Contrast Reveals Truth and Clarifies what’s Important

Thinking back to grade school, the kids who stand out in my mind, are not the popular or good looking ones whose faces I have long since forgotten, but the ones who were different. Even in memory, I can see them clearly. Back then, I felt their pain and even imagined that I could feel their awkwardness and aloneness.

My sense of fair play demanded that I do something about it. I decided to befriend each of them in turns. I got permission from my mother to walk home with Gail to play for about an hour and then walk back home.

My parents were poor by most standards. At the time, we lived in an upstairs apartment over my grandmother’s home. My dad didn’t own a car. Each day, he walked to and from the Caterpillar Tractor store where he repaired and maintained rental machinery. In our small town, income levels were low, and most people lived simply.

Gail, on the other hand, had a house and a yard with a swing in it. Dirty gray stucco that hadn’t been painted in years gave the house a somber look. There were no flowers or shrubs. When we finally made our way inside, I was shocked at the barren rooms.

We looked through the cupboards for something to eat, but the shelves were bare. A dry piece of cake with mildew sat on the counter top. Gail’s parents were not at home and the house gave off an empty lonely vibe. There were no toys to play with except the swing outside so we ended up playing outdoors.

When I got back home our small apartment seemed like a castle. Cheerful colors welcomed me and the sound of my mother's singing while she cooked made me smile. The simple soup and bread we had for supper seemed like a feast after the barren offerings of Gail’s existence.

The contrast between our homes re-defined the word “poor” for me. Gail's home expressed a poverty of spirit and a shortage of amenities. I would never again view myself or my family as lacking in anything.

Over the next few weeks I went home with Alice, a student who had a visible disability. She was a polio victim as a toddler; as a result, her left arm and leg were shorter. Alice limped in a funny hop bounce way that made her arms bob with each step. Everyone made fun of her, except me.

She had six other brothers and sisters. It was obvious from the moment I stepped inside their large old fashioned home that she was loved. There were games, giggles, and a relaxed easy-going ambiance that made time fly. Alice’s life was already full. No wonder she was able to handle the nasty remarks from her peers. The wisecracks didn't shake her world.

Lorraine was a bed wetter who sometimes had accidents in class, especially when she was listening to a story. In the silence of the room her accidents sounded like raindrops on our wooden floor. The janitor was quietly invited to our room and mopped up without noise or distraction. The teacher (my grandfather), continued the story without dropping a beat. The intrusion went unnoticed.

Lorraine was embarrassed, of course, but she never said a word. If she could have stopped wetting her pants, she would have. Most of her classmates felt sorry for her. A few twittered and teased, but most accepted her as she was.

Diane was taller than most girls her age which made her feel ugly and conspicuous. She hunched her shoulders in a grotesque slump to make herself appear shorter. Eventually her posture became permanently cemented for life.

Diane was funny, friendly and likable. It was easy to overlook her rounded shoulders once you got to know her. I was posture conscious. My grandfather had encouraged his granddaughters to walk with books on their heads and their backs straight so Diane’s rounded stance was a constant irritant to me. Her mother never said a word about it knowing it would make her feel even more self-conscious. Her unsightly hump made me want to stand even straighter.

When you are different from others life can be cruel. My heart goes out to those children who are bullied or made fun of because they stand out.

In a painting, contrast defines and highlights the center of interest. The differences in shape, value and color makes the objects jump out at you: dark against light, round against rectangular, bright against dull. A composition becomes interesting or impressionable because of these contrasts.

It’s too bad we don’t view people in the same way. The ones who catch our eye, or are unique would be seen as beautiful rather than nonconforming or odd. The differences would be viewed in a new way; much like a highlight or an unusual shape catches our attention and pulls us into a painting.

"Raccoons at Sunrise" (the last drink before bedtime), 20 x 16 acrylic on canvas

When Things get tough, find a Different Way to Work

"With These Hands -- Wonder" 1st in a Series; oil on acrylic canvas

I sometimes wail and whine about getting older. My osteoarthritis has begun to swell my joints and reshape my fingers. I can no longer draw a straight line without some help from a ruler or guide.

