I decided on the perfect song for the painting I am working on at home to be Dreams by Fleetwood Mac.
The one at the studio is slow-going (well, they all are really these days). Yellow and green is about all I’ve added to this one besides drawing more flowers and extras to it. It seems convenient that the one away from the studio is about separation and the one at the space is an ofrenda to my parents. They busted up several times as I was growing up, but the worst one was when they did it 3,000 miles apart. It was around 1976-77 and I flew back and forth between LA and Philadelphia several times. Dreams by Fleetwood Mac was one of the songs that played over and over in my headphones on the flights while I traveled with a TWA chaperone. It was weird and all I wanted was for my family to be back together. My mom was in LA and my father and brother were in Allentown. I was the yoyo that was pulled back and forth between them while they argued like children themselves. Total chaos. The song was fitting for the situation because I thought they would never work it out. They finally did before Rumors won Album of the Year.
Not much has transpired but blending and coloring, thinking, planning. I think cursive text is coming into the picture here, but I still haven’t decided on which poem or song it will be coming from, but I want it transcripted from something else and not the usual stream of consciousness. I feel like the difficulty in separating heart and mind is already obvious here, so I want the text to illustrate more about the reminiscence of the memories this painting is coming from and make it less general and more specific actually: which is why I am thinking of grabbing it from a song. But these are the colors, with the exception of a little more of the pattern yellow, which I may pull in from the right side a tad. I haven’t decided if that will help it or ruin it! I like the main composition and coloring as it is now, just need to refine, refine, refine without losing what I like about it. I wonder about the yellow is all. Patterns are yellow, yes. But this is art. So what to do, what to do? Hmmm. Do I pull some in from somewhere else to make it “make sense?” Or do I leave it and go with white… Is there a “happy” medium? And Am I ever going for “happy?” No. Well on some level, maybe. I thought I just learned that the search for happiness is a sham and feeling satisfied with being contented is a lot longer lasting. It’s that greedy little More Witch that wants it all. I must strangle her and knock her teeth out someday.
I’ve been sicker than a dog these last 2 weeks, and the doctor said to expect a couple more. I am wiped out completely/completely wiped out. Having my Open Studio the other week was hard to get through because that was probably the first day or so I got this virus from Hell. I wish I could say I am feel much better since then; I am way less congested, but all I want to do is sleep like a bear. Oh, but if only I was a bear. Bears are not neurotic.
For the past week, I’ve tried to spend as much time making art as I have had the energy for, which really isn’t much. I stand for a while, get dizzy, get tired, and have to lay down and sleep. I have 2 of the same size pieces going at both my home studio and at Moppet – 36” x 36” – both very different. One is a continuation from Contender, and yet as always. I am trying to allow the influence of what inspires me flow into the work without stunting it. It’s the freedom of Amy Sillman, the innovation of newer discoveries too. I’ve been most focused on local artist, Mary Addison Hackett, NY artist, David Humphrey, and a Japanese/British artist: Peter McDonald. Looking at their work lately has given me a lot of inspiration to create with abandon and remind myself that I really have nothing else.
The painting I have on my new easel at Moppet is a sort of an Ofrenda for both my parents. I have been sorting out a lot of flowers along the top, while adding a lot of things they both loved to eat around the bottom, which is based ontop of a make-shift cloudy heavenly sort of upsidedown sprially dripy plaine. So far there are things in there like a bowling trophy, bowling pin, Doritos bag, Yocco’s Hot Dog guy, Tommy’s burger logo, Ding Dongs, Sunkist orange soda, Dolle’s Saltwater Taffy… I know it still needs some Jiffy Pop. I may put in some sugar skulls for effect, but I’m not sure.It’s still gotta be mine.
This weekend marked the 1 year anniversary of my father’s death. I spent Sunday at Forest Lawn Cemetery.My mom’s brand new tablet was in place and that was very very hard to see. I laid on the grass between the two of them, like when I was a little kid, curling up between them in bed when I was scared, and just slept in the sun between them, crying and asking if they knew I was there or if they knew how much I missed them. It doesn’t feel like I am moving past this situation at all whatsoever.
