by Susan Lobb Porter | Art, Family, Life |
FirstBorn and family came a visitin’ last week. They stayed in the cottage where Mama lived until she died last spring, repurposed now as my studio. Before they arrived I moved everything that could remotely endanger a two year old to the back rooms where I make art. Including Studio Quat and her kitty needs.
She’s an old kitty. I’m sure the peace and quiet of her bed on my worktable was preferable to the attentions of the granddaughter and granddogger. Both of whom are rambunctious, one of whom is rather large.
Then I got those baby proof things that fit over the doorknobs. The ones you have to squeeze a certain way to open the door. Studio Quat was ever so grateful, kitty privacy guaranteed.
I haven’t had the heart to get rid of Mama’s furniture yet so the kids had all the comforts of home. Comfy furniture. Satellite TV. Complete kitchen and laundry. Most of all they had their own place to get away to. Perfect arrangement for family harmony.
But next Christmas someone else will be living in the cottage. Because I came to the conclusion last month that Studio Grande is too valuable as an income property to be trashed as an art studio. Something Mr. Spouse had been pushing for ever since Mama died but I couldn’t see the big picture. It had been my studio before she lived there and I wanted to reclaim it now that she was gone.
I wanted my dreams.
And I wasn’t ready to have someone else living in Mama’s house.
Then one day in late November the universe whacked me upside the head. AHA! Just like that. Clarity. I could design a studio just the way I want it. A wall of windows to the south. Skylights to the north. A vent fan with a hood. Countertops, storage, a layout that works for me. I could pay for the materials with my inheritance and Mr. Spouse would have a project to keep him busy.
He didn’t waste any time. We got the slab poured last week. And once it’s finished and I’m moved in we can rent out the cottage. Rent out Mama’s house.
I’m okay with that now.
After the kids left this morning I went down to reclaim my space. They cleaned up after themselves before they left. Sheets and towels were in the laundry. Dishwasher loaded. Kitchen counter tidied up. Perfect guests.
And then I looked at the counter and saw something was missing. I searched the cabinets and the drawers but it was gone. No doubt thrown out with the trash. Of course, why not–to them it was only another bottle cap.
But it was much more than that to me. I found it on Mama’s patio a few days after her service last April. After the patio had been swept clean and tidied up from the reception where we’d toasted her memory with beer and dark chocolate. Her two favorite food groups. I’d been visiting the oak grove where we buried her ashes and when I walked past the patio I saw it sitting there in plain sight…a bottle cap. One that I swear hadn’t been there before. I bent down to pick it up and almost cried when I saw the words printed inside…Ola Life!
Overlooked trash? A message from my mother? Or something planted by a well meaning friend…who can say? It brought me comfort. I’d left it in a special place on her kitchen counter and looked at it from time to time. Because it made me feel good.
And now it’s gone…
But you know what–I’m alright with that. Like the cottage studio it served its purpose. This is a new year…and it’s time to let go and move on.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Art, Kids |
When my kids were little they were not allowed to use the ‘B’ word. I’m assuming you’re all grown ups and will not be terribly offended if I say it in print. If you have fair sensibilities consider this a warning–cover your eyes or skip down to the pictures.
The word in question…the gasp! cover your mouth WHAT DID YOU SAY!!!! word…was (and still is) B.O.R.E.D. As in, I’m bored. As in I’m SO bored. As in…well, you get the picture.
I would tell these brilliant little humans there was SO much in this world to do, see, think about. Adventures to make up. Things to build. Really, who had time to be bored? And they would go off and write stories. Or draw pictures. Or pound nails into a couple pieces of wood and call it a shelf.
They didn’t start with the eye rolls and the exasperated sighs until the hormones kicked in. But that’s another story.
