I Loved YOU So Hard I Broke

I Loved YOU So hard I Broke

Dear Collective YOU

I am looking backward

to the intensity

to what gives so much

to all the stock I put in YOU

The infatuation, the electric charge, glances in passing, small lines that form a semi smile

fingers laced together and skipped heartbeats and breath taken away

To the thoughts of what happened and what might have been

So many words written about us

Sometimes in small cursive with a grease pencil covering large pieces of paper

But that’s not what I am dwelling on at this moment

I am thinking about how the end is the beginning and the beginning is the end like a T.S. Elliot poem in Four Quartets

He actually was right and not just artistically confusing

On the precipice of infamous beginnings and endings that are really endings and beginnings I turn my head

And see YOU

Away from me

Holding my stomach in, measuring myself, inventing new and better ways to be me, thinking how I can be more

always so much more

so YOU will not leave

Even though I only asked once and that was in a whisper, barely audible

almost to myself

It was an airport for God’s sake

We both know how that worked out

Speaking of beginnings

My father told me I would get married

and be taken care of

I was already outlined by his shadow

not realizing I was the one doing the taking care of

Cultivating an art

Icing on the cake

Using assets

Being creative and interesting but only so smart

(because it is OFF PUTTING TO BE TOO SMART AND A GIRL)

I lost a race in 5^th grade on purpose to boys

I was a fast like the wind sprinter

Did I realize what I lost that day was more than a race?

My body changed

I sweated out so much longing hot flashing

Stopped holding my stomach in

and banging my head against the wall

trying to more of everything

All that wonderfulness

left flat with exhaustion (which is actually a good thing)

emptying my insides out

Hoping beyond hope

If only

If only

If only I had let myself win that race and turned the corner in victory

You start to think about your mother differently

I’m so sorry

I had no idea

My daughter thinks I sound depressing

I get it because I thought ending up alone like Nadia was a death sentence (hey P remember when we rolled our eyes in superiority)

Then I found new horizons and realized dreams that needed energy I used to dole out to YOU

I can still love YOU I say but differently

It’s still love to me

And it’s everywhere

In subtle and vibrant colors

In trees gently rustling in a warm afternoon breeze

In the faces of my children

In my doggies

In my no longer talking mother

In friends who don’t give up on me

In courage I wish I had

In grace and humility and letting go

In what’s given and taken

In forgiveness

In all of YOU

  

Breaking Up Is Hard to Do: Brexit thoughts from the Island

When I first heard the news I was stunned. I knew it was close; however, in the end I thought the vote would be to stay in the European Union. I checked Facebook and saw all kinds of dire warnings from people, particularly Americans, drawing parallels to Trump and his racist xenophobia. While I painted later that morning I listened to the BBC to get a closer perspective. The news program interviewed a wide range of people, experts and perhaps more interestingly, three university students – two from London (stay) and one from a more rural area (go). I also polled a few of the island friends (Greek and Danish) to get their take on it. The responses were mixed; however, the Greeks have a sour taste in their mouth for the EU and Euro given the economic crisis that lingers and continues to have a serious effect on their country and wellbeing.  For more detailed results, go to this link: https://ig.ft.com/sites/elections/2016/uk/eu-referendum/

The BBC program exposed a schism and frustration in Britain that feels vaguely familiar to the one in the US – from my perspective – and I think the data bears me out. First, I am not an economist. And while I include economics in teaching my social work courses, I am not an expert in the complications of markets, currency, and trade. I will say that I have had grave doubts about the Euro and the EU since the currency was introduced. I was in Paris as it was rolled out, visiting my daughter who was living there for a study abroad in a sweet little studio in the Latin Quarter. I predicted a disaster not based on my expertise in economics, rather, a knowledge of culture, history and people (not the politician types). I simply could not see how countries so diverse and steeped in their history and culture were going to unify in this system and worse, a common currency. In the US we face a constant battle between the federal government and state’s rights, which is notoriously contentious, therefore, this was going to be an even bigger challenge. I was in Denmark when they voted not to join the EU the first time, and though they later reversed this decision they maintained their currency (as Britain did).  