Back to painting today. I am going to work on the one at home and try to go somewhere new. I’m going to try not to be afraid and remember to allow myself permission to experiment and trust my gut. Funny I have to tell myself the very same things every time after decades of painting, eh?
Okay, so I finally opened a new studio in the Highland Park area of Los Angeles. The studio is called, “Moppet.” I’m walking distance between Avenue 50 Studio and Monte Vista, so I feel I’m a good place on the NELA Art Walk map and hopefully will become a welcome new fixture in the neighborhood. While I’ve been setting up the last couple weeks, I’ve been asked about a dozen times from the locals if I was opening a liquor store. Much to their disappointment I told them I was an artist and was just prepping a studio for myself. The will have to walk a whole block in either direction if it’s a cold beer they want. I’m afraid I can’t afford to keep them buzzed myself.
Thanks to the Pollock-Krasner Fellowship Award, I am able to fill my new little space with a new easel and paints. I even got myself a brand new Craftsman tool cart that is rocking my world. I haven’t had new things like this in over 15 years, so I am just very giddy at the moment. And I still shopped for bargains because that’s just the way I is. I got a great deal on my new Sorg, and waited until I could get an extra 15% off on top of a Jerry’s Artarama sale before I bought my Gamblin paints. And for the first time in my life I was able to buy professional grade Cobalt Violet & Cerulean Blue (the big ones!). I’ve also been to Blick 3 or 4 times for things I just keep forgetting I need, and I think they might think I’m some kind of rich bitch over there. I think the best new tools I have are the brushes. I have ample numbers of my most favorite, loyal brushes in every size I need, and I really think it’s going to make my life a whole lot easier.
My new studio is just a small little thing. Nothing fancy. I’m still doing some work at home as well. This is just a place to do some larger work, a place to get away from all the home distraction, a sacred environment, a place to invite fellow artists and public into, and where I can focus on my next body of work for the next year +
I will be having an open studio there every month. My first one is next Saturday from 7-10 PM (August 8th), so if you are in the area, please stop in and say hello.
Yes, my blog has gone to shit, hasn’t it? What can I say? You want the truth? My personal life, which as everyone knows, dovetails into my artwork and has taken over in a heavy and unfortunate way these past many months. Working on my art has been tricky and intermittent, but I’ve managed to pull a few things off. After I buried my father in September, I wasn’t able to make much art at all. I considered him my muse. Slowly I was able to paint again and once again began to get some much needed inspiration. It was time that was the enemy, as I was also taking care of my mother who took a turn for the worst in January when she had a terrible fall outside of her house while walking her dog. After that, everything was different.
I had moved her up the street from my house and was able to check in on her several times a week. She was living independently for the first time in her life. Perhaps it was just too much for her. I didn’t notice the signs. She always suffered from a severe Bi-polar disorder and had bad feet, but was as functional and independent as she could be. In fact, she insistent upon it. I would not let her drive but to the corner grocery store, but she managed to sneak out further and get herself to department stores and spend, spend, spend on needless clothes, shoes, purses and jewelry. But often times she would call me confused about which knob was for the hot and cold water on her faucet, or where she put her bank statements when of course these things had never changed from where they always were.
The fall she took was extreme. She took a running fall, face first into some bricks. Her head was split open and she broke many bones and it required major reconstructive surgery to her orbital socket and cheek bone. She also broke her nose very badly and it was just a terrible, terrible accident to behold. After this happened, she would never be the same person again.
After a stay at the hospital, she was sent to a nursing home, and things just seemed to get worse. She hallucinated, forgot our names, became incontinent, got depressed and developed blood clots. Seemingly overnight, my mother went from her baseline “normal” to a senile, sick old woman. The nursing home was nothing short of a zoo for old people. My brother and I could not handle this just 4 months after our father died in front of us. And so we broke her out of the nursing home without consent and set her up in an extra room at my brother’s house. We decided to take care of her ourselves.
