This is another of my latest floral pieces. In this first photo it was unfinished.
Her it is finished.
One of my latest pieces
This is just a fun bucket of flowers I finished up last night.
August
I started running for real again in July before the race I entered and in August running every other day I logged 87.65 miles for my sanity. I ran on those mornings in the sun and the heat and loved every minute. I took hundreds and hundreds of photos along the way. This one below is one of them. I saw a heart, so I captured it. My runs were filled with hearts and beauty and songs on repeat. All of those things kept me tying my shoes and heading out there to get it done.
A floral from yesterday
I painted this yesterday after my morning run and my farmer’s market visit to buy flowers to paint and tomatoes to eat.
This painting is a floral piece just like all of the other fun pieces I’ve been sharing on my studio account. The flowers aren’t perfect. Some of the flowers can probably be named by their appearance, but not all. I try to paint recognizable beauty, but not perfect representations of flowers. That is not my job. I am a self taught painter. I never set out to paint perfect copies. I like hints as to what I’m painting. I like to leave an impression on the spectators mind as to what they are seeing to jog their own memory into remembering something similar that he or she remembers from some other time in their life. Flowers, I think, like music and scents cause us to go back in time—to remember special moments. I remember the first time I saw or received certain flowers. Those times are special to me. Maybe just maybe someone will look at one of my paintings and remember a good time, a sweet moment. I could only dream of such a thing. This piece is maybe my least favorite of all of the latest flower pieces as far as the colors and actual flowers go, but the stems and water and vase turned out better than I could have planned. I've been captivated by bouquets since painting Natalie’s bouquet after the wedding as a keepsake. This is a bouquet too, but one that is meant to be purchased, brought home and rearranged in a special vase to cherish for a week or so. In order for flowers to last after being cut, they must be placed in water, and water with a bit of sugar is even better. I wanted the stems on these flowers to be seen through a clear vase. There is something special about the way they distort through the glass and water that I find beautiful and wanted to show in this piece. There is distortion, but still stems and water and glass, all of which are not easy to create with watercolors. I did what I felt I should do with this piece by choosing the iridescent paint for the vase and a tint of light blue to represent the presence of water and it turned out how it was meant to turn out. When we try our best, most things do turn out as they are meant to be. It is trusting in this process that is the ongoing challenge.
Last night
Two years ago I ran a race in town that starts at 8:58 at night. It was dark and difficult at the time, but I finished. I would find out months later that it was difficult because my vision was messed up as was my balance because of a brain tumor. Last night was that same yearly race. This year I decided to not run because of the darkness. Because I lost my inner ear, I do not have the stabilizer that it provides. I manage without it, but darkness makes it much harder to compensate. I decided that running at dark in a large crowd just might not be the best thing for me this year although it was a hard decision. I always enjoyed those experiences running together with a huge group of people—doing something hard by myself yet surrounded by others doing the same. I was willing to be ok not doing that ever again like many things in my life since surgery that changed me forever. However, Friday rolled around, and I could not stop thinking about the race. I felt invited in a way to do something hard again. I kept thinking, “Is this meant for me? Should I even try? It could be very dangerous.” But I could not shake the supposed invitation of sorts. So, I registered on Saturday for the shorter and earlier of the two races which would start at 7:58, so not dark in other words. Easier on me. Less of an accomplishment I had to admit because it was a shorter/easier race. I picked up my number and my shirt at three and went home to rest because I had already run on Saturday morning, so this was going to be extra miles, and I needed to let my body prepare. I also spent much of the afternoon watching the radar for approaching storms. “Would I have to cancel? Would they cancel the race on me? Would it be delayed and very wet?” I thought. Both of which would make things much more difficult and dangerous for me.
Storms did come in with tons of rain. We waited in the car for answers and news on the new plan for 40 minutes. The race was delayed for thirty minutes they announced on social media.
I stood in this spot for thirty more minutes. The race was delayed because the city was pumping flood waters from the streets where we all were planning to run. I considered quitting. I wanted to walk away.
But, I couldn’t quit. I was meant to complete this race for me. I was getting increasingly more concerned with each passing moment however. I had chosen the earlier race because it would be light the entire time decreasing my risk of falling, etc.. Funny thing was that the race last night, my race, started at the exact time as the later race was meant to start which was 8:58 because of the flooding, so the street lights on the main roads were on, but the neighborhood streets were DARK. What that means for me is that as I run in the dark, my eyes do not know actually what kind of surface I am on and they cannot gage how far my feet need to go down to strike the ground, all things inner ears do for us humans. Also all speed bumps, pot holes, gravel or rocks are much more dangerous and create much more of an impact if I encounter them. The same goes for lots of moving people or people bumping into me. Those things throw me off more than someone with two inner ears. So, after the race started ,to say I was concerned is an understatement. I cried for the entire first mile. I was mad at the race committee for delaying the race even though it was actually for all of our safety. I was also angry at myself for attempting this crazy adventure at night when I was tired and in the dark. Then as I got more comfortable trusting my stride and myself and remembering the “invitation” to try it in the first place, I began to realize this was something I could do, and I was realizing that this was meant to remind me again that I could and can do hard things. In other words the badass in me began to stir. Lauren Daigle sang through my headphone (I only use one these days.) the entire race. I had an entire playlist planned out, but I realized I was meant to listen to just one song the entire time. I often do that when I need to remember or to learn something a song has to teach me.
