Category: Art Journey

I started reading the genre of books known as southern fiction in the summer of 1988, when I was serving as an intern in ministry among the folks in a small Tennessee town.

Somewhere early on I encountered Clyde Edgerton. I loved several of his books though, as some of the characters carried over from one to the other, I’m never quite sure which one is which. I’m guessing it was either Rainey or Walking Across Egypt in which I met an elderly Southern Baptist woman who is still a favorite of mine. She was the proud possessor of a King James Red Letter Edition of the Bible.

She kept that treasure next to her chair, along with a red ink pen which she used to write in “the things Jesus would have said if he’d thought of them!”

There are many reasons she might have come to mind today. (Feel free to use your imagination!)

I’m guessing, though, that it had a great deal to do with a conversation I had about a book by an old friend named Steve Glenn. The book is called, Raising Self-Reliant Children in a Self-Indulgent World…seven building blocks for developing capable young people.

If I were in charge of such decisions, I’d probably slip it into the Bible between The Gospel According to John and The Acts of the Apostles.

Really!

It came to mind during a conversation about helping a 2nd grader cope with the challenges of remote learning.

The part of me that spent a whole bunch of time hanging out with Steve, and teaching Developing Capable People classes, is convinced that helping this little girl believe that she is significant and capable, and has influence in the world, is probably more helpful in the long run than the math problems on any given day.

And then it occurred to me that most of us could probably use a reminder on that issue, ourselves. I know I could.

Please hear me say that I have nothing against French or math. (Well, maybe I do have some hangups about math.) It’s just that some things form a foundation in each of us which helps all the details actually be useful.

Believing that we are significant, capable, and have influence in our worlds is about as foundational as it gets.

(It is, however, possible to get out of balance and forget that these same truths apply inherently to all of us. This imbalance is sometimes known by names such as megalomania.)

The moral of our story for today, though, is that the world does, in fact, feel all upside down for pretty nearly anybody who’s paying attention. Reminders of changes we’ve navigated before, and tools we’ve learned while doing it, help.

So does modeling taking care of ourselves.

I’m not up for a debate about whether or not we might usefully proclaim, The Word of the Lord after that last sentence. I am, with great certainty, going with, thanks be to God. (Get out that red pen!)

And, if we model taking care of ourselves long enough, it just might become natural!

ps… for more information on the work of Steve Glenn, you might want to check my Grandmothers Are In Charge Of Hope.

pps… The artwork for today is a long gone under-layer of a painting which started out to be named Apothecary. It’s here today to remind us that there is order in the world, beautiful order, if only we remember to look. Think of a rose or a sunflower and you’re there! And, yes, there’s a polling place on the corner!

This past week has been a crash course in healthcare.

A few days ago I called my primary care doc’s office to inquire what the logistical possibilities were for an appointment. They did have phone visits as an option but, since I wanted some lab work done, I went with the choice described to me as “tiny house isolation rooms”.

I was, to say the least, curious. And yes, the photo above is what I found in the parking lot!

Built by a Native American man named Black Fox, just outside the Atlanta Perimeter, these tiny houses reminded me of very classy Newfoundland-sized dog houses!

And, just in case you live nearby and are looking for a doc, I’m so impressed with the Humanizing Medicine gang. Dr. Mark Hancock has, in addition to his M.D., a masters in public health which seems like quite an advantage these days. They’re integratively inclined, mask-wearing people, which I find comforting, and I never felt germ-anxious while I was there! (If you’ve known me longer than about 10 minutes, you probably appreciate the miracle hiding in that sentence!)

Sadly, things in the larger world went downhill from there.

My sister’s grandson was born, on the West Coast, and did, in fact, have the serious heart conditions which seemed likely, given a host of pre-natal scans and tests.

On Tuesday this little guy was in open heart surgery all day. Some progress was made but the surgeons decided to give him a rest and start again when he was stronger.

My understanding, as I write this, is that he was taken back to surgery very early this morning.

Many of you have prayed with us and we are grateful.

I think of this little guy and what he is likely to need into the future. Every now and then the news interrupts my thinking and praying, often with “paid political announcements”. Many of those announcements, as you may have noticed, too, have to do with the pandemic and with healthcare.

All I can see, as I watch those ads, is a battle over the future, not only of our nation, but of the people we love. And we have a choice to make.

That choice means supporting people who don’t think we need healthcare for all. Who are opposed to covering pre-existing conditions. Who behave as though, during a pandemic, some humans deserve the best healthcare available, while hundreds of thousands die of needless exposure and limited access to resources.