I find that listening to people and their stories explains a lot. I am fortunate to travel in the US and abroad, and not in a touristic circle. Striking up conversation is an organic process and people are very willing to share their stories.  It also helps not to surround yourself with people who think exactly as you do. I have some passionate discussions (to say the least); however, I also maintain close relationships with many friends whose worldview and experience is polar opposite to mine. We share other common interests and values, which is enriching and keeps life interesting. I travel on buses, planes, boats, and on foot. You are bound to cross paths with interesting people that way. In fact, on a short plane ride from Copenhagen to Brussels many years ago I met one of my best friends, Yvonne Christensen, and while our lives are quite different in many ways, we are joined at the hip in many other ways. And this is just one such story, my life is filled with magical encounters, both brief and long lasting.

Back to Brexit. Listening to the university students on BBC program I was struck by the dissonance between the Londoners (stay in EU) and the student from a rural area (out). The Londoners had no real contact with anyone different from them, or outside of London. The other student had a more diverse background being at university; however, his life and experience was not that of a Londoner. The gap was considerable. It was like they lived in two different countries. I thought about how many people in the US consider the Midwest “fly over country”, as if the only worthy places are the East or West Coast, and more specifically, LA, San Francisco Bay Area, New York, DC, and perhaps cities like Seattle and Boston. Okay, Chicago is OK if you fly in and out. It is like no place in between exists and the people that live there are from another country.  The only time they or their states get any attention is during presidential elections and politicians pander to them in condescending unauthentic ways. For the most part they are discounted by the political elite and are a bargaining chip or stepping stone for their representatives playing the DC game. Having lived in rural states in New England. While living in Austin Texas I started a community development program in a rural town, where I worked for 4 years and know something about people off the elite grid. I certainly disagreed with many of their political views; however, we came to respect, trust and know each other in meaningful ways. We worked and built stuff together, and came to tolerate differences while focusing on solutions to make life better for everyone in the town. I learned a lot from them and I think (hope) it was mutual.

People on the island (and Greece) feel burned by the EU. Austerity has made life unbearable for many, particularly away from the islands where tourism is still bringing some economic vitality. A Greek friend is not sure how much will be shaved off the pension he is soon to begin collecting. Most friends claim to be paying higher and higher taxes yet see no direct benefit, in fact, quite the contrary. Folks I talk to are unmoved by the British vote to exit the EU. They are skeptical and disgruntled. Some are hoping Greece is next, or feel the time passed for them to leave the EU. Some Danish friends visiting the island were not in favor of the exit; however, they had criticism of the EU and their policies, large bureaucracy, and pace of implementation (too fast). This is not a new discussion for us when it comes to the EU, we have been talking about it for years. My take as an outsider has great limitation; however, from the beginning I had a difficult time seeing it work given the social, historic, and cultural differences.  And while I am aware that some of those spearheading this exit in Europe are of the right, anti-immigrant, and xenophobic, I am not certain that is what moved all those voters in favor of exit. Anti-immigrant factions have been gaining traction for years across Europe. There has always been some degree of fascism in Europe for centuries (as in the US). The unraveling of the Middle East beginning with the invasion of Iraq (thanks George W Bush) and more recently Syria, coupled with those sailing in death boats from Africa for political and economic reasons have hit Europe hard. A much longer blog would be needed to delve into the havoc caused by the West in many of these countries and the legacy of colonialism. All these confounding factors have been brewing over time and now we are seeing the culmination of misguided policies, regime change wars, and the refusal to deal with complexity and unanticipated consequences.

So here is where I land with all this and connect it to the United States. I have no idea how Britain’s exit will impact world markets (one Greek friend had a few choice words for this), recessions, trade, etc. What I do have some thoughts on is the inability of the political elite to understand the lives of everyday folk. A quick glance at the map of Britain and what areas voted for and against is telling. The political elite are tone deaf and dance to a different master, and then act surprised when people act up or throw support to an outsider like Trump spouting all kind of craziness, who capitalizes on people’s fears and ignorance. Then there is my hero Bernie Sanders, a long standing Democratic Socialist who no one thought had a chance in hell (including me) exposed the corruption of the political neoliberal elite in the Democratic Party. Sanders proposes real system change using a bottom up movement, a political revolution and raised huge sums of money from average folks proving you do not need to sell your soul to be a contender. The political upsets of this election cycle tell us something, if we happen to be listening; however, from the Democratic party (which is all I will speak of) we see a refusal to step up and be bold, rather choosing business as usual (BAU) as evidenced by the platform committee voting for TPP, fracking, and backing down from an explicit position on the $15 minimum wage. The House of Representatives Democrat sit-in for a gun bill that is not really very good, yet they have offered no such action on poisoned water in Flint, the killing of unarmed black people, gun deaths, student loan debt relief, tax reform, and single payer health care among others. Where was their backbone and spine to fight for these issues? Why not sit in after Sandyhook or San Bernardino or the other mass killings? I have a thought though, perhaps seeing the hunger and thirst people have for real change and bold action inspired by Bernie Sanders prompted them to do more than yap about thoughts and prayers. The timid Democrats have done nothing but cowered to the Republicans with a deer in the headlights look for years.