And this is where you, dear readers, enter the picture. Let’s say you’re one of my students. Let’s say you’re desperate for inspiration. Your muse is misbehaving, filling your head with all sorts of nonsense, making you feel badly about all things art. You’re uninspired. Stuck. Quite frankly, you’re bored. You come to my class and tell me you can’t paint. And you’ll never ever be an artist because you don’t know what to paint.
And I will tell you that you are a brilliant human being. I will give you a hug. Maybe two. Then I will point to the sign that says No Whining, hand you a camera and send you outside.
With one rule. The big picture is overwhelming. Really. Your creative mind is spinning like a kid with a couple of Cokes under his belt in Toys R Us. Overstimulated. So my answer to that is tune out the distractions, tune out the BIG picture and F.O.C.U.S. Don’t go far. Don’t get distracted by the meadow. Or the horses. Stay on the walkway and focus on an area no larger than a foot square. Look for patterns in the concrete or the rocks.
Like this. See, that was easy now, wasn’t it? Oh, wait…are you saying that’s just a couple of rocks? Well yes, it is. Three, actually. And some moss. And not even a great composition. That’s because you’re looking at the BIG picture.
Look what a little cropping can do. Squint. Nice colors, eh? Compositions isn’t bad either. Imagine this with layers and layers of glazes. Imagine working the surface, scraping and painting and bringing forth all sorts of yummy texture.
Some rotation for a different look. The point is any one of these could stand on it’s on as a painting. They could also be used as background for other images. Put some blue on the upper half and call it a landscape.
Cropping another area of the original photo. Squint. See the arrow? Half an arrow. This could be a total graphic kind of painting. There are any number of possibilities. Hey, I did a post about this not long ago using the hair on my dog’s head. Really, there’s NO excuse.
So next time you’re stuck, take a deep breath and tell yourself what a BRILLIANT human being you are. In fact, do that a couple of times. Say it loudly until you believe it. Jump up and down a few times while you’re at it. Then open your eyes, look around and get painting.
By the way, you’re welcome to use any of these photos if they inspire you. And if they do, send me a picture. I’d love to share them on the blog.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Life
I got up yesterday, went on-line to check out the local news. The first thing that caught my eye was the story about a boy by the name of Colin Pierce, a seventeen year old with Down Syndrome who was elected homecoming king by the students at Nevada Union, the same high school my kids graduated from.
This was more than just a feel good story for me. For nearly fifteen years I’ve been an art instructor at a center for developmentally disabled adults. I’ve learned to see people for their abilities, not their dis-abilities. Some of my absolute favorite people in this world have Down Syndrome. Or Autism. Or one or more of any combination of DNA screw ups. People either through accident of birth or accident of man are not the same as everyone else.
So for me, this story went beyond Colin. Because Down kids accept themselves just fine. This story spoke volumes about how far we’ve come from a society which not too long ago institutionalized people who are different as a matter of policy. Make no mistake, we still have a long way to go. But this is a start. You can read about Colin here.
And then I read about three year old Davyn Wilkison. He’d wandered away from his home in the mountains not far from here. Wandered away the day before and was still missing. My heart went out to the family as I thought about the child’s odds. Night time temperatures weren’t too cold yet, he’d most likely survive that. But there’s a river, wild and dangerous. Bears. Mountain lions. Coyotes. Mine shafts. I wouldn’t want to be out there alone at night, I couldn’t imagine a child.
My heart went out to the little boy. To his family. But there was nothing I could do besides send up a prayer.
A little while later I was told Davyn is related to a man I know through work. Which meant he wasn’t a stranger to me anymore. He wasn’t just a story that I could walk away from. I sat there after the call ended and let the news sink in. Let myself feel. And then I said to the universe, please–let this child be found safe. And unharmed.
And lo and behold, a short while later, he was. His story is here.
Starting off the morning with good news–no, make that GREAT news set the tone for the day. And then around noon came the icing on the cake. The broken pipe that had left us without water for three days was finally fixed. We were back in the world of indoor plumbing. Showers….Flush toilets….
Good news indeed.
