Symbolism in True Form is meant to Jar

India Rising Series -- "The Lost" acrylic on canvas

Definition: Symbolism was a late nineteenth-century art movement of French, Russian and Belgian origin in poetry and other arts. In literature, the style originates with the 1857 publication of Charles Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du mal.

“Symbolism developed new and often abstract means to express psychological truth and the idea that behind the physical world lay a spiritual reality. The emphasis is on expressing emotions, feelings, ideas, and subjectivity rather than realism.

“The work of symbolists is personal and expresses their own ideologies, particularly the belief in the artist's power to reveal truth. Symbolists take the ineffable, such as dreams and visions, and give it form.”

Michelangelo's "Finger of God"

In her book “Experimental Painting; Inspirational approaches to mixed media art” Lisa L. Cyr writes: “When one is free from inhibitions and preset expectations, the door opens for that spark of brilliance and magic to come through. Spontaneously and without effort, a highly imaginative world known only to the artist begins to reveal itself.”

Many symbolists combine "religious mysticism, the perverse, the erotic, and the decadent. Their subject matter is typically characterized by an interest in the occult, the morbid, the dream world, melancholy, evil, and death.”

Thanks to http://www.theartstory.org/movement-symbolism.htm

 

Here are a few recognized symbolist painters and visual artists, which include Gustave Moreau, Gustav Klimt, Mikalojus Konstantinas Čiurlionis, Jacek Malczewski, Odilon Redon, Pierre Puvis de Chavannes, Henri Fantin-Latour, Gaston Bussière, Edvard Munch, Félicien Rops, and Jan Toorop.

Color and the way it affects mood is often used to create a message or sharp response in the viewer, but we’ll discuss color in another blog. Today artists are free to use alternative styles by combining conventional approaches with innovation. There has been a modern day revolution of sorts in the way art is created and presented.

The artist Cyr, quoted earlier, calls this inventive approach “reinterpret, reinvent, and redefine.”

Below are some helpful Youtube videos.

 Jake Baddeley - Symbolist painter  

 The Symbolist Paintings

Sometimes Impressionism and Symbolism overlap

Remodeling Blues have put a Crimp in my Plans

"Arabesque" oil on canvas

My husband and I decided that putting new cabinets in the kitchen and vanities/sinks in the bathroom was a must this year. The original woodwork was a slapdash effort by the builder 20 years ago to come in under budget and on deadline. We were not aware of this until my husband put storage cabinets in our garage and discovered that the inexpensive white laminates sold by Home Depot were the exact same ones as in our kitchen and bathrooms.

Our project was supposed to start one week ago, and we’re still waiting. Living out of suitcases and boxes is much like camping out. We’ve also been eating a lot of T.V. dinners and dining out. Finding space and time to paint has been difficult.

I appreciate the inspiration I continue to glean from all of you, and from the late Robert Genn and his daughter Sara who keeps up their traditional newsletter. These two quotes were my favorites:

"Where you struggle, there lies your treasure." (Joseph Campbell)

Think about this! The things you work the hardest for are usually worth more to you than the simple enjoyable pleasures that last only a short time. Trying to master a new skill, a new language, or working on a relationship that you recognize as important is worth the effort and the tears because the final product or result will be priceless!

Where does your treasure lie? What do you put the most time into? When you’re finished, will you be a stronger and better person than before? This is a good measuring stick or criteria from which to build. “Where you struggle, there lies your treasure.”

"Release -- my Trail of Tears" mixed media on canvas

I devoted one of my paintings to Campbell for this quote: “Art is the Set of Wings to carry you out of your own entanglement.” The painting: “Release – my Trail of Tears” was a real metamorphose of color and emotion for me. My son had given me "A Joseph Campbell Companion" several years ago, and the quotes are profound and stick in your mind.

Here’s another beauty: "What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly." (Richard Bach)

When we fail, we see it as a disaster. Like the caterpillar, we may think our life, our career, our romance is over. But if we’re patient, if we’re willing to try again, we may discover something new and wonderful! A fragile butterfly may emerge from the ashes of our defeat and lift us into new spheres of possibility. 

I’ve had to face a lot of obstacles recently. My career has been in a slump and one crisis has replaced another in my efforts to gain a foothold. Life may slow me down, but I will not be deterred. How about you?