This was my view the whole way. This photo appears bright because of my flash, so it was certainly much darker.
I turned onto the main road with the crowd and headed to the stadium entrance. I had really done it, something I used to do with ease. As I made my way up the slope to the stadium entrance, my thighs were burning as were my eyes. As I entered the stadium with it’s pumping music and bright lights, I cautiously continued running down the incline to the finish line. My mind had been working so hard in the dark to navigate all the obstacles and entering the stadium my mind was no different. I was trying not to look like a disabled runner or cause any unnecessary attention. I wanted to blend in, and I did the best I could as a 53 year old woman with half a smile. I finished. I did it. I finished. I did something I never thought I could do again, but I put my mind and body into it and I did it all by myself, well until I saw Jack at the finish line waving, smiling and cheering me on. He’s good like that. He supports me and cheers me on like no one else. I sobbed as I saw him, my only in-person supporter. I am proud of myself because it would have been easier to stay home on the stormy Saturday night, to sit on the couch, to watch some silly tv show or update my blog, but I chose to do something memorable and hard just for me, not for a crowd, for a medal or for kudos or with buddies, but by myself or rather by myself with the help of God, of Jack, of a dear friend that rode his bike along the route to make sure I had not quit or fallen down somewhere along the way and Lauren Daigle too.
Stunning!
Sometimes things in nature take my breath away. This was one of those things—this grand old tree. I like it in black and white because the colors do not distract from the strong branches and its majestic stature. This tree has been around a long time and certainly must have experienced a lot. Because of that I paused in front of it and had to take a picture to remember. I learn things by observing nature. I feel like God teaches me a lot through nature and beauty among many things. I don’t think many people are comfortable with that. I am though. I see God wherever I look, and I try to take note and document as best I can. Some people have been taught to only learn about God from others with “authority” or from someone standing in a pulpit or some chart topper singing a song. All of those people are just people too with just as many hurts, pains and struggles as anyone else. I believe that if I know God’s truths I will recognize them anywhere and everywhere they appear. The opposite is also the case. I notice things that teach me the opposite such as the way our world works today, things people do that don’t line up with what they say or do. Noticing and learning and the wisdom that come from both are gifts I don’t ever want to take for granted, and I don’t ever want to stop sharing what I notice if they just might help someone along the way.
This is the book I wrote about all the things I’ve learned from observing trees along my way.
Blooming
Saturday Jack and I drove a long way to visit a sunflower field. Why? Because someone worked hard to plant those seeds that matured into beauty and
I wanted to walk amongst them. I have found throughout my life that I haven’t really belonged many places. Sure I have been in groups, a member of things, a part of things, but belonging is different. I’m different. I see and experience life very differently from many others. I feel big. I notice things others don’t notice or care much about. I’ve tried to downplay this or live as others seem to, but that never works. It just makes me feel more different, more aware. But in this field I felt alive and part of something. I held Jack’s hand as I do these days on uneven surfaces and we walked to the top pf the hill with the mountains in the background. I had tears pouring down my cheeks. I felt what these beautiful flowers were saying to me as crazy and weird as that sounds. I understood them, and in a weird way I think they understood me. Maybe it was their Creator I felt. We met the man that did the planting, but what I’m referring to is different. I felt like I understood the work each flower had put in to become what it had become. I did not take it for granted. Their beauty was breathtaking. All seeds do not mature, grow or bloom. It takes sunflower seeds 70 to 100 days to reach maturity after planting. But those in the field that I photographed had matured, grown and bloomed. They started as seeds planted in the ground. They had everything inside of themselves to grow and bloom through all sorts of conditions. and they did it. They matured in the rain and storms and in the dry conditions. They chose to grow tall and bloom unsupported. They grew by themselves receiving what they needed to bloom from the soil and the sun. Did the farmer that planted them walk through the field encouraging them every step of the way? I cannot say that he did not, but I am not sure because I did not ask him, but he sure was standing at the bottom of the hill greeting visitors and encouraging them to walk around and admire his crop. To say this 53 year old lady related to a field of blooming sunflowers is crazy, but it is true. I always say that flowers are my love language and they are. I paint them all the time. Sure I think they are pretty, but that isn’t why I paint them. I paint them because each flower has a story to tell if it just had a voice. None of them are perfect. They all have flaws like evidence of wounds inflicted by hungry insects. They go through so much to become what they become. They only have so much time to share their beauty with the world. Sometimes their worth is taken for granted. Sometimes they are admired on the plants they grow on, sometimes they are pruned and taken inside to be admired longer and at a closer distance, but unfortunately sometimes they do what everyone expects them to do, they bloom where they are planted and yet they are never even acknowledged or noticed. That makes me sad. So, I try to capture the beauty of flowers wherever I encounter them by taking their pictures or painting ones I remember. I hope to share their beauty with others that are too busy living their own lives to stop and appreciate their beauty or to stop and smell their aroma. I feel it is the least I can do for all the joy each and every one I come across brings to me.