While that was a much much much better idea, it was really not easy. The burden fell mostly on me and my brother’s wife and she worked and has 2 little ones. We broke down and hired a part time caregiver, which then soon got a 40 hour week, and even then, picking up the slack was a full time job keeping track of the medications, taking her to the doctor, speaking to insurance, spending time with her, participating in physical therapy, feeding, weekends, evenings, financial affairs and bills, closing out her house, storing-selling-packing-donating her belongings, shopping, appointments, tests, etc, etc. There were still plenty of things to do. And she was disappearing faster than we could keep up.
It wasn’t until the end of April when she was finally diagnosed with Lewy Body Dementia, a mixture between Alzheimer’s and Parkinsons. A Neurologist started her on one of the only medications for it and we waited to see results, but by this time, she had progressed so far along, she was no longer talking, eating on her own, walking, smiling, or even opening her eyes much . She was pretty checked out. She spoke few words and responded rarely “yes” or “no” but she was still aware of us and who was who. She just could not remember us by our names. She had initial recognition and was still affectionate. She was still able to say “I love you. I won’t forget.” Her face and hands were Parkinsonian: stiff, clenched and grimacing. Every visit left me weeping.
The last week of May I took a short break and didn’t see her for 6 days due to my own depression over it all, but May 31st I came out to my brother’s so he and I could go together up to my dad’s gravesite because it was his birthday, so we had a little picnic there. We set up lounge chairs on what be my mom’s future grave and we talked about what would be coming for her sometime in the next year – the last stage of dementia, which is no longer being able to eat. How would be able to cope watching that happen? What sort of funeral service will we plan for her? But as it stood then, her appetite was very good and she ate whatever we fed her.
When we got back to his house, I went into my mom’s room to get her pills prepared for the week and low and behold, as she sat in her rocking chair, her eyes were wide open and she was smiling at me as I walked into her room and she said “Hi Sweetheart!” I hadn’t heard her say that in over 2 months. I said hi and I went over to hug her and asked how she was. She said, “Good, how are you?” I couldn’t believe she was talking to me. I said, I’m good Mom, it’s so good to hear you talking with me. I’ve missed you!” and she said, “I know I’ve missed you too.” All the while she was smiling, almost giggling. We stayed there saying our ‘I love yous’ until she got sleepy and I was just blown away that she was so bright. Other people in the house that day said how well she had been doing that day and the days before. She was walking and communicating the day before and that Sunday. I thought that the medication was really turning her around. I went home and had such good news to report to my boyfriend for once.
The next morning on what would have been my parents’ 46th wedding anniversary, she died in her sleep around 8:30 AM. I rushed over as soon as I got the news and laid with her until Forest Lawn came and took her away. We buried her 3 days later and a week after that I got into a car accident and totaled my car. I was blessed to have been able to walk away from the accident with a few abrasions, burns and bruises and nothing major broken. Just sore and carless. I think I’ve been through too much, I think I think.
A nice, online memorial was put up by the Celebrant who did the eulogy at the funeral. I think she did a good job and it was a nice service. I had been working on a painting for months before about my mom and I happen to finish it the day after the funeral, which was weird and surreal, somewhat unfitting, inappropriate and odd.
I managed to complete a second piece that I had also started the week I was taking that break since she died, so it looks like I’ve been productive, but I really am just going through the motions on groundwork that was already laid.
I’m trying to get going on a project I wanted to start after my dad died that incorporates the notes in his bible and cartoons on Thomas Bros. map pages. I’ve done 2 of those so far, but I’m hoping to make at least 30. I’m referencing family pictures with areas we lived in Los Angeles while passing on my father’s notes and underlined passages in his Christian Application bible. It is not really a commentary on my personal belief or even religion in general. For me it is an ode to my father and a personal dedication. The viewer can perceive it as something sarcastic, or religious and comforting. It’s just a matter of perspective and context really.
In other news, I just rented a studio space in Highland Park. I am hoping that moving into it and setting up shop will get my mind off of all the recent darkness and help me to move on, heal and bring me back into a new place in my life where I can create a new beginning. I’m hopeful.
