Tuesday, March 10, 2009

The grizzle bear.

Or rather "grizzly" as most people call it. MY painting shows him as grizzle.

To me it's color and atmosphere....monstrous, but beautiful.

I suspect that they would be a loving gentle motherly type when surrounded by cubs...but stick a human in their presence and they can be the meanest, most protective beast out there.

Today I found myself volunteering at my daughter's school amongst a sea of mothers some of whom were very protective of their children. I just sat cutting and piecing backdrops and costumes and listened intently as they boasted of who did this and who did that.

In my head I was so quick to brag of my own talents...but didn't say a word. I just produced some amazing drawings and cardboard sculptures that put a few others to shame. One lady asked why I didn't head up the committee myself.

Not really interested actually. I have been the boss, the one in charge for so long....I have tried for many years to steal the glory of others...but have learned to keep my mouth shut.

I think the biggest thing I have learned in this last year is to keep my mouth shut...a lot of people don't want to hear what we sometimes want to say about ourselves.

We need to realize that we have two ears and only one mouth. We need to listen twice as much as we talk.

We need to realize that our bragging becomes quite grizzly....and our teeth show and our hair fluffs out and people run away.

Sometimes. we just need to be the quiet loving mother...

And shut of the grizzly.

early mornings

You see in every movie where farm life exists...the one stable character in the movie seems to be the morning rooster.

He never misses a line and always crows as the sun creeps up giving us the illusion that he is the alarm clock of all alarm clocks .

A vital part to the way of life out there.

Well, recently I've moved out here to the Foothills region of Alberta, and come to know a broader art community.

They advertise Spring and Fall Art Shows and Sales yet they limit your prices to $100 for the show...

My art is large and sometimes the canvases alone cost $40 and then the paint is $14 per tube....

I donated a painting for a silent Auction hoping it would grab at least $100 for the piece I listed a minimum price of $40 on it...but alas...no one bid on it....they would rather have wooden bird houses and crocheted dolls that sit on your bed.....

I ended up buying it back because it was my favorite painting...

It was The Rooster....with the soft amber hues of dawn behind him....

I paid the $100 plus a donation to the organization because I beleived in it...

.....$500 actually...

and was I frustrated later to know that an event with over 75 people...

only raised $3500 and I provided $500.

And they all strut around like rich wealthy farmers.

Well, The Rooster struts once again in my farmhouse and he's worth $500 to me.

The dawn looks beautiful here...and even though we don't have chickens...I can still hear My Rooster crowing in the morning.

Monday, March 9, 2009

A clear View

A long time ago, I was given a sister.
With fire in her hair and big bright eyes.
It's funny how time goes by and suddenly you become an adult.
Things just aren't the same.
I watched my sister throw herself into the world
and then into the arms of men,
.....at which point she would dissappear.
Swallowed up by their worlds,
she no longer existed,
except through the presence of her significant other...
at the time.
Nothing was her anymore, none of her stories, or her actions, none of her feelings, or accomplishments.
But periodically I would here her voice crying out,
"We never go anywhere..."
"There is nothing to do here."
"All my money is being used elsewhere."
"I don't have any girlfriends"
I tried to tell her to take a break...to do something for her. To go away for a year and invest in the women of her life instead of always men because someday she would get married.
I saw a print in a poster shop and I saw my sister in it.
I went home and painted my own version of her at the top of a hill,
overlooking all that life had set before her...
but she was too busy to notice,
all dressed up in a pretty gown,
which had become tattered due to her not paying attention
........to herself.
The world sat before her but her vision had been clouded by being visible to only the male aspects of her world...her big bright eyes had grown dim.
She had become invisible
and thus missed out on the valley and hills of opportunity and experiences before her.
This painting, for me, immortalized my longing for her to look past the men in her life and see herself again.
To re-appear as my sister.
With fire in her hair and big bright eyes.

The Screaming Man

In May of 2000, my husband left our home.
Just prior to his leaving, I was working on a painting and his comment to me was,
"Don't you think that your art is a waste of your time and my money?"
I was the one putting him through school, working nightshift as a security gard and tending to our baby during the day.
I had also just received notice from his school stating that he had dropped out just 2 months prior...but he failed to inform me and yet still pretended to go to school everyday.
But my self esteem had been drained,
Sucked Dry.
No longer living within me.
My emptiness became like a zombie and later that day I gathered up my portfolios,
and my sketchbooks,
my journals and everything related to my art was tossed
into the nearest dumpster.
Three years later,
a good friend took me to an art store for my birthday,
bought me a tackle box and told me to refill it no matter the cost.
He told me to begin again.
The first painting was this one of the screaming man.
I started with a black canvas and brought out the light with red paint.
It was of my ex husband and the red represented my anger towards him,
the screaming face represented all the things I wanted to say to him,
all the things I needed him to know.
The bringing of light into the darkness of this painting represented me,
no longer a zombie,
but coming back to life,
to re-live within this artisitic outlet
and put to death what he had spoken to me that day long ago.
A Headstone
in the memory of
Marc Eric Baskin
A man of many words.
All of them...