And I recently had contact lenses implanted in my eyes. They are “monovision,” meaning that one eye serves for distance and one for close-ups. While it’s great not to have glasses, my perspective has changed. Do I really paint what I see or is what I see distorted by my altered vision?

We all have problems as we age. Some of us were born with a disability. Others were given problems and illnesses sometimes at the peak of their careers. Life happens to us all and “shit” happens.

So you think you’ve got problems? These heroic artists continued to create in spite of their problems and well into old age.

At the end of his life, French impressionist master Pierre-Auguste Renoir continued painting — using a brush tied to his arthritic hand.

Renoir had crippling rheumatoid arthritis — at the LACMA Exhibit, there's a flickering black and white film that shows Renoir painting in 1915, despite his afflictions. His hands look like stumps of old trees — you can barely see his fingers because they are so curled in on themselves. Fabric is tied across Renoir's palms, to protect his skin.

In the newsreel footage, he clamps a paintbrush between the thumb and fist of his right hand. Renoir leans into the canvas as he paints. He talks while he works. He's lively, and his eyes are piercing.

(The Absinthe Drinker) Renoir

"I am just learning how to paint," Pierre-Auguste Renoir said in 1913 — six years before he died. The French master painted right up to the end of his life; he died in 1919 at age 78.

Edgar Degas “frequently blamed his eye troubles for his inability to finish a painting, an explanation that met with some skepticism from colleagues and collectors who reasoned, as Stuckey explains, that "his pictures could hardly have been executed by anyone with inadequate vision." The artist provided another clue when he described his predilection "to begin a hundred things and not finish one of them," and was in any case notoriously reluctant to consider a painting complete.

(Blue Dancers -- Degas) Love the composition!

He was a deliberative artist whose works, as Andrew Forge has written, "Were prepared, calculated, practiced, developed in stages. They were made up of parts. The adjustment of each part to the whole, their linear arrangement, was the occasion for infinite reflection and experiment."

1890 Degas’s eyesight fades and he does more sculpture and pastels. He does some mono-types of valleys from memories of the countryside from a trip to Burgundy.

1895 Degas experiments in photography.

1910 Degas goes blind becomes depressed and bitter, stops painting.

1917 Degas dies 27 September aged 83 at his home. And so ends the career of our greatest artists.

(Degas liked to paint members of his family)

The following “lesser known” artists have overcome monumental difficulties but continue to do what they love. Lisa Fittipaldi lost her eyesight, yet paints the most remarkable paintings. She detects the color by the feel of the pigment. Remarkable!

Courageous Artists

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)

Childrens’ Picture Books may Inspire and Encourage

Illustrations for children are more than colorful, pretty paintings. They are tools for education, celebration, and fun. They are a means for teaching children how to deal with serious issues in their lives where the outcomes are frightening or unknown. Children’s illustrations may also take the edge off of sadness and pain by providing an outlet for fun and whimsy. They can reassure a child that there is balance, beauty and harmony in the world.

That’s why I created “Inez Ibis Flies Again; the story of a courageous ibis who never gave up!”

People don't normally name the birds and animals they encounter, but after watching a white ibis for over six years, I simply had to. Inez was the name that I gave her. 

What was it that made her stand out? First of all, she had a bad limp that made it difficult for her to keep up with the other ibis as they foraged for food. And secondly, she came back to our neighborhood again and again, to the same side street, and has for over six years. Why, we’re practically family!

 Today she had two young ibis with her, sporting the brown feathers of youth. Her second family, although I suspect there may have been a third. I was happy to see them, even though they are skittish around humans. When there are long absences, I worry about her. She is usually gone when she has a clutch, but always returns.

One day I was out walking and spied the remains of an ibis. Nothing but a ball of white tail feathers, a beak, and the legs and feet. I was beside myself, thinking it must have been Inez for she doesn't move as quickly as the others.

