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
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!
