by Susan Lobb Porter | Kids, Life |
This is not the post I thought I was going to write tonight. That one was about art. Imagine that! This being an art blog and all.
And then I saw something FirstBorn posted on FaceBook.
Himself, my handsome brave crazy-ass son, legs dangling from an amusement park ride, the sole purpose of which is to go straight up. And then…STRAIGHT DOWNNNNNNNNNNNN. As fast fast FAST as possible.
The kind of ride you do not go on immediately after lunch.
The kind of ride I do not go on EVER. Ever ever ever NEVER.
The kind of ride my adrenalin junkie son has loved since he was tall enough for The. Sign.
I looked at the photo and saw his legs hanging down. Yep, I’d recognize them anywhere. Then I saw a pair of legs next to his. Teeny tiny little legs that didn’t hang down so much as stuck out. And I realized holy effing crap! That’s my GRANDAUGHTER on the ride with him. My too-young-for-kindergarden-for-at-least-another-year granddaughter.
Who apparently has her Daddy’s gravity defying fearlessness. Because she likes it so much they went back the next weekend and rode it at least 10 more times.
Are you dizzy yet?
There’s a piece of me, the grandma part, that screams nooooooooooooo! It’s dangerous. Someone could get hurt. She should stick to the Merry-Go-Round. Or better yet, stay home and color. Something safe.
But there’s another piece of me, another grandma part, that is jumping up and down whistling and clapping and doing hand springs and back flips because I’m thrilled, positively absolutely thrilled that this girl-child is being allowed, encouraged, to be FEARLESS.
It’s easy to raise a fearful child. Just tell them they’re too young, too small, not ready yet. Tell them they can do something later, when they’re older. I was raised that way. I was the youngest, the baby of the family. Never able to do what the big kids did because, well, they were bigger. Older. More capable.
And so I grew up never believing I was ready for anything. Other people published novels, wrote the screenplay, started the company. Other people who were more…grown up.
I’m finally figuring out how wrong that inner programming was. Finally. And it’s about time.
Does this mean there’s a totally insanely scary amusement park ride in my future? Hell no. But I will gladly wave to my granddaughter from down below. Will take photographs and blow kisses and never, ever let her know that it scares the shit out of me.
I will never hold her back from being fearless.
And I WILL finish that novel. Count on it.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Art |
Yesterday I was brave.
I didn’t want to be. Because I was stuck. So I spent way too much time online. On facebook. Avoiding the studio until I couldn’t avoid it any longer. Then I went down and picked up the big canvas, the 3’X4′ canvas with lots of layers. Some interesting marks. And some not so interesting.
And I was still stuck.
I was NOT fond of this canvas. Too much energy. Had a frantic feel. So I took a couple of brushes and wrote on it. That’s right, wrote. As in words. Love. Joy. Happy. Peace. Over and over because it needed some better mojo. Then I sprayed it with water and watched half the words melt away, leaving behind some interesting remains.
But I still couldn’t get a handle on it. Still couldn’t see the painting within the painting. I turned it every which way but the only part I even remotely liked was the edge that runs up the left side of the photo above. So I went there first. I popped it out with some blue and black paint. Then I turned it every which way again. Gave it the squint test. Tried to see what it wanted to be.
Sometimes you just gotta step away. So I went back on facebook. Fed the horses. When I came back I saw another part I liked and then…a horse appeared. And then another and another and….
Crap.
I like horses. I really do. I’m barn slave to three of ’em. Well, two and a half, depending on what you call the donkey. But I like ’em, you know. And there is a market for horse paintings. So what’s the big deal?
I just did one, that’s the big deal. Am I getting myself into a horse series?
Umm…probably yes.
Today I put in over eight hours. Standing on my feet. Painting. Dancing. I’m so close to being finished but I had to stop. It was dark and the studio lights are all wrong for painting. Something that will be corrected in the new studio.
So where’s the photo? Sorry my sweetums, you’ll have to wait. Probably tomorrow, depending how much painting time I can squeeze in while helping Mr. Spouse do construction things. I will tell you the almost finished painting looks nothing like the ones above. I’m really liking it.
But if you want to see a photo of something deliciously wonderful that I did finish tonight…
…this was dinner. Fresh spinach. Raviolis. Oil, parmesan cheese, garlic and tiny tomatoes.
It was wonderful.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Art, Life, Parents |
It’s been almost a year since I brewed a cup of tea in Mama’s house, the cottage that’s been serving as my temporary studio ever since she died. I’d bring my own tea when I came down to paint. And when I finished it I’d walk up the hill to my house and make another cup.
Even though Mama has a complete kitchen. Even though this was a place of countless cups of tea.
