Folegandros Greece
June 2016
I have been on the island since Monday morning. It
has taken me five days to decompress and begin painting. I actually read two
books - novels, went to the beach, hiked, visited with friends, and napped
every day. I came to this island 24 years ago, the mom of a 10 and 6 year old,
not able to contain the life swelling inside and desire to create. Over the years I have seen slivers of my former self on return visits, almost like a ghost. I envied her energy, thin body running the hills early morning, the stacks of
paintings she created each day, her hours of journal writing hunched over yellow legal
pads. I see less of her this visit, for some reason she has faded, overshadowed by my present self.
If I reach back though, I can still locate her bouncing, floating almost
as she navigates the narrow streets or hillside foot paths. Perhaps I most
yearned for her optimism, and years ahead that hadn't happened yet,
unobstructed by mistakes I could not prevent her from making. Sometimes I just
wanted to comfort her in her distress and tell her how despite heartbreak and
setbacks, she and her children would fare OK. The divorce would happen, it
would be the most gut wrenching, difficult thing to occur in her life,
and she would measure every difficulty against it. The men she put so much
stock in would disappoint her for the most the part and deflect her from
herself. That lesson would take a long while, too long, but it would eventually
stick. I would tell her the kids would resent her, want her to be like a normal
mom; however, her trailblazing would turn them into world travelers and
citizens of the world. And they would realize it was thanks to her they had
seen a good part of the world by the time they were young adults. I would tell her about the many kinds of love I found, not just with a man romantically, rather with the man I so painfully divorced who remains my partner and best friend, my kids of course, fantastic friends, and my three Golden Retrievers - the loves of my mid life and loyal companions. Best of all,
I would tell her getting older offers great rewards, including a liberation from
wanting to please and measure my value contingent on a man wanting me or not.
That part of life would change for the better and free up time and energy to
pursue other things, including a PhD and a new career at 52 years old. It may
not have gone as I hoped for in 1992; however, it has been an amazing life.
I would tell her I feel grateful, very grateful.
In trying to understand why I see less of my younger island self, I have
a theory. I think it is because I have found a degree of peace despite my many
missteps. The years can turn it either way, though lately I feel enough resolve
and acceptance to feel satisfied with where I am rather than looking back at
her with such yearning. I am relieved not to write all those words about
the turmoil of love, or the constant challenge of balancing day to day parenting with work and
art. I say no more often and worry less about what people think of me. The
years have changed me and of that I am glad.
It is day two of painting. I am interested in abstraction, not replication.
I want to explore how the island resonates and my emotional response. How
does the experience of the island merge with my other geographic and emotional landscapes? I
have always said chora is a cubist village, and painted the buildings doors, windows and church domes. Shapes and structures
touch me. And color. The vibrant unbroken blues, textured white
stucco walls, bursts of color in the doors, windows, flowers, terraced hills and changing sky. Being away from my normal day to day life I feel and study my environment
with nothing to distract me. I notice small things. Gazing at the horizon and
the variations of blue is time well spent - it is research. Napping is important to
refuel. Diving into the sea refreshes
me. Sitting quiet is meditation and reflection. Walking in the morning is discipline
and feeling nature. This constitutes my deeply lived, deeply felt artist’s life
and I love it, every minute of it.
So while I am no longer the woman who is a size 5 running hills every
morning, or writing words on 30 ft scrolls across a terrace at
breakneck speed, I am her still, applying color to paper and finding rapture in making art. Still painting on a terrace, headphones on singing to
music, pausing to gaze at a bird in flight, paint in my hair and all over my body. This is my center, my core, and from
this place comes what I believe is my most generous and loving capacity. As my friend Chuck told me many years ago, “Take care of yourself, take care of
the world". I hope you will stay with me in this journey and share in the peace
and joy, perhaps spread a little around your world as well.
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