stub of a limb or the bark of a tree, a small bush that looks like a huge spider; I’m weird, I know.

(The following illustrations are also from the book: "Inez Ibis Flies Again")

Artists do see things differently. We see shapes and color and because of this, the ordinary turns into the grotesque, the scary, or the fantastic in a blink.

Some of my ideas are so clear I can see them come to life in my mind. Others are mere hints or suggestions that require coaxing and fuel to keep them going. Like the end of a lighted match, I never know where my ideas will end up.

The cartoon illustrations in this blog came from seeing the humor in the way certain creatures move or behave. (Note, this is a repeat of a blog in 2010.)

Virtual Reality can’t Touch us or Taint us. Or can it?

"A Joyful Heart" 9 x 12 pastel on Bristol

Public Broadcasting recently aired a delightful British Comedy called “Last Tango in Halifax.” I enjoyed the feature immensely. The story revolved around an older couple who met, fell in love, and planned to be married. The catch? They each had their own complex past, their own children and spouses and grandchildren each with their own unique problems, quirks, differences, and weaknesses.

What impressed me at stories' end was that Halifax was a lonely and harsh environment that isolated people from each other. The characters, in spite of all their flaws, were lovable, sometimes desperate, and always unpredictable yet supportive of each other, at least in the beginning.

I wept along with the characters. I felt their pain and their weakness as they bungled their lives simply by being human. As a person of faith, I couldn’t help wondering if the absence of faith was a character flaw and the reason for their downfall. They struggled against life without any spiritual structure or foundation to guide them or hold them together.

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

And yet they survived. In the end, they even triumphed as they overcame their shallow self absorbed inclinations to reach out and embrace those they loved. Rising above their petty and sometimes jarring differences, they brought their bouquets of forgiveness to the simple table that life had dealt them.

What matters most in life usually triumphs, if we let it. We can rise above the cheap and tawdry leavings of this clumsy imperfect existence and replace our shallowness with humility, hard fought forgiveness, and hope.

People in the end are worth the effort. There is dignity and hidden gold even in the worst of us, and surely in the best of us. Pure evil does exist, but at what point is the soul condemned or the door closed? The eleventh hour? The twelfth?

"Broken" 11 x 14 mixed media SOLD

What binds us is our humanity; our need for love and companionship. This alone is the Godly part of our nature and must be nurtured and acted upon if humanity is to survive. Without it, we will incinerate ourselves in a global frenzy.

Keep the candle burning, friends. If the light of love and goodness goes out, our world will be very dark, indeed.

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

Strike a Match, Burn a Candle, Light up the World

"Moonshines" 18x24 mixed media on canvas

Ideas are fragile. They come and go. If you don’t lock them down, they can disappear forever.

I used to keep a small notebook in my car for jotting down ideas driving to and from work. The only problem was, I could only write while I was sitting at a stoplight. So I thought I’d get a recorder and verbalize my thoughts, only I’m not a verbal person. I have to digest ideas and chew on them before writing them down in order to give them expression.

Fleeting thoughts are sometimes incoherent, nonsensical gibberish; but the gems within may grow and multiply, whereas the losers fester for awhile and then dead-end into Never Never Land.

"First Daffodil" 16x20 acrylic on canvas

When I lived alone, I burned candles in the bath, in my bedroom, and anywhere else I needed a glimmer of hope and light. Even with dinner, I’d fix myself something special and light a candle to make the dining experience last. 

Then one day, I became dangerous. I struck a match in the bathroom and the tip of it broke off landing on my nightgown. The flames were frightening. Luckily the sink was near enough to douse myself with water and put the flames out.

I decided either I was getting flighty or the matches were being manufactured differently from before. A few days later, I struck a match in the bedroom to light my bedtime candle, and again the match tip broke off landing on my dresser scarf. The flames ignited instantly, swallowing up everything in sight before I could smother it with a wet towel.

From that point on, I eliminated candles and matches from my bath and boudoir routine. Whether it was the cheapness of the match sticks or my own clumsiness made no difference. I couldn’t afford to burn myself up over anything as silly as a candle.

That experience has come back to haunt me again and again. How fragile and unpredictable that tiny light became once it was ignited. Ideas are like that. They shine but for a moment and then like gossamer wings they fly away unless we kindle the flames that brought them in the first place.

Where do my ideas come from? Some are inspired by past experiences. Others by books I’ve read or movies I’ve seen, or simply by the way light shines on a certain object in a new way.

Nature also inspires me. When a roseate spoonbill comes in for a landing, it looks like it's almost sitting. I couldn't resist the humor of putting one in harness in a parasail; hence, "parasailing spoonbill!"

I have a vivid imagination and always think I see something different in my ordinary surroundings: an ugly face created by the scar of a cut limb or the bark of a tree, a small bush that looks like a huge spider; I’m weird, I know. Artists do see things differently. We see in shapes and color and because of this, the ordinary turns into the grotesque, the scary, or the fantastic in a blink.

Some of my ideas are so clear I can see them come to life in my mind. Others are mere hints or suggestions that require coaxing and fuel to keep them going. Like the end of a lighted match, I never know where my ideas will end up.