It didn’t cross my mind to put the kettle on down here. Until today. Today I decided to be brave.
Well, actually it was the assignment in Bloom True, Flora Bowley’s on-line painting class. Today we were to face our creative fears and paint them anyway. Embrace whatever emotions the process brings up, head on. So I decided to take the horse picture from last week, the one that was in the early stages, and see if I could finish it. Because it’s easy for me to start paintings, much harder to finish them. Especially a painting that challenges me to find it in the marks, to let it be a dance between paint and canvas.
It’s still not finished. But it’s richer. Much richer.
Here’s how it looked last week.
Here’s what I did today. Think the color is off in the photo. It’s not quite this yellow. This gives you the idea.
But this post isn’t about the painting. It’s about being brave. About letting things come up, And facing them when they do.
One of the first things I do when I come down to the studio is put on some music. Music and painting go together. Dancing too. I’m a multi-tasker. Today I chose Glen Miller. Big band stuff. Mama’s music. Just appealed to me for some reason. Then I put the kettle on. Her kettle. Her stove.
I brewed a cup and sipped on it as I painted. Got carried away with the painting and the music. Eventually the tea grew cold. I put the kettle back on to hot up the tea and as I was filling the cup with the boiling water it hit me…the last cup of tea I had with my mom. Or the last one we talked about having.
It was a day, maybe two, before she died. The days were all running into each other by that point and it’s hard to distinguish one from another. One sister was up at my house taking a much needed break, the other was enroute from Norway. All I know is I was alone with my mother and she was dying.
She struggled to get comfortable in the hospital bed we’d set up in her living room. As I helped her adjust her position she asked me why was her body doing this? She looked so perplexed it nearly broke my heart.
Why was her body doing this? Why was it finally giving out after nearly 96 years…
Because you’re so damn old, Mama. I said it lovingly. Jokingly.
But she needed more than that. I needed more than that. Because we had danced around the inevitable for years but never openly discussed it. She’d moved into the cottage seven years earlier so I could take care of her during her final days. It was the elephant in the room. And he was getting bigger every day.
She didn’t need me to give her the church position. She’d had plenty of visits from her priest, the deacon from her church, the spiritual advisor from Hospice. She knew all about the heaven and Jesus thing. But she wanted to know what I thought.
So I told her about an experience I had once when I thought I was dying. When I realized I couldn’t control what was happening to my body but I still had a choice how I could react. When I realized I could embrace the unknown with fear. Or with love. And I chose love.
“Oh, I like that”, she said with a beautiful smile. “Choose love.” And then she told me to put the kettle on. “Make us some tea. And we’ll drink it with love.”
So I did. But by the time it was ready she’d drifted off to sleep. So I sat there on the sofa within arm’s reach of her bed and drank the tea for the two of us. With love.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Art, Life, Sisters |
I was talking with sister Marjorie Ellen today. On the phone. Her life path took her to Norway after art school. Mine took me to California. Sisters by birth, sisters of the heart and yet for most of our adult lives, sisters by telecommunications. That’s just the way it is.
Fortunately I’ve found an uber cheap phone plan. PennyTalk. At two cents per minute we could talk all day and not break the bank.
Both of us are artists. Of course we talk family, jobs, weather, health, politics, all manner of things…but most of all we talk ART. What we’re working on. What we want to work on. New materials. New ideas. In other words…we talk shop.
Today Margie said something that really hit home for me. She talked about making art from the heart. Being true to what you really want to do. Which is what I’ve been doing ever since I began painting again last summer. Experimenting. Playing. Parking my ego at the door.
But it’s not easy. I have a degree in art. I have training. And an employment history as an illustrator and art teacher. I knows me the rulz. And I know there’s good reason for a lot of them. Like balance. Proportion. Contrast. Fill in the appropriate term here ____.
But…and this is a BIG but…THEY. CAN. BE. BROKEN. Yes indeed! Stretched. Bent. Twisted every which way…if only I’m brave enough.
Which brings up another question. Can I be brave, can I be bold and STILL be financially successful as an artist?
I’m saying yes. In fact, I’m shouting YES!!!
I’m putting my intention out there. I’m putting my heart out there. My big, brave BEAUTIFUL heart that’s willing to take a chance and create the life I want.
Now here’s your assignment. Assignment? Yes, really. Go to Jennifer Richardson’s blog and read her yummy luscious beyond WONDERFUL poem Dear Heart of Mine. And check out her Etsy shop while you’re at it. Because she’s got some good stuff and you should buy it.
Then come back here. Yes, come back here. It’s all part of the assignment, remember. Come back and join in the conversation about being brave hearts. There will be a conversation, right? Because you are the best of the best, my sweetums! Every one of you. And I can’t wait to see where this goes.
