Feels Like Home

Source: paintingsalley.com via Andrea on Pinterest

This painting reminds me of my life growing up. We were (and still are) a family of bird lovers, fascinated by patterns and at home under trees. My grandmother was a very good decorative painter, my mother still is and I was handed the tradition by them both at a time when they worried for my sanity. That time still exists, but I always get to paint my way through my less than stable moments thanks to their influence. My father was an artist and one of the first artists to throw his brushes down and take up painting with light on the computer. I have yet to master that aspect, but it 'ain't over' and I've learned to try to remember to not say 'never,' though I doubt my love for painting in light could ever match my enjoyment of getting paint everywhere and all over me simultaneously. I have a wardrobe that proves it, I am no stranger to 'getting wet' and letting it dry right where it landed. All my children inherited a strong dispostition to express themselves, too. However, one exchanged a brush for boxing gloves, another for the art of healing, another with a gift for words that makes me warn her to keep the rocks out of her pockets, and another sings like a bird. Yes, we are all artists here, and this bird thinks everyone is an artist in one way or another.

Grandma's Toothbrush Holder

I opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet my family and friends helped move into my office from the garage (Gurge in caveman language).

That filing cabinet used to be my right hand friend, and I have not opened it since 2009, it is 2011, and before that for seven more years it was barely opened out of frustrated plans.

My method of filing was found unacceptable by another one day during a cultural clash. ‘Left of center’, centre spelled differently now, I use to say then.

And now, I say ‘thank you’ to my golden friend who always keeps me wanting to be on the planet just to know more. You are one and many, with names that sound funny, some sad, some out of this world, but always your many names represent golden round love.

My grandmother began painting late in life. Her son, my father, was an artist. She thought it looked fun and began painting what looked like sick cows and moved onto genius rather quickly. Grandma's china painting was some of the best I have seen, so delicate, precise, yet loose, many hours of gentle applications, many firings, and with the luck of the Irish (Grandma would say), an art piece was born.

This afternoon I found one of her art pieces I had tucked away in the top drawer of my filing cabinet right before I moved one house to another, several moves ago, I had completely forgotten it.

I opened the drawer and heard something other than paper moving around, I spread the files and there was a bone china toothbrush holder painted ever so daintily with soft yellow roses and impressionistic leaves, signed Kise 1965 in my grandmother’s certain hand.

It was a good moment. It still is. I washed the toothbrush holder carefully with water rather than tears. The tears lodged in the back of my eyes glistened brightly, I saw my grandmother hold her breath to achieve such minute brush strokes that could only have come from a brush with one hair, and, a lot of patience, and, a lot of time, and, a love of painting.

I inherited that love from her, and both my parents. I was hit with a trilogy of painting people to guide me. Even if I am not a rose gal, I am more of an agapanthus or a bird of paradise and I love painting!

And, all my painting friends who come to remind me that life is good whenever I decide.


Grandma says, let’s rock and roll and paint anyway...
All we have to do is grow wings. Easy enough if you just paint them.
I decide, you decide, today we decided to do it...
And, grandma’s toothbrush holder came back round
Just to prove it, if you decide for it to.
I did, and I do, and I hope you do, too.
Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Don’t need teeth to laugh, aye?
Brush it all away with golden syrup
Dip it in chocolate, any kind...
Even the kind you can’t pronounce
It goes in so easy
Comes out twice as fast
Seems like gas
But, really freezes
Instantly sometimes
And never at others
Don’t blow my covers off
It’s cold soon enough
But, for now
I feel good
Just knowing
I have grandma's toothbrush holder.

The Painting of Ben's Virtues

It was on the hottest day I have ever experienced since moving to New Zealand eight years ago.  One of those days that found my friend and I huddled out back of my house in the only pure shade we could find.  My friend was painting her beautiful Maori/Pakeha soul onto a long piece of hardy board left over from lining the inside of my fence, while I had been painting my displaced immigrant soul on a matching panel.  Ben's virtues of temperance, silence, order, resolution, frugality, industry, sincerity, justice, moderation, cleanliness, tranquility, chastity and humility were bouncing around in my head.

Panting from the heat I looked at my panel  titled "Underwater Cactus" and realized it was too hot to paint a watery scene, the paint was drying on impact and the affect I was seeking was rather slippery, so I grabbed a new panel and laid it down on the ground, standing over it and inscribed Ben's virtues onto it as fast as I could and decided to call it my "Morality Board".

My beautiful friend looked up from her passionate pallette and commented,
Oh, I like that, it looks like it is written in blood.
How affectionate I am for my friend that always seems to know exactly what I am after.

For three days now I have been contemplating daily the first attribute of Temperance:  Eat not to dullness, drink not to elevation.  I have four more days to go and find myself sweating blood at what new finds I will see as I discover my own unconscious embedded intemperances.  They are not just food and drink, though food has always been a problem for me until I first came to New Zealand and began a regime of eating like a Kiwi instead of a Midwestern American.  I thought I was going to starve for the first month and I can remember my children looking at their plates like I was joking.  But, I had a new man (now my husband) in my life and I was trying to take on his practises.  I lost twenty pounds in no time!

But, the real weighty issues are the intemperances I find inside myself, not just on a hot day, but every day, that have been building for many years simply because I did not have my "Morality Board" written in what looks like blood to remind me.  In three days I found enough intemperate reactions to life inside myself to know that not only will this be a long year, but there are many years to come which all need my continuing checks and balances that my friend Ben has selected for me, which I wholeheartedly agree, is a good enough way to remind me how unconscious I have been and always will be.

So, on the flip side of my "Morality Board", I have decided to paint it black (and yes, you may think of the song here)...and, write in chalk the things I know I need to watch out for on a day to day basis that can be added to and erased more easily than writing them in blood.