My Life in Pictures

Reviewing blog posts, my journal and my Facebook status' I've come to realize that much of my life is chronicled by whatever art I've been producing, exhibiting and selling. If a picture is worth a thousand words, I wonder what I'm telling about myself? It's easy to conclude I measure much by whether a painting turns out well or if it wins a prize somewhere. And, of course, the image is often biographical. The story behind producing a painting is often an allegory for other areas of my life. Take this little piece: "Watching for Bluebirds," which is a pastel rendering from the recent Plein Air Provo competition. I was reluctant to participate. Steve was in Calif. and had lost his driver's license at the airport--I had to mail his passport so he could come home. My washer quit spinning that week. Trying to paint outdoors was challenged by rain, snow, cold and limited time. I scratched the first piece of glass trying to frame the finished product, and broke the second. I had some long, heavy phone calls that took time and energy I couldn't really spare. A 2-day headache made everything harder. I accidentally locked myself out of the house. I dropped and "killed" the newly baked apple pie which was intended to cheer my mother... the list could go on. BUT at the end of the week, this little painting won a 3rd place award in the exhibit. Steve returned safely, found his license, and gave a patriarchal blessing to a lovely recipient bringing a sweet spirit to our home. See all the parallels? Are you looking for the bluebirds in this painting? They aren't visible. But I know they're there.

Remembering Kirtland

Here's the first painting from our Church History Trip. The title, "Remembering Kirtland," I hope will communicate something of the legacy we all share. The heavens opened as light and knowledge came to the saints in this temple. So much sacrifice and devotion went into the building of it. And in spite of the storms of persecution that eventually forced the saints out of Ohio, 'hosannas' rang from the rafters here in that short season of glory.

"O How Lovely..."

I never felt that visiting Church History sites would be particularly thrilling. Nice enough, but not unusually amazing. After all, I don't need to "see" to believe the things happened there as claimed. So, it was quite a humbling surprise to feel such a mighty impact in these special places. The emotions were intense. The Spirit was not only present, but testifying. I think my favorite place was the Sacred Grove. But our time in the Palmyra Temple and the other significant sites was almost as remarkable. It was a tender thing to be in the location of the School of the Prophets, to walk "Emma's staircase" and to see some of the hiding places of the Golden Plates. I felt especially close to the amazing women of the Restoration. My testimony was strengthened. My resolve confirmed. "O what rapture filled [my] bosom!"

Two Angels

It's very satisfying to have a painting just work. I had such fun doing this one. Much about the photo was good: the matching positions of the heads, the color and detail opposites that helped focus on the child, the emotional quality. I had to pull the child's leg down from where she had tucked it behind, though. And I eliminated a bit of detail on the stone bench that I found distracting. Also, I eliminated the leaves blown about on the background grass for the same reason. All in all, I think it's successful. Since it was done as a commissioned piece for a friend living far away, it remains to be seen if she'll like it as well as I do. I would love to exhibit it before delivering it to her, but timing just isn't going to work out that way. I hope to have captured the "conversation" going on here. Don't you wonder what they're talking about?

Alta in August

We joined Shannon's family to visit a favorite alpine meadow near Alta ski resort on Thurs. Snow could still be found in a few places. But our intention was to enjoy the wildflowers. Several varieties covered the meadow and surrounding hillsides. The girls fit right in for some fun photographs. Of course I was looking for the perfect painting, too. The late afternoon light is wonderful in these places. It was a lovely time.

My Kind of Parade

I love parades, sort of. I love the floats, the excitement, the music. But parking/waiting/battling crowds and then only seeing half of anything, if you're close enough, doesn't seem like a fair exchange for the miseries that only get worse as I get older. So I was eager to join Shannon and the girls for a tour of the Days of '47 floats on display at the Expo Center for a couple days before the parade. All of them are just sitting there; one can get up close and walk around them, lingering as long as one likes. We took pictures. We enjoyed some of the extras, such as a live mermaid that thrilled the girls by posing with them for a photo. And there were balloon sculptures, face painting, and a motorized turtle kids could ride. All indoors. All free. The float with the historic buildings in model Salt Lake City was my personal favorite. But Wilford Woodruff fishing was pretty cool, as was the ship sailing along with the mermaid out front. The girls loved the color and animation (and the mermaid). So did I. It was just a treat.

Memories

I needed more space or different space to store art photos. Thus began a dip in the memory pool as I've been sorting through 40 years of school projects, report cards, Christmas pictures, baby announcements, notes, creative writings and funeral programs from friends and relatives and my own kids. I had a file folder on each of my children, and one labeled "About Friends." Then there was one called "Misc. Memories" that had newspaper clippings about me or Steve doing community things, school things, clippings of my writings in the Church News, and keepsake notes and cards from my life's story. I felt like I'd revisited a lifetime in an afternoon. It was fun to read some of Jacob's Young Author entries (that won prizes up to state levels), remember my years as the Frontier Days School Marm, sigh over all the wedding announcements (some that have since ended in divorce), and chuckle again at the collection of quotes I'd once been smart enough to write down ("Dad are you going to bang the peoples at work or the mean mans outside?"--Jeff on the new hunting rifle). I still shake my head at the string of F's on Tim's last HS report, and love watching families grow up again as pictured in Christmas cards from year to year. But the overwhelming emotion of this experience is not the nostalgic warm and fuzzy thing I expected. It's a Homesick Longing to cuddle my own little kids again. I miss their innocence, their unbridled enthusiasm and delight in each other, in simple pleasures and homey moments. I miss Tim's tender hug on a hard day. I miss Shannon's fearlessness. I miss the way Eric's glasses slid down his nose when he was totally absorbed in a book. I even miss Jacob's Museum and Jeff's math assignments. No, I don't want to go back. I shudder at the required energy and effort. But there are things I wish I'd done better, of course. And moments I can look at now and wonder if that was the turning point, the catalyst for what became a regret or a triumph. I guess it's okay to wonder as long as I don't dwell too long on it all. Nevertheless, I'm glad to have had the plunge. I came out wet with sentimental tears, but I wouldn't trade my past for anything. And, I really miss my little kids.