A very dear friend sent these to me today because she truly knows me and understands me, so I wanted to share. I could not be more thankful to have a female friend that gets me, supports me and encourages me just as Jack always has. I do not take this gift for granted. Real genuine people that have my back thru thick and thin don’t come around in my world that often probably because of my ability to see through so much. Many people love to count their friends and treat them like currency. I’m just thankful to have the few I do have that love me the way I love them.
Some of the latest floral pieces.
Some of these are on paper and some are on canvas. I started a new thing for me which is sketching before painting. Many watercolorists do this, but I never have. I never liked the confines of the pencil lines. Now, I find them interesting to work with rather than intimidating or stiff or set. I don’t let them hold me back or hold back the paint. If the paint wants to go outside the designated lines, I let it. That is freedom and usually has a beautiful effect. When I paint, I’ve always said that it is me and the brush and the paint and a much bigger creative force at play. I hold the brush and let the magic happen. Don’t knock it until you have tried it. It is something to behold and something that keeps me walking the stairs to the studio. May it always think I am a worthy companion!
Bold Moves
I reached out to someone very close to me last week. I decided it was the perfect time to share my heart, to be vulnerable. Turns out that the response I received was “Really ??? Bold Move”. I was floored because it seemed an odd response to a very self aware letter about myself and recent discoveries I have made about myself. If I am honest, I did not get the response I wanted or expected. Jack always tells me that is why I get so upset. That happens to me more than the average person I am certain and many times I do not get a response at all which hurts in a different way. I expected compassion and maybe a little grace, something I would offer if I had received a similar email. I researched “bold move” just to make sure I was certain what the person meant. In case you are uncertain, it means “courageous, confident, and fearless; ready to take risks, showing or requiring courage.” After getting over the shame of reaching out in the first place and rereading the email, I realized that dadgummit it was a bold move on my part, but not in the way the person was referring to “bold move”. I am a very private person to a point, but then I realize to genuinely connect with others, vulnerability and openness are essential. I have mistaken certain people in my past for being trustworthy, meaning trustworthy enough to get a glimpse into my heart and soul and they have not treated me with kindness. Sometimes I forget those lessons and try again. My email attempt the other day was one of those times, a second chance, a reaching out to connect, knowing better and trying anyway sort of situation. I realized it was truly a bold move on my part. To be completely honest, most every thing I attempt these days, almost two years after brain surgery, is a bold move—driving to the store, walking in my hilly neighborhood, putting on shoes to go outside to do yard work, sitting at my computer to write something that only matters to me, agreeing to be in a photo, looking at myself in the mirror, even hiring a wedding planner for our daughter’s wedding when I am 100 % capable of decorating and designing a lovely evening on my own. Nothing I do these days is done without much thought, effort, or heart. So yes, I made a bold move to try to explain things to someone I thought might care. I make bold moves each and every day, and I am proud of most of them. Sorry, but what was meant to sting or cut me down to size like it always has doesn’t have the same affect as it has for most of my life. I make bold moves on purpose these days, and I am quite thankful I have what it takes to make them. Rebounding after a major health situation has a way of changing a person. I have changed for the better. I know who I am, and I know I deserve at least some respect and unless people are going to show me a tad bit of empathy, compassion or grace, and appreciation and acknowledgment of my bold moves that take guts, I really have no room in my life for them. And, that’s also one of my bold moves.
Blooms
Blooms! Why do I love them so? I’ve been thinking of that quite a bit lately. I’ve been going on walks in the warm spring weather taking photos all along the way. Below I have included just a few pics from my walks.