Today I saw a hawk devouring a white feathered bird in the field and again I worried. There were precious snowy egrets flying about, it could have been one of those; or it could have been a cattle egret. There are many in the field where the cattle graze. When I finally saw Inez and her chicks, I was overjoyed.

I imagined that Inez may have been hit by a car.

Exhausted ibis after a long migration.

Inez is a courageous ibis. She has regained her wing strength and flies as well as the others now, but the limp remains. I admire her for keeping on in the face of a crippling disability. I thought about the countless children in our world who suffer in the same way. That was my motivation for writing and illustrating this picture book.

Inez practices flyiing in the field; sometimes she falls.

When Inez finally "lifts off" she feels freedom

"Wheee, this is fun!"

If you know a child who needs encouragement and the will to "keep on keeping on," please take a look at “Inez Ibis Flies again.” Samples are available at both of these web sites:

E-book  http://smashwords.com/b/8340

Hard Copy

http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/invited/1924965/3235723ace6efe506d8e1d1e7e568f1a9dfdc1c3

Do You Believe in Angels?

"Sandve, Norway," oil on canvas

Do you believe in angels? I do. The Bible mentions angels many times including this favorite passage: “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” (Heb 13:2 KJV)

After taking a long hiatus away from art to work full time and obtain health benefits for my family, I took the plunge. I started painting again and went to my first show in years with some artist friends. I was terrified.

I prayed. I clenched my teeth and the steering wheel as I drove to location. Should I proceed and risk making a fool out of myself or turn around and go back home?

“You might be surprised,” a voice inside my brain said. “What have you got to lose?” Indeed, I thought and proceeded to the show.

"Skudeneshavn, Norway," 16x20 Commission (Sold)

No sooner had I set up table than two women came on the scene, almost out of nowhere, and made a beeline for one of  my paintings. They were chattering away in Norwegian, and in measured English asked the price. I told them and they indicated they would have to get cash.

When they left, I was open-mouthed. I kept the painting on display not knowing if they’d return or if it was all a dream. The women seemed linked as a pair, walking and moving in unison. An hour later, they returned with cash. They bought the painting, a rendering of the coastline of Sandve, Norway. Afterward, they literally disappeared from the scene. I never saw them again.

I did wonder if they were angels sent to encourage me when I might have given up. At any rate, I have had similar experiences in my lifetime. God uses people to help us and to encourage us. Are they angels? Who can say? Yesterday I had such an experience.

"Tansy's Pride," 9x12 Pastel

Once again,  I was at an art show. It had been a long day. Although many people had enjoyed my work, even laughing at my cartoon posters and looking at my cards and paintings, no one had purchased. I was next to a jeweler, and the women seemed drawn to the vendor’s affordable and dazzling wares.

By the end of the day, I felt like a failure. Perhaps my work wasn’t good enough? Perhaps it was time to “really retire” and quit painting altogether? I couldn’t help but mull these options over as I perspired in the scorching heat.

A moment later, a large woman confined to a wheelchair pushed slowly toward my paintings. She seemed hypnotized by them. I was sitting in the shade nearby and watched as she examined each one. When she took my biography and business card, I made my move and introduced myself.

Turns out she was with the “blind artists” in another booth at the fair. Imagine, partially blind, and having the courage to paint and show your wares. We shared stories. She told me how much she liked my work and that I was an inspiration to her. My work had given her a reason to keep painting. It made my day!

"A Joyful Heart," 9x12 pastel

Was she an angel? At that moment in time she was to me. She reminded me that I didn’t have to struggle with a disability. I could see! I was so uplifted and encouraged by this woman that the time I’d spent feeling sorry for myself now seemed wasted.

Do you believe in angels? They’re everywhere! Perhaps you’ve been one to someone else, and you didn’t even know it. I better understood why I enjoy painting people. Each one is a miracle in his or her way, struggling with enormous problems, often feeling separate and alone.

We are woven together, this “family of God.” How precious are these connections and how fine the threads that bind us; ties that may so easily be broken in a fallen world.