Or choosing other people. People who believe, with differing details, in something way closer to universal healthcare coverage. In paying for pre-existing conditions like massive heart defects and all the things that come after such a reality. In everybody having access to the best healthcare there is, along with affordable vaccines when they become available, because very nearly everybody is somebody’s loved one and, ultimately, it’s the right thing to do.

Yes. I’m pissed. And I’ll understand, sadly, if you’re uncomfortable with that.

For today, though, I’m giving thanks for women.

Experts are saying that it is women who will make the difference in this election. Not just the one nominated for Vice President, but the ones like you and me. Daughters, sisters, mothers, partners, godmothers, grandmothers, aunts…

And many, many of us stayed home four years ago.

Now we know more. The world needs every one of our voices. The world needs your voice.

And so I have to ask… What will you speak out for?

Only you can answer for you.

The earlier draft of this post had quite the list here of either/or kinds of choices. Obvious ones, if not terribly clever or suspenseful on my part.

Then, I listened some more, before I pushed Publish, and I heard a voice that’s lived inside me for a long time. A voice that belongs to the writer, Anne Lamott.

So… I decided that the most subversive, revolutionary thing I could do was to show up for my life and not be ashamed.

I’m an artist, and these words are painted into and written on the back of one of my paintings.

I’m also a grandmother. And they’re written on my heart, as well. So, this is part of me showing up.

I’m happy to loan these words to you. (Annie would approve!) And, I’d be beyond grateful if you’re considering what that looks like in your world, too.

ps… this is Reflections, with thanks to Annie.

Let’s start with some professional assurance that if you feel like you can’t tell if you – or the world – is coming or going and can’t begin to figure out what to do next, you’re in exactly the real place!

Here’s a bit of a glimpse of the real world known as mine…

My sister’s grandson was born and everyone is anxiously awaiting big decisions from doctors tomorrow which almost certainly include major heart surgery, now.

I am beyond grateful for all of your prayers and support and so is my family.

On the other hand, there are some changes coming in the local part of my world. I have a new “mechanical” helper almost up to speed for sending blog emails and, well, other things I don’t quite understand yet. Fortunately, transition is not a new concept around here and you are nothing if not flexible!

Our house needs a new roof. This has turned into quite the project. The philosophical decisions have been made which didn’t change the fact that, bright and early this morning, there was a guy with a ladder outside our bedroom window which I take to mean that there is progress on the practical stuff, too.

Seriously contemplating a brief excursion to Camp for the fuzzy kids!

Then, of course, there’s the news. (Along with what passes for news these days.) It is, perhaps, fortunate that I’ve had a couple of days to contemplate the need for words in this moment. The number of index cards in my recycling basket will attest to the pondering!

Let’s rewind a couple of days to Friday. I accepted an invitation to a Zoom-ish sort of meeting at which the speakers were former President Barack Obama, the democratic nominee for Vice President, Sen. Kamala Harris, and an actor who had previously escaped my notice, Michael B. Jordan.

As US politics go, especially these days, it was an intelligent conversation marked by decency and grace.

President Obama borrowed the Biden/Harris slogan and proclaimed:

Yes, we can restore the soul of the nation.

I decided to hang out and see what came next. (For you who are reading along, this was all happening before the announcement was made of the notable new cases of Covid.)

We mused a LOT about voting. Sen. Harris shared that her vote by mail ballot had arrived and that she intended to vote, sitting at her kitchen table, this weekend. President Obama said he also votes by mail as the Secret Service deal tends to slow things down for others at polling places.

That was when it hit me. This is a process – vs – outcome thing. We, you and I, can’t control the outcome of this election, which President Obama claimed will impact every issue we care about. (I’m with him!)

We can’t control the outcome.

We can control our part of the process. We can VOTE. (Well, most of us, which is one of those issues which will be impacted by those of us who can!)

We can help others make plans to vote. Some of us can learn to be poll workers or give people rides.

We can put the emphasis on the things we can do and give less air time to the things we can’t control. (This is me, talking to myself!)

And we can remember, as Sen. Harris reminded us, that we stand on the shoulders of the ancestors… John Lewis, the suffragettes, our grandmothers… those who stood in the face of powerful people who were trying to make it difficult to vote because, when we vote, things change.

We can even, like Michael B. Jordan, choose to appear in very public places wearing sweatshirts reading, Could have been Travon, or whatever feels personal to you.

So, let us, indeed, make a plan to use our Super Powers. To get done what we can get done and make room for doing more.

For now, the outcome I want, and I’m guessing many of you want, is, in fact, to restore the soul of the nation.

But today, and tomorrow, and all the tomorrows it takes, I’m doing process.

Sign a petition. Talk to three friends about their plans to vote. Put a sign in your yard. Make a contribution. DO what you can. And one more request by President Obama… Please, when you talk with people about voting, make sure they understand how crucial it is to vote ALL THE WAY DOWN THE BALLOT!!!