We live in polarized nations. The Brexit vote was close. The US is nearly divided down the middle. People do not feel heard and they are tired of the BAU on all sides from political elites more concerned with pandering to special interests than their constituents’ needs. People are hurting. For those who are beaten down, feel left behind and are so mired in a cycle of poverty there is little chance of escape, hope is a rare commodity. This can give rise to scary people like Trump as well as a man like Bernie Sanders. As it can give rise to referendums in favor of a hasty exit that people do not fully understand the consequence of. We cannot continue to disregard “fly over” land or cling to single narratives. The message to the political establishment has been made clear though, change or you will not last, of which such a demise may possibly lead to better, new systems that respond to the needs of the many and not the few, or it might plunge us into further disarray and division. There is enough disillusionment to go around. Breaking up is hard to do, yet coming together is even harder. I am hoping we can manage for all our sakes, but then again, the Greek island light can shine a more optimistic spin on just about anything.   

Be well and more to come.

  

Tangled Up in Blue: Island Dispatch#3

The past few days were quite hot, too much so for my daily walk and painting. The best thing to do when the heat comes is to go the sea. I went with friends to a variety of beaches and spent most the day floating, sitting, swimming in the sea. I even read my book in the water. The Aegean Sea is a sampling of blue – so many variations – and the sky provides a blue melody of its own. I refer to this an an unbroken blue; however, the hues of blue are extensive and electrifying. Sitting by the sea for hours on end I feel blue move through me, outlining my thoughts. Everything is framed in blue, interrupted only by a splatter of white stucco, the rust, yellow, green, of the hillsides and the bursts of pastels of the flowers. Still, blue dominates.

I moved my pop up studio to my friend Irini’s terrace on top of her restaurant in the village. It is a large space, sheltered by the wind, and provides interesting vitas of the sea, rooftops, and hillsides. I can hear life moving below me in and spoken words I do not understand. I lived upstairs from Irini’s house three doors down for the first 15 years on the island. I listened to these sounds everyday while I painted, read, wrote, and stared into space. And while I didn’t understand a word, I got a sense of the context. Mostly it was women’s voices, talking together, to their children, to their husbands, and even themselves. I watched them do their wash by hand and the expressions on their faces as they sat quietly in front of their homes. Sometimes I felt like an intruder because they were stolen moments, a break in their workday not meant for anyone other than themselves. I drifted in and out of their lives while I panted for hours on end. I thought of my children and how I might sound to an observer in my parenting life  I was prone to yelling, and frustration I felt in my own life got dumped on them far too often. I banged pots and pans around when I was angry and tired and resentful. I was a far cry from the woman who seemed to float through her island life, elevated in her rapture. I heard Irini yell at her kids the very same way, just a different language. If I cringed it was not because of her, it was because of me. I confessed to Irini though, she knew the secret of of my other life. We often huddled over her kitchen table and spoke in hushed voices. We laughed and we shed tears. We understood our scripts may appear polar opposite; however, we knew they converged at the core of motherhood and when it came to that common denominator we shared a lot of ground.

Irini and I 

Mom Life With the Grown Ups

Jonathan and I in New Orleans 2016

Rena and I in Austin 2016

On the terrace yesterday I tried to paint a drawing of a particularly interesting view in the ancient Castro of a building and an  archway I have painted many times before.  It wasn’t really working out. I found myself resisting detail, I had enough of it and did not want to return to the old paintings, which I love but are over. I started to eliminate detail with a large white oil bar and then add in loose lines. I may go back to it today, obliterate more detail but perhaps not. I was very happy working small again to focus on the hues of blue. Blue is circulating in my system. Blue is what I digest. Blue is where I need to be in my painting. I am tangled up in blue.