"The Perfect Ending" acrylic on canvas

Innocence Lost -- a Long Ago Glimpse into the Past

"Day Dreams" 11 x 14 oil on canvas, Prints available

I came from a small town where doors were left unlocked, people waved and chatted over fences, and children were allowed to roam the streets at will. In winter, I walked a few miles across town to ice skate, returning in the dark of night, never worrying about the shadows or the fruits of my overzealous imagination.

My innocence was shattered one evening at the movie theater. The woman who sat next to me called my attention to a stranger’s arm that dangled over the back of his seat.

“You’d better watch him,” she said in a hateful tone. “You never know what they’ll do.” She pulled her purse close to her, keeping it a safe distance from the stranger’s limp hand.

To this day, I don’t remember the movie. I was terrified the whole time, checking the foreigner’s hand, making sure he didn’t touch me. Had he done something to the woman, I wondered?  Was she upset because he was different; an Iranian student, a foreigner to our town?

"Blond Boy" 11 x 14 oil on canvas, prints available

It was dark when I left the theater. I usually skipped home, knowing my mother would have supper waiting. Attending a movie and walking home alone at night had never bothered me before; but that evening, everything changed.

I heard footsteps clicking behind me. When I turned, it was the man in the theater. Fear overtook me, the fear born of one woman’s hatred and my own insecurity. I walked as fast as I could. When I quickened my pace, he quickened his, or so it seemed.

I reached the safety of home several yards ahead of him. He took no notice, but continued his nightly walk, likely returning to his own apartment. But if he had gained on me, what then? Prejudice breeds fear.

So does the influx of strangers and the changing dynamics of a diverse and growing population. That year a baby sitter returning home from a job was murdered on her own front porch and time stopped. Our safe structured world was shattered.  People started locking doors. Parents were more cautious about letting their children go out at night. Our town changed. The whole world changed.

(Illustration of "Cooper" from "Madison Morgan,
when dog's blog")

The culprit was a young man, a troublemaker who had recently come to live with his aunt and uncle.  Bouncing from one home to another, he finally landed in a place that offered hope and love. He hadn’t meant to kill her. 

He only wanted to talk to her, perhaps kiss her, but her frightened screams wouldn’t stop. He covered her mouth a little too long, and then it was too late. He fled in fear. The town not only mourned the girl, but the sad young man who never had a chance.

Foreigners, who first drew suspicion, breathed a sigh of relief and went back to minding their own business. Others covered up their misplaced blame with excuses, and life was never the same.

Perhaps your home town was much like mine. Society has, indeed, changed. Now our children and grandchildren are no longer safe in their front yards. Walking to school is risky. Parents prefer driving their children to school rather than sending them on the bus. The roadways are crowded. The traffic outside the school grounds is backed up for blocks. The innocence of yesteryear is gone forever.

If you are interested in having a portrait done from a photograph, contact the artist for details and an estimate. http://carol-allen-anfinsen.artistwebsites.com

"First Daffodil" 16 x 20 mixed media on canvas

The Holidays are not always Merry and Jolly

Christmas Lights and Gates within Gateway

The Holidays are difficult for many of us. My children happen to live in the far corners of the U.S. and I see them infrequently. Of course that makes me sad. I almost died one Christmas which was the precursor to a divorce that also clouds the holidays. But let me explain.

It was Christmas time. The freshly cut spruce we had purchased days before was decorated and waiting. My baking was complete; our freezer loaded with cookie trays for friends and casseroles for company and unexpected guests. I was on my last round of cleaning, adding the final spit and polish that “make the season bright.”

We wrap our palm trees in twinkle lights

Two things happened that day to add to the confusion: 1) I banged my wedding ring finger on a table and wondered if I'd broken it, and 2) I cleaned ever-so-efficiently behind the toilet bowl in our guest bathroom. At the time, a strong stinging sensation in my finger caused me to pull my sudsy hand back. It was the same finger I'd banged earlier. On my initial examination, the skin had been unmarred. Now the water-soaked skin had a slight abrasion or opening in the flesh.

