Phineas Bloom and The Letter Comes To Life

My husband looked at this painting and immediately asked, "What is in the letter? She doesn't look happy."  He said, "It must be from a guy and it's not good news."  I told him the beauty of this painting is it means whatever the viewer wants it to mean.  Is it good news? Is it bad news? Is it worrisome news?  Is it news that requires a decision?  I love art that makes you wonder and play with your imagination, and of course, I love this period.  She is kind of like a "Lizzie Bennett, or a Jane Austen....or even a Cassandra Austen."  But in my world, she is Phinny, Phineas Bloom and her letter is The Story, one I shall write and see where it takes me.  Again, it's a bit out of perspective, to which I fully acknowledge, and am in agreement that I am in desperate need of lessons.  But you know what?  I love this painting because it is beautiful to me.  Beautiful in color, lighting, subject matter....and I love her night gown, or rather, night rail, why they called it that, I'll have to check.  Anyway, here it is in full "Bloom."  Enjoy! 

Whatever shall I paint next??? Hmmmmmm... Meanwhile reading a wonderful novel by Eloisa James, "When Beauty Tamed The Beast." Incredibly written, and the verbage of the main character is so distinctly biting; I am always amazed that so many personalities can be stored in one head, the mind of an author! Elizabeth Boyle's "Mad About The Duke" was a quick read, too...loved it!

Writing, Painting, Writing, Painting...creative juices are flowing!

My Phineas Bloom's Letter painting is all out of proportion and looks completely cartoony and amateurish...I haven't attacked it in a while.  I am on the verge of trashing it, and calling that one a disaster!  BUT...I feel like it must be worth saving, so I am going to brush and wash and stroke it until it comes to life.  It seems I'm a persistent bugger, and do have a "don't give up" attitutude after all. I almost did that with my other two paintings, Lady Cecilia and Lord Rosemont.  I was scared to death to paint the sketched faces....did everything but.  I had a faceless painting filled with color everywhere but the circular area of the canvas which was to be the face.  It was tortuous.
Well, time to head downstairs and pull out my painting of Phinny in her diaphanous nightrail in the glow of candlelight in her bedroom brooding over a letter....story to come eventually.
I'm also working pretty intensely on one of my Regency Romance novels, which after tweaking and tweaking, I read it from start to finish, where I've left off, that is, no where near finished...just beginning really, and I liked it!  I wanted to see what would happen at the dinner party where the two opposing forces would meet again, male vs. female.  I'll get to that later, too.  It has mystery, intrigue, loyal friendships, emotional inner demons to fight and a true tangible enemy on the periphery that brings all together and leads to an incredible discovery.

Gotta go!
Sorry to leave you hanging...but ...stay tuned...sdh

"With The Birds I Shared A Lonely View..."

"With the birds I share is a lonely view...." was a quote at a wake of someone I had met briefly, but the impact was great.  There must have been some purpose for our paths to cross; I do believe that.  This talented young man was an artist that mixed up mediums and created glowing works of art that begged to leap off the page and come to light.  They were glimpses of life in unique vibrant texturized color in acrylic, water color, pastel and china ink mixed and swished together to make magic on canvas.

My friend urged me to our art gallery to meet him, that I would probably like his work. I was so glad I did.  Canvas after canvas I was awed by the beauty and reality of his talent.  His work was amazing.  I love color as you can probably tell with my art work and this blog.  I love to play with color, but it is tricky to do and to do it well enough to make it work and compliment the picture.  I remember telling him, "Look how you used green on this man's face and it works!" 

The hawk up above was made for my father as a symbol of strength, pride, and as a stoic survivor.  In the theory  of survival of the fittest, the hawk would surely be considered fittest and would reign on top.  With this bit of painting, I played ever so meekly with watercolor and acrylic combined.  I wasn't that brave but I did it.  The background is a wash of watercolor, along with a smattering of the stump.  Next time I might play more with pastel, watercolor and acrylic.   This talented young man gave me the impetus to create, to experiment, to take my work a step further.  I created the hawk for my father, but I think I must have also created it for this artist, too.  I didn't know the lyrics from the Red Hot Chili Peppers would be at his wake (Funny, I always loved this song but never really listened to the words, nor the name of the song "Scar Tissue" - Interesting, because emotional pain may lessen, but it always leaves a scar.  This song is about angst, loneliness, isolation...)...how fitting that I chose a bird on a lonely perch...sometimes the strongest is the loneliest....sdh...

Why Are We Running?...where are we really going?

A documentary called “Race To Nowhere” is being screened at LIU, CW Post this Friday. I viewed the trailer online and found it so on point highlighting and painfully pressing the issue of today’s demands and pressures assaulting our children in our current educational environment.