I am moved by the beauty! I mean it has been winter for a while now. Do I just love to see the color? Maybe, but it feels like more. Blooms, blossoms or flowers represent hope as well as beauty to me. For a tree, bush or plant to reach the flowering stage, they must endure or go through many stages, some riskier than others. I think of all that occurs below the soil away from the naked eye and slowly. The bloom is there all along, but it takes a lot to be revealed and the conditions must be just right. It is the natural part of a plant’s blueprint.
After my surgery I felt different. Jack called me “2.0” which I have written about previously. I think something in my life had to be removed to reveal that 2.0 nature and of course there is the obvious that had to be removed to survive. Since then even more has been revealed. I lived a very long time trying to be someone else, someone tougher, louder, bolder, someone others might notice or approve of or even respect. However, that is not me. I’m quiet, thoughtful, gentle, slower than some, and introspective. My natural colors are not bright and bold and loud. My colors are muted and soft and that is o.k.. Some might say they are just right, even perfect, for me at least. (My art journey has followed the same path—bold abstracts to soft peaceful florals). I love comfort and quiet and peace and taking my time to get things done or to make decisions. It has taken me a long time to realize this or rather to be o.k. with it. I have tried to hide it most of my life. I was criticized and pushed to be different until I finally decided that in order to survive it would be best to just be me risking never being seen, respected or recognized—ever. What I have realized is that I would never receive any of those things not being myself. A plant doesn’t struggle to be itself. It rests in who it is. It is patient and trusting that it will bloom when it needs to or not if it isn’t time. And trusting it will be the color it needs to be and that it will attract what it needs to survive. And because of that we see all colors and shapes of blooms and flowers all throughout the year in every aspect of nature. That brings me comfort and joy and these days I live for that! Don’t compare yourself to those around you! That does no good. We are not meant to compare. The dogwood doesn’t compete with the redbud tree nor the daffodil with the tulip or the rose. You be you! I’ll be me! And we can love and support each other just the way we are!
New Favorite Quote
Creativity is intelligence having fun!—Albert Einstein
I heard this quote for the first time yesterday and I love it! Creativity can get a bad rap. Left brain or right brain. Good or bad. Using your head or your heart. Value versus no value. Serious or trivial. Significant or insignificant. Smart or stupid or not smart. Success or struggle. I do not think creativity needs to be put up against smarts. This says it all to me.
"Why do they look so similar?"
“And, why do you paint so many beaches?” I paint beaches because I like the beach and I like painting it. I also love sharing the beach with others. I painted this this morning for some friends. I don’t ever want to paint a specific beach for recognition. I want the beach I paint to be an “anywhere” beach. I want the observer to bring their memories to any piece. So many people view the beach as peaceful and see it as a place to relax. I want to offer that as best as I can with each piece hoping maybe the observer walks away with a little more joy and peace. The ocean is vast and out of our control. It is good for humans to realize that the world does not revolve around us. The ocean teaches us that with its bigness and with each wave and tide schedule. It can be calm or wild if a storm is approaching. It rarely ever looks the same—different lighting, different clouds, different movement, different tide revealing more or less sand, shells, rocks and wildlife. I want to offer all of this as best I can with every piece—peace, calm, perspective, and reminders.
I have come a long way, Baby!
I posted this on Instagram as a post tonight. I did so because I wanted it in my feed. I love this place (Roan, of course). I love this picture too. It represents what I’ve been through and how far I’ve come. I like the black and white version. I like the comparison between me and the trees. I love that you can see my hiking boots. They were new and so comfortable and made a big difference when hiking. I like that you can see my poles. I didn’t want them, but they helped, and I was wise enough to realize and to accept that. Sometimes it is o.k. to accept help. I’m realizing that.
It's a Great Day for a Great Day!
I told Jack that I wouldn’t ever post a picture of myself ever again. That is why I posted this one today. When I look in the mirror sometimes I’m frightened like I’m looking at a monster and other times it is just like looking at me. Others are always reassuring me that I don’t look so bad, in fact “they” say I really don’t look that different. There is no denying that I do have a resting bitch face, but I can live with that. The other night I was looking through photos on my phone and ran across videos taken by my sister while I was in the hospital. To say I look different now or that I’ve come a long way is an understatement. I was frightened by what I saw, to say the least. It has made me spend time thinking about how far I really have come. I forget. I had a drain, a walker, stitches, a patch on my eye that didn’t close, no glasses and then huge glasses and a patch, a swollen eye from surgery, nine different meds, two shaved spots on my head, lots of bruising from needles and from a fall, a weak voice that was breathy, thickened liquids and a straw for drinking, and food that was pre-chopped. Now, my face may droop and I may still go to physical therapy, but I wear a contact and no patch. I walk, hike, bike (at the gym) and run. I’m only on two meds that really help, and I can eat and drink anything I want, especially cereal with 2 percent regular organic milk. I really have come a long way, Baby!