I shrugged and finished my scrubbing. I was taking the kids to a holiday movie and put the events of the day out of my mind. Half-way through the movie, I was in a fit of agony. My finger felt like it was on fire, but its temperature was as cold as ice. What was going on? To make a very long story short, the continued pain sent me to three different hospitals over the course of the holiday weekend. A medic cut off my wedding ring as it cut into my flesh and restricted blood flow. An x-ray revealed there was no break. Puzzled, the nurse on duty sent me home and told me to soak my finger.

Love these tall graceful palms wrapped in lights!

At the next ER, I was feeling extremely ill. They asked if I'd been bitten by a spider, but I had no recall of such. On the surface, the finger didn't look that bad, nothing to warrant such pain. They sent me home with more instructions, none of which helped.

A third trip to another ER in the middle of the night proved as useless. While there, my whole body became immobile. I couldn't blink. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move one solitary muscle. I heard them say I had probably hyperventilated. It would pass. They sent me home. I was given no medication or antibiotic on any of these visits.

On Monday, I saw my own medical doctor. By this time a bright red streak ran from my finger to under my arm. My skin had a yellow cast, and my gums were purple. The doctor pronounced: "blood poisoning,” and asked again:” Are you sure you weren't bitten by an insect? " None that I could recall, I told him. When I mentioned the diagnosis of hyperventilation, he shook his head. "You were probably going into convulsion,” he said.

My ultimate favorite: a southern oak tree wrapped in lights. Spectacular!

I was placed in a private hospital room, and x-rays were ordered for my heart and lungs. The doctor had prescribed a complex antibiotic IV drip, but since the hospital was under staffed, they waited for my IV, wanting to avoid attaching it and then having to unhook me for x-rays and then having to start it up again. The IV was put off until after my x-rays; a six hour delay as it turned out.

Over the next few days, Gangrene set in my finger. A dermatologist was called in. He was the one that finally recognized my condition as the results of a brown recluse spider bite. He took one look at me, read my record, and said: "You should have been dead in 36 hours." It had been 72 hours before I received my first IV antibiotic drip. If they had known what it was from the beginning, they would have administered cortisone as well.

Moonshines -- Abstract mixed media on canvas (on my online gallery)

After my recovery, I analyzed the holiday puzzle. I remembered seeing tiny spiders in the toilet water during the holiday week and wondered how they got there? We later concluded there must have been a spider's nest behind the tank. So much for thorough cleaning! 

I never repaired my wedding ring or put it on after that. I looked upon it as a foreshadowing of what was to come. In spite of the good things that have happened to me since, whenever Christmas rolls around, I remember my near death experience, a separation and a divorce that became imminent one holiday long ago.

A Sandhill Crane in my neighborhood painted on black. Christmas Colors!

Man’s Inhumanity to Man – When Power Corrupts

World War II, POW Camp under Japanese Leadership

Veterans Day is coming up and I’m still reading the book: “Unbroken; a World War II Story of Survival,” by Laura Hillenbrand. In one of my blogs, I mentioned that it was hard for me to read more than a few chapters a day. The material is so raw, so cruel and emotional that I have to quit reading in order to regain my composure.

I’m not a crier; people who know me know that I don’t cry easily, especially in front of others. But I will tell you this. While reading this book, my eyes fill with tears and my heart experiences the agony of shared empathy.

As POWs, these men tried to retain their dignity as human beings under cruel and inhumane circumstances. Struggling to maintain scraps of freedom their defiance kept them going. Their bodies would be starved and beaten. They would be forced into submission, but their souls, their attitudes and minds would soar above on silent prayers of hope and endurance.

Their struggles reminded me of this passage from the Book of Job in the Bible: “I will maintain my righteousness and never let go of it. My conscience will not reproach me as long as I live.” (Job 27:6 NIV)

Educators always refer to the Jewish Holocaust under Hitler as the worst example in history of human degradation and deprivation. And well they should. But its relevance has been broadcast on the wings of a political agenda labeled “Anti-Semitism.” Yet the fact that thousands and millions of Soldiers suffered under the tyrannical hands of the Japanese in the brutal POW camps is little known. Why? Because the power of the elite has deemed America an “Imperialist” country and these facts do not suit their political agenda.

"Death of a POW"

I went to Wickipedia hoping to find some historical and accurate information. To my surprise their main focus was on the Japanese Internment Camps in the US and Japanese POWs where the prisoners were treated humanely compared to the treatment of US prisoners in Japanese camps. This is how history has been manipulated for political purposes.