I remember not too many years ago as a School Counseling student listening in on a presentation by a college representative speaking to anxious parents of juniors just beginning the college search and preparatory process. What struck me was this: Your kid had to be a “Super Student” or else he’s not getting in to that college. The competition is fierce; there are only so many slots for new enrollees.

They not only needed excellent grades, and not only needed to be on the team but they needed to be LEADERS, CAPTAINS, PRESIDENTS….think about this, now…how many students can actually be the captains and presidents among how many students in the school? Not many.  It's a futile effort for most.

You need a rigorous course load. You need to get into honors and take AP courses if you want to get a scholarship…

Mommy and Daddy can’t afford college, so it’s up to you to get that athletic, music, merit scholarship. Up to ME? Oh God…I’m overwhelmed. I can’t handle the pressure.

Melt down.

Parents melt down, argue, and feel depressed that they can’t do more for their kids. They inwardly cringe when their child salivates at a fancy college sweatshirt or lax shorts sporting famous university names such as Duke, Syracuse, etc…We can never afford to send them there.

Kids meltdown feeling guilty and embarrassed that they can’t hack the tough courses and handle all the extracurricular activities. They are exhausted and depressed. What’s their future going to be like? Hopelessness kicks in, a very bad thing.

What to do? Well, I’d love to see the film “Race To Nowhere” and see what it suggests, possibly revamping our whole way of thinking….reverse the “It’s never too early to start thinking about college” mindset. I always shuddered at that concept because it doesn’t let kids be fun, silly and goofy, yet studious kids. It introduced a brand new feeling to them: anxiety, something brought into play way too young. “I don’t know what I want to be! Oh, no! Shouldn’t I know? What's wrong with me?” Kids don’t know who they are yet….do any of us know who we are yet? I’m an ever evolving creature and am a lifelong learner discovering new interests all of the time. How can a 5th grader or younger even think of college and why should they?

Can we stop racing and running around like lunatics and slow down a bit? Can we let our kids enjoy their high school life and take it slow? It goes too darn quickly. Can they play a sport for fun without the pressure of being the Allstar? Can they play an instrument for the sheer joy of it, the magic of creating beautiful sounds without the pressure of a perfect score at NYSSMA or SCMEA? Everything is a competition, a race to be the best of the best.

We all can’t be the best, but we can be who we are, a unique beautiful human being with a lot to give the world, no matter what.

Can't Shop? Create Instead!

I spent my Thanksgiving vacation painting, writing and playing tennis (yes! in the cold wind...it was awesome.)  I attacked with the paintbrush my Delphinus Bloom sketch, which I am sorry to say I didn't photograph as purely a sketch...but it is coming to life slowly.  I do it in steps...always the person, last.  That's the part I want to get perfectly right.  I've been writing a story of regarding my other two paintings, Lady Cecilia and the troubled, scandalized Lord Rosemont.  You know they were meant to be, but how they meet isn't exactly pretty and it isn't isn't sparks and fireworks.  But it will be, oh, you know it will be.

Do you think the creative rush is in replacement of my inability to go Christmas shopping due to severe lack of funds?  Boy, did I feel the pull of pressure from television, ads that were jammed in my newspaper, radio announcers and even relatives on Thanksgiving Day going through my flyers of advertising planning their 4 am attack on Black Friday.  I have no money to spare at this time, with health bills piling up, etc...and I started to feel...guilty.  Jealous.   I was missing out on something.  Ridiculous.  But I did feel it.

I did what I could do.  Paint. Write and had a ball playing tennis with my family.  We all felt so invigorated and refreshed.  Creating something and watching it turn into something that is appealing, alluring, and attractive with colors that make you smile is a reward you can't buy.  Well, you can buy paintings, but to create something yourself is a fantastic feeling...same for writing...putting characters and twisting plots to life transferring from your brain to paper is an amazing feat.  It didn't exist before, the people, the characters, the places, their stories, and then type away. Voila! There it is!  A story.

It was definitely stress relieving...creating in any way, even body movement is a release.  Emotion...means to feel... up and out.....emotions must run through us and out into the universe, otherwise we get blocked and feel awful.

I think I better get painting after I'm done writing here.  I have some "stuff" that needs to get out!!!

Peace.

Not Making The Cut...Man, it Stings!

I'm going to kick that ball.  This time I am going to send that ball to the moon.  Lucy promised she would not take her hand away.  I trust her.  Here I go.....running... running, faster, swing leg back and thrust forward and "AUGH!" land square on my back facing the sky staring at the drifting clouds. 

Sorry, Charlie Brown.  Lucy laughs.

