The People have Spoken; it is Time for Acceptance

This was a tempestuous election. I think the media was responsible for fueling most of the misinformation and angst. Their failure to report the truth, and to manipulate polls and push their own bias rather than straight reporting caused much of what’s happening in our streets today. In any case, those who lost are displaying sour grapes as they gnash their teeth in disgust like naughty, spoiled children.

Whether these agitators are professional protesters paid to stir up trouble is in question. Many of them come from other places and are being transported to different areas. I can understand their disappointment, but I do not excuse their violence and property destruction. Protesting is one thing; rioting or breaking the law is quite another.

Before the election of Donald Trump, Hillary’s campaign message was “We will build bridges not walls.” Now that the election is over, I ask, where are those bridges? Was this just hyperbole? What I’m seeing in the streets looks more like “Our way or the Highway.”

Brute force should never be used to get your own way. Have you ever seen conservatives riot and destroy? And when did liberals stop defending “free speech” except for themselves? When did the press start publishing opinions and stop reporting the news?

In times like these, artists need to be more productive not less. How would you paint chaos? What colors would you choose to explain violence, protest, and hatred: black, red, orange, and white?

Would you illustrate politics using angry reds with shades of bittersweet? Would your depressed psych slather on rainy grays and blue blues to represent your sadness? Wouldn’t it be great in our divided world if people could express their anger or sorrow in words or in artistry instead of unproductive and destructive demonstrations that only add fuel to the fire?

"Victims of War" 24 x 18, Mixed Media on canvas

When the Iraq war was at its peak, I chose to illustrate my feelings on canvas. Who are the real victims in the wars that are usually started by men? The women and children. My purpose was to show how history, especially in the Middle East has a tendency to repeat itself, over and over again.

Most fighting in the Middle East begins as religious wars between Sunni and Shiite. Why the U.S. inserted itself into these cultural wars was never fully explained. Was it to help the people become a democracy? At least that would have been a noble endeavor. No. the real reason was likely oil; and efforts to protect our own selfish interests.

Driven by men with big egos these wars have lasted far too long and seem to have no end. The countries have dissolved into terrorism and vicious hatred toward their liberators viewing them instead as captors.

Many called President Obama the “Divider in Chief” because he spawned racism and created an underbelly of lawlessness. Now the Left’s protesters are blaming Trump for the division simply because he won. We are not a democracy, but a republic, friends. As in sports, the best team or man always wins. This is the will of the people. Trump won by a landslide. He has been given a “mandate” and the will of the people must be respected.

When the infighting in Iraq was at its peak, I painted “Prayer Circles” out of respect for those around the world who worship in this way. Respect, tolerance and understanding are the hallmarks the left espouses at least until they lose. Come on people – you are better than that! Get a grip.

"Prayer Circles" 24 x 18 Acrylic on canvas

The Wounded Warriors within our Ranks

"Broken Hearted" 11 x  14 pastel on Bristol

There are hundreds of outstanding artists who either have a disability or work at what they love with debilitating pain or discomfort. If that describes your circumstances, I want to hear from you.

Artist’s have much to share with each other. When the darkness comes, the pain cripples or the heart is grieving, welcome relief comes when we share our stories with others and reach out to someone else in need.

My arthritis is making it more and more difficult to paint or draw. And now stomach issues prevent me, at least for a time, from taking pain meds. I’ve purposely kept on typing because it keeps my fingers loose, but I’m limited to shorter and shorter time periods.

"Moody Blues" 16 x 20 mixed media on canvas

After a short time at the keyboard, my hands cramp up and stiffen into a claw and I can’t move at all. I will say that once I’m painting, I forget the difficulty and get lost in this marvelous thing we call art. I’m still limited, and work in two-hour sessions, but I keep on keeping on.

When I start to feel sorry for myself, I think about those artists who paint with their teeth or their feet. These great souls of courage persevere in spite of their disabilities. Art is therapy. Art is depth and feeling. Art is the expression of faith, gratitude and pain. Art captures the details that others miss and examines or exaggerates their complexities and simplicity.