As my body turns a deep shade of brown, and hair streaking blonde, I continue to move further and further from the woman who arrived here over two weeks ago. I studied a photo from the day I arrived and I looked washed out, tentative, and overly hopeful, as if so much was riding on this visit. My friend Rie arrived yesterday, and as we were chatted over dinner catching up, I said I dotn't feel like anybody other than what I am doing on the island, which is mainly painting. I do not feel like a professor, mother, or person who lives in a 1030s Colonial in Portland Maine on a particular street. Life is not a 3-bedroom home; it is a room with a sparse amount of belongings. There is no car to drive with places to go. I can squint and see a faint image of that life but basically I am unhinged.  She smiled and said, “Sounds like what you said to me 24 years ago when we first met”.  And just like that I felt a thud on my head. I had forgotten how it felt to feel this way, to be immersed in my art and not much else, to release myself of day to day worry and tasks.  The past seven years have been a constant stream of things to do and get through, often with extreme duress. I have accomplished a much and am happy and proud; however, it came at a high cost and consequence. This is not a complaint, just the way it is, the way life is. My mom having a massive stroke a week after arrived on the island four years ago sent me packing before I could dig on and derive real benefit from being here. There was no break after four years of a grueling PhD program. I just kept plowing through, minimizing along the way. No big deal this, no big deal that. There is always so much to do, to do better and to be worried about. Being here takes me off the clock, and while this is something everyone needs and deserves, the artist in me has to have it to reboot and fuel up. My inner self shrives up without it. Somehow I knew that and insisted on annual sojourns when my kids were growing up, and then let it lapse when I started the PhD program. That was another kind of invasion of the body snatchers, one that I am just now recovering from three years after graduating.

What happy and healthy looks like, representing Oakland CA!

I often wonder strange things when I live so much in my head. I was carrying my laptop down a few steps and I thought what if I trip and fall and this is how I die. What would my kids think about me being found dead holding a laptop? Would their grief overshadow their most likely annoyance at how I could die walking down two steps carrying a laptop or why I had to be on the computer so much?  Would my death be less or more tragic because of these odd circumstances? I stare off into space a lot and talk to myself in my head. I ask myself questions or convince myself to do something like take a walk or start painting or write a blog or even go to the bathroom. I notice small typically inconsequential things like the oven mitt placed on a casserole dish at my friend Inge and Peter’s house where I am staying now. Or what kind of dish soap they buy. I pay attention to flies, weeds, stones, building angles, and small objects and why they were bought and placed in a certain way. How lovely that a petal from the bougainvillea plant drifted through the small window above the toilet into the bowl. I mean who has time for this in daily life? The round of questions and thoughts churning through my head are replaced by what seems to be a much larger set of complex issues. But are they any better or just necessary and inherent in daily life? I remember being in the Sennelier Art Store in Paris in 2003. There are three narrow floors with a spiral staircase. Each floor has large windows that overlook the Seine. The clerks wear white coats. It is packed to the brim with art supplies. I lovingly touch the pastels and paper as I roam through the store, filling my basket as I carefully consider my purchases. Some people are excited to go Channel or Dior; however, for me this is heaven. On this particular visit, I was on the third floor. I was the only one up there but I could hear the bustle of activity on the first floor. I was so still I could see particles of dust in the air. It was grainy. I leaned on the old wood counter and closed my eyes so I could inhale the total and utter peace. I yearned for nothing, no one or to be in another place. I thought why can’t I always be like this, so present and content in the moment. My next thought was because we would blow like an old fuse with this kind of intensity non-stop, though it should be woven in life regularly to balance our universe. We all have different ways to do this; however, if we skip it completely we become consumed and loose ourselves in important ways. My challenge has always been how to maintain my island magic when I re-enter my other life, the one that poses daily challenges and complexity and relationships and responsibilities. I like my life for the most part; however, time spent on the island or wherever I find a painting space to land on, can help me include the things that feed my soul more and keep things from going totally out of whack. That’s is always the plan at least.

I am passing week two, heading toward the remaining week and a half. There is still time for painting, visiting with dear friends, and submerging myself in the sea.  Colors are a flashpoint everywhere, exploding and illuminating the contours of life. I do my best to take note and apply to paper, and sometimes old mirrors and windows. Everything is fair game when you are tangled up in blue.  

Old mirror Anne and I scavenged

Until next blog post - be well!