It's that horrible Charlie Brown feeling that never fails to leave a scar: rejection, failure.  My son tried out for the basketball team after playing football, doing marching band and then, exhausted, attended Open Gym night to improve his basketball skills readying for tryouts.  This was going to be his year.  This year he would make the team.  "Your my Big Man!" the varsity coach would tell him.  He felt awesome!  Felt like he was getting in the groove, feeling the rhythm of the game; He was going to be Center.

Wednesday: 5:00pm pick up.  My son was drenched in sweat could hardly walk.  They ran for 2 grueling hours.  Being 6' feet tall and 191 pounds,  that's a lot of force to hit the gym floor for two hours, but he did it.

Thursday: 5:00pm pick up.  Drenched again, but he was feeling great.  Did foul shots, awesome layups, feeling strong and positive.  He wanted it so bad, he could taste it.

Friday: 5:00pm, 5:05pm, 5:10pm.  The first couple kids come out with dazed faces, one trying to hide in his shirt to cover his tear filled face.  Crap.  They posted the list.  Where's my son?  He would have come running out if he had made it.  My heart started to pound.  There he is! He glances toward the crying boy and then, quickly climbs in the car. "I didn't make it."  He says, with an awkward nervous smirk, then straight face and then he puts his head in his hands and lets the tears spill.   Oh, my God...my heart actually ached.  Crap. 

I can't tell you how it slices your heart to watch such utter disappointment being felt by your child.  In the scheme of things, this is but a minor bump in the road.  To my son, this was BIG. This was something he wanted so badly to be a part of, to feel like this is where he belonged.  He wanted that sense of belonging and feeling great so badly; he thought basketball was the way to do it.  He didn't understand.  He was utterly shocked, dazed in disbelief, and then angry.

It sucked. Plain and simple. 

There were so many things I said to him.  One thing doesn't define you.  Hold your head up high because you know you put everything you had in it.  More importantly, he was not alone in not making the cut.  There were at least 3 others of great talent that didn't make it either.  That helped a little.  A little.

He has more fortitude then me as an adult.  I know how it feels to interview and not get the job.  The self analysis is brutal.  I didn't want to ever go through THAT again!  But he picked himself back up signed up for CYO basketball, and said, "Next year, I'm making the team."  Wow.  I would want nothing with the sport again.  That's a quitter attitude I know..but it was so damn painful.  As a parent, I don't want to go through that heartbreak again.  But I am behind him no matter what.

Maybe it'll be like the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree when things actually go Charlie's way for ONCE.  His little tree became a beauty and all of his friends gathered around him.  Then they all shouted to his delighted and happy ears, "MERRY CHRISTMAS, CHARLIE BROWN!"  They broke out in song afterward.  It was the one time, things went Charlie Brown's way.  He kicked that football to the moon!

Next year...

The ballroom is a twitter...Lord Rosemont Dared to Show His Face!

    "Darling!" Lady Montague whacked her daughter with her fan. "Do not look at him, however, devilishly handsome he may be."
    "Oh, Mama," Cecilia groaned, wondering exactly what had happened to Lord Rosemont these past two years, and why has he decided to make his return, here, and now at the Harrington Ball.  "It's hard not too look...hmmm.  His eyes, Mama, his eyes, and..." Whack!  Her mother smacked her again with that blasted fan.  Rubbing her arm, Cecilia was sure there was a mark.
     "Sweetheart, Darling.  He's the rake of the worst order, and there is the scandal surrounding him that he poisoned his wife, poor dear. God bless her soul."  Lady Montague took a quick look at Lord Rosemont striding through the room with lazy purpose like a lion who knows very well that he is the predator and everyone else is the prey, and leaned back in toward her daughter.  "Why, he hasn't even taken a razor to his face!  A disgrace, I say.  A disgrace to his family's good name." 
     Thwack! "Mama!  That hurts."  Cecilia snapped her head away from Lord Rosemont's lucious black wavy locks and back to her mother.
    "Now, you listen to me, my daughter. Stay away from him. Stay far, far away from Lord Rosemont."
    Lady Cecilia opened her fan and covered her face, but stole another look at Lord Rosemont, tilting her head.  Lord Almighty, why must they make murderous rakes so beautiful?  "Mama, I'm going to the, eh, retiring room.  I'm sure I saw Aunt Sophie go in there."  Waving Cecilia's fan rapidly, "Perhaps I'll go join her and cool off a bit."
   "Okay, darling. Oh, look!  I see Lady Winters. I'm dying to speak with her. Ta, dear!"  Off Mama went bobbing through the crush seeking out her old gossipy friend, while Cecilia padded slowly toward the retiring room, and then stole a quick look back seeing her mother reach her destination and was already deep in conversation with Lady Winters.  Cecilia then proceeded to turn in the opposite direction....away from the retiring room.