Most of the US and Allied POWs in Japan died from starvation. They became slave labor and worked long hours on rice or seaweed broth having neither protein nor vegetables. They suffered preventable diseases such as beriberi and scurvy.

These valiant men helped each other, protected each other; and when they could, shared what little food they had in order to keep their buddies alive. “Courage is fear that has said its prayers,” Karl Barth a theologian of the 20^th century once said. Those who survived were sometimes hourly on their knees.

"Holocaust Victim? -- NO. An American POW in a Japanese POW Camp!

They were beaten daily, beaten for pleasure, and if they were officers or men of stature beaten extensively and sometimes to death. They were uncovered and barefoot in winter; their bodies covered with shreds of cloth that were once the clothing they wore when captured. International law regarding Prisoners of War was ignored. The Red Cross dropped food supplies in the camps, but the Japanese guards horded them for themselves or sold them on the black market.

Link for historical story: http://www.stripes.com/military-life/taiwan-horrors-of-japanese-pow-camps-revealed-to-visitors-at-kinkaseki-1.218978

Sadly, their suffering and torture in the POW camps was overshadowed by the “bomb” that finally made Japan stand still. How do you stop a tyrant? How do you bring down the planes raining bombs on your own soil and stop an aggressive enemy intent on conquering the world? How do you stop a bully with an arsenal who is out to cleanse the world of unwanted races, ethnicity's, or religions? How do you stop a mad man, a dictator from implementing his hatred?

"US and Allied POWs in open yard forced to exercise at all hours of the day or night or in any kind of weather.
This time was often used as an excuse for beatings and humiliation.

During the course of the war, Japanese civilians also suffered as their country began to collapse at war’s end. A quote from the book states: “Near the end of the war, the civilians (not the guards or hierarchy) were in shocking conditions. The limbs of the adults were grotesquely swollen from beriberi; a condition the POWs knew well. Their children were emaciated…But Japan was a long way from giving up.”

The Japanese considered “surrender” shameful, and they were prepared to fight to the end at all costs. They had also decided that no prisoners would be released to their allied forces. They intended to kill every last one. Hundreds of POWs were shot and dumped in the nearby jungles. There were few options open to the POWs for escape or rescue.

I am also including photos of family
members who currently serve or have
served in the military. (daughter Paula)

There’s another side to the story. What enemy would warn their adversary of an upcoming attack? American B29s “showered leaflets over 35 Japanese cities warning civilians of coming bombings and urging them to warn others and to evacuate.

“But the Japanese authorities punished those who had leaflets or who gave them to their neighbors and tried to warn them. Two of the cities warned and mentioned in the leaflets were Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”

Today, my blog is long. This war, this book has deeply affected me. I am incensed by “man’s inhumanity to man.” Sadly, those who served our country, who suffered and endured, were forgotten to satisfy a contemporary ideology intent on promoting a politically correct agenda of equality, diversity and inclusion. It has taken America several decades to honor those who served in the World War II arena. There are very few of them who still remain.

To add insult to injury, those surviving American heroes were insulted once again when the “mock government shut-down” denied them passage into the World War II Memorial in Washington, D.C. that was built specifically to honor them. I am ashamed of our leaders in Washington. I am outraged at how they toy with our lives and tinker with the greatest thing we have going for us: our Constitution. May God bless America. She needs it now more than ever!

"Paula's family"

"Paula and Husband, James"

"Grandson, Dane, in the Coast Guard"

Sadness is a Part of Life; Death is Inevitable

My sister was my hero. For almost 40 years she battled Multiple Sclerosis (M.S.). She was in a wheel chair for the last 20-25 of those years. In all that time, I never heard a complaint or a negative word. She remained optimistic with her faith intact.

When people would visit, it was they who went away uplifted. Her laughter and bubbly personality never wavered in spite of her disability. When her speech began to falter, I remember sitting with her hoping to understand what she was trying to say. I began a game of charades to help her express what was on her heart. This resulted in a raft of giggles from both of us until I finally discovered her meaning.

“Thank God my sister is still in there,” I remember thinking.

The last time we were together I wasn’t so sure. By this time she was almost comatose. Her large eyes stayed open. What I thought were tears of joy at our meeting were only her body’s response to moisten her eyes. Her skin was radiant and wrinkle free. She had not a gray hair on her head. How could she be so ill and look so beautiful?