"Broken" 9 x 12 mixed media on panel SOLD; prints available

Van Gogh is one of the best examples of a troubled artist who continued to paint his vision of nature; his vision of life. His struggles and emotional pain clarified the world he painted and made it all the more poignant for us.

Degas tied his stiff arthritic fingers to his paint brushes and continued to work up to his death. His works are timeless. He poured out energy, tears, and heart into every brush stroke.

Scars tell us where we’ve been. They also remind us of past sorrows and tragedy. Sometimes Army buddies compare wounds and talk about their battle scars and shared trauma. Scars are the visible testimony of their anguish and pain.

"A Joyful Heart" 9 x 12 pastel on Bristol

Some wounds are invisible to others. Their pain is felt deep within the human soul. The scars left behind are not easily shared, and other people doubt that they exist. These wounds are the most devastating because our sanity is questioned; our experiences are belittled or denied. We have no physical wounds to show others. These internal scars go deep. They are slow to heal. Sometimes the pain goes unnoticed or ignored for a lifetime and affect our relationship with others.

How do you see grief; except for a sad countenance? Grief that is held in too long may cause ill health. Unshed tears may prolong the healing. Without an outlet or a voice, the spirit may be crushed to the breaking point. Thank God for art. Truly God has led me through it (pain) and around it.

"Sunset on the Nile"  22 x 28  acrylic on canvas

Wear any physical and emotional scars like a personal badge of courage, friends. Use your pain to help others see the world through your eyes. Create like your life depended on it because it does.

Experience is the Best Teacher; Failure paves the way to Success

Instructors and teachers are wonderful. I have fond memories of my favorites, and can’t even remember the names of the ones who weren’t. But over time, we forget. Unless we put into practice what we’ve learned, the lessons fade; the voices become less audible.

Let’s face it. As miserable as failure is, it’s the hard knocks of experience that teach us the painful life lessons we need to learn. Most of them come when we’re children. I remember well my favorite pair of shoes. They were shiny black patent leather that I wore only to church and on special occasions.

Never put your coffee next to your turp!

One spring we were celebrating Easter at my aunt’s farm. All the cousins were there; the girls dressed up in ruffles and sashes, and the boys in white shirts and dark trousers. While dinner was cooking in the kitchen, the children were sent outdoors for an Easter egg hunt. My uncle had hidden the eggs in an adjacent pasture.

We carried our baskets into the field with our eyes peeled for color. My cousin, Dale, found the first egg and cracked it on his head to show off. He peeled it on the spot and swallowed it whole. My older sister shouted a warning to us about cow pies. Dale blew her off as he proceeded to stomp on a crusty pie.

I followed his lead. It was great fun hearing a cow pie crunch and collapse beneath my feet. My sister’s warning was forgotten as my confidence and power grew. I found another pie that looked ripe for the crunching. I lifted my patent leather shoe and slammed down in the middle of it. Shock and awe left me speechless. My shiny patent leather shoe and white ruffled stocking were covered with warm, steamy cow dung.

Don't "touch up" a painting before going out!

Bawling and blubbering, I ran across the field, not caring whether I found any Easter eggs or not. My mother pulled back as she pushed my reeking shoe and stocking from my foot. The smell was overwhelming. My new shoes were ruined.

 Did I ever step in a cow pie again? Never! Did I have new found respect for my older sister’s advice? Yes! Did I ever make the same mistake again? No!

Why is it when we grow into adults we forget these lessons of the past? Why do we get so discouraged and think the world is coming to an end when we fail? It is not! Like children, we must pick ourselves up, clean off our shoes, and begin again.

Life is all about starting over. It’s about new beginnings. Every day we wake up to a fresh start and new opportunities. Life is never over “’til the fat lady sings,” and none of us knows when that moment will come. Make the most of each day!