I decided it was her spirit shining through. The nurse fed her a noontime lunch with a syringe filled with nutrients which she inserted into Jean’s feeding tube. This caused her breathing tube to bubble and froth as she took air in and out. I wiped the spittle from her mouth with a towel and felt honored to be able to do this for her, helping her through this arduous humiliating ordeal.

Somewhere inside did she recognize me and know I was there? I hope so. I had only been home a few days when I received a call that she had passed away. Had she held on long enough to see me? So many close calls had come and gone. She was in and out of the hospital on the brink of death throughout the past 20 years.

I will miss her. I miss the beautiful person she was and the person she continued to be through all the ups and downs, the falls, the concussions, the broken ribs that occurred as she fought to stay upright on her own. I will miss her courage and her optimism. She fought a good fight. She remained faithful and true. Those who knew her and loved her were the better for having known her.

We are not alone. People notice us wherever we go even though we may not know it. We influence for good or bad everyone around us; a small act of kindness, an encouraging word, a warm hand reaching out to comfort do not go unnoticed. The gifts of the soul are simple and free, but they last forever.

She is in a better place. I imagine her dancing and singing and doing all of the things she was prevented from doing; a prisoner of her horrible disease. Sing Jean!  Dance Jean, rejoice and be glad for the Lord your God shall shelter you from all pain and sickness.

Artist of My Soul

O Lord of light, of form and hue,
   Who has created all things new,
Create in me, from shapeless clay,
   An instrument on which You play.

God of the dance that planets tread,
   Who walks beside and soars ahead,
O let me move to worship Thee,
   Come, Holy Spirit, dance with me.

God of the Living Word, Poet of Time,
   Teach me Your words
   in Your cadence and rhyme.

O Lord of beauty, Lord of art
   Who gives a song for every heart,
Carve out my life, reshape and mold,
   And be the Artist of my soul.

(He hath put a new song in my mouth.
 Psalm 40:3 NIV)

Tides by Any Other Name Would Smell as Stinky!

"Window on Pine Island" 16x20 wrapped oil on canvas

What is coarse, toxic, sweeps up marine life in its wake and kills? If you guessed a broom, we're done here. If you answered pollution, you're close. If you said red tides, you're dead on. Never heard of these menacing algae? Let me introduce you.

Every summer at the height of tourist season, a tangle of brownish algae and dead fish cascades onto the Gulf Coast's pristine beaches and the stink is overwhelming; as my mother used to say, "Enough to gag a maggot." What makes these algae such a menace? They produce one of the deadliest toxins known to man.

(original photo of Pine Island)

These harmful algal blooms or HABS wreak havoc on local fishing industries to the tune of $82 million each year. The toxins affect the central nervous system of fish, killing them in vast numbers; limiting the quantities of fresh fish that fisheries depend on. Toxins also may poison shellfish like clams, oysters, and mussels, and make the humans who eat them sick.

These red tide masses affect marine ecosystems in a number of ways. Dense blooms can block sunlight that benefit good algae and sea grasses needed for food. Wildlife and marine mammals like seabirds, manatees, turtles and dolphins may not only get sick, they may die. Hundreds of manatees died as a result of Red Tide in 2012. Humans may suffer severe respiratory or skin ailments. In addition to that, red tides are downright unsightly.

My first reaction to walking on the beach after a red tide wash up was repulsion. Hundreds of putrid dead fish trapped in strange-looking seaweed covered the white sand driving me and many other tourists back to our hotels. Like them, I wanted to know what this stuff was, what it did, and how we could stop it.

Red tides are composed of microscopic algae known as dinoflagellates; their scientific name: karenia brevis. The algal cells are asexual. They produce simply by dividing. To complicate matters, each cell is capable of movement via two flagella that propels them through the water. There is no brainwork involved in this confluence or joining of forces. They drift with the water's ebb and flow, bumping together to form large clumps or "blooms" as their numbers increase.

What makes dinoflagellates different from other microscopic algae? At least two things: their rapid growth and their toxicity both of which raise more questions than answers. Why do these organisms suddenly explode into a massive growing binge? What triggers this growth and why does it produce toxins in some algae and not in others?

Biologists and scientists believe pollution of our waterways may be the leading factor. Pesticides, fertilizers and chemicals are washed into surrounding rivers and lakes and eventually find their way into the sea. At the mouth of these inlets and tributaries, red tides get their first burst of growth which certainly points to pollution as the cause.

But there's a catch: red tides are not a new phenomenon. Fish kills from deadly algae were recorded in 1840 and as long ago as the Spanish explorers who wrote about them in their logs. After years of red tides research, there is still no conclusive evidence or link to pollution. Like many quirks of nature, the trigger may be from natural causes or a series of events that are little understood.

The Fish and Wildlife Research Institute (FWRI) in Florida conducts Red Tide Reports on a regular basis during critical growing periods. Using satellite imagery, high levels of chlorophyll are monitored for possible resurgence of red tides. With the help of modern technology, experts record the size, rate of growth, and location of these HABS.

FWRI works in partnership with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) under the supervision of the U.S. Department of Commerce. NOAA's goal is to "provide the tools to prevent, control, or mitigate the occurrence of HABS." Because red algae can be found in almost any waterway, research labs are positioned worldwide.

(I want to paint this beautiful Fuschia)

If you would like information about red tides in your own locale, go to http://www.noaa.gov.

What is the missing component that explains why red tides grow faster and wilder during certain times of the year? Is pollution the cause as some suggest? Or is it increased water temperature that naturally encourages the growth of most algae? Until the mystery is solved, Gulf residents and vacationers around the globe must continue to endure the irritation, the blight and the stink of red tides.

Do you have a "stinky" problem in your neck of the woods? Please share it with us.

Walking that Fine Line Between Sanity and Guilt

 

When people find out you’re a writer or an artist, all of a sudden you become very popular. Everyone has a project or a need that only you can fill. Little by little these small favors and obligations eat away at your private time until you have no hours left at all for you.

I’ve wedged myself into that scenario many times. Not that I don’t enjoy serving my community, my church, and my neighbors and friends. But I’m beginning to bewail my own projects that sit on the side lines because I either don’t have enough time to accomplish anything, or I’m too darn tired to start.

I’ve had two projects going for the past several months. One is sitting on my kitchen table and taunts me whenever I walk by. Because of it, we haven’t used our table for eating or playing games in months. The other is in my art room in a half-finished state. I look at it several times a day and imagine what needs to be done next, if only I had the time.

I am web master for my church, and also do their newsletter among other assignments; things always come up: a brochure here, an advertisement there, tickets designed for a theme, a special program, a Committee Chair. Since I enjoy doing these projects, I have only myself to blame and my desire to serve the Lord.

Then there’s the added business of participating at the gallery. Every artist who shows there must work there, at least once a month. Participation in Art League activities is also important for publicity and networking. Never let opportunities to show your work pass you by!

(In Progress Mural for church)

Pay back is sometimes required. I’ve been helping one league work on a memorial for their church which allows us to paint in their facility every Wednesday. Their generosity sometimes requires little favors like the wall mural done last year of Noah’s Ark in the children’s Sunday school. This year, it’s a memorial of a precious child who died.

(One of the artists whose husband died was also added to the mural. She is a church member there)

Balance is the key, but sometimes I walk so close to the edge that I topple off. Add health problems or a crisis and Humpty Dumpty comes falling down. How do you handle the difficult dance between necessary activities where time-tables are set in stone and your personal goals that demand consistency in order to succeed?

If at all possible, a fluid schedule is best. Failing that, you must be as rigid with your private activities as you are with those that cannot be changed. If ever you are to fulfill your dreams, you must give equal time to them.

Some people give up when the demands of children and family overwhelm the minutes and the hours in a day. They put their dreams on a shelf for another time. After all, you only have children once. Learning how to benefit from and use snatches of time is a better way

(In Progress mural -- more refining & detail are necessary)

I used to take a notebook with me while chauffeuring the children to school, music and dance lessons, or extracurricular activities and practices. I was able to write stories and articles by using these “snatches” of time.

It is more difficult for an artist, but not impossible. Small sketch books and watercolor pads with aqua crayons can keep you focused on plein air drawings or portraits of people while you wait. Having supplies in your car and planning ahead can make all the difference.

Learning how to say “no” is another way to protect your precious time. If you really want to say “yes” at least you’ll know it was your decision, not theirs.