Please.

ps… there’s a passage from one of my sacred texts that I really feel compelled to share because I find it so sustaining in the moment. And I’d love to know what sustains you. If there’s a similar passage for you, please scroll down and comment, or email me at suesvoice@gmail.com

They have told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your Creator?

Micah 6:8

pps… the painting is “In the Beginning”! She volunteered!

Okay. Let’s start with the fact that I did not, in fact, watch the debate last night. Stephen Colbert and Sen. Cory Booker were as much as I could manage.

There was absolutely no possibility that anything said or done in the debate was going to change my mind about whose name to mark on my mail-in ballot. And, my blood pressure tends to run a bit higher than my doc would choose for it to, even on a normal day, whatever that might be in this world.

I went to bed with the music of Jon Batiste swirling in my head and dreamed of the days in the early ’90’s when I was serving a tiny church in Tennessee. One of the things I learned as a new seminary graduate was that Sunday comes, and there has to be something to say.

Or, in my world, these days, Wednesday and Sunday

Two specific times stood out in my dreams. The first was the Sunday before the vote to begin the 1991 Gulf war. The congregation was divided as to party and opinions on military action.

They were also, at that point, still somewhat divided about having a woman for a pastor.

I don’t remember what the lectionary readings were for that Sunday. I’m pretty sure I was preaching from the prophets. I know I was terrified.

Somehow, we made it to the benediction. My version goes like this:

The grace of God Almighty, the love of Christ the Son, and the power and fellowship of God the Holy Spirit be and abide with you and with all those you love, this day and every day, forever.

On that particular day, a few more words snuck in just before the amen:

And may God have mercy on us all.

The second memory swirling through my dreams was of another Sunday in Tennessee. I had spent all of Saturday, and most of Saturday night, at the hospital with a church member. For this moment, let’s just go with she needed me.

And let’s admit that my sermon was not ready Sunday morning.

Some holy inspiration led me to toss the bulletins I’d prepared for the day (which my 11 year old son had carefully folded!) into the recycling and make a fast list of some comforting verses of scripture and some familiar hymns.

Tagging a few members to read, and assuring the piano player that the simple versions would work, we were ready.

Think Lessons and Carols.

Somehow, we survived. And the congregation thought it was great fun.

I suppose that’s kind of where I wound up this morning. A few old stories and a bit of music.

The first piece from Jon Batiste…

And the second, complete with images, an old favorite I just can’t get out of my head. Feel free to sing along!

Grace and Peace be with you and yours according to your understanding.

This isn’t the blog post I was going to write. I was going to share some encouraging news about how I understand my art and my work as a teacher and coach, imagining going forward. And I was excited to share some news about new things in my Etsy shop.

Instead, here’s where I started, last night:

Those stories, though, are going to need to wait until a different day for there is another tale insisting on being told. Now. With the full range of who I am. If you’d prefer the art and camp stories, I totally understand. I would, too. And, while I can’t, you can. Just wander back to the first paragraph, click on Etsy shop and have a ball, knowing that you, too, are doing a great deal of good.

Break for something pretty close to sleeping and some starting over…

It’s been, if you’ll excuse the expression, a bit of a bitch of a weekend. Not so much in a world-shattering kind of way but in a bunch of smaller stuff in the context of the larger lunacy.

Saturday, a disagreement with Facebook over something I wanted to share that they, apparently, had a problem with. Fortunately resolved… eventually. If you’re curious, there’s a video on my personal page. It’s worth all 8 minutes. (You’ll need to scroll down a bit.)

Plus, I hurt. Specifically, my left hip is not behaving at all well. It also means that I need help for lots of things which means lots of explaining.

I wrote last night. In the get it all out sense. It had a lot to do with US politics and how I feel about much of it.

My words were articulate and passionate and spelled correctly. I did the requisite fact checking and determined that they were also true, in so far as I could tell, and given the fact that there are way too many talking heads seemingly not concerned enough with truth just now.

I went to bed with the Iron Chef America tournament of champions rolling around in my head. (It’s what I do when I need a break!)

Oddly, my buddies from Kitchen Stadium ran, somewhere in my consciousness, into yet another tournament of sorts.

You see, on Friday night, while I was matting art prints, I was also watching Shrek. The first one. And I woke up this morning remembering that fairy tales, throughout history, have often served as excellent ways for telling truth, especially to grandchildren, while also keeping one’s head.

Which I really rather hope is the reason the station my TV knows as 54FREE has been running an awful lot of Shrek these days. Check it out, if you’re in the mood. Fair warning… you have to watch clear to the end, including the credits.

The other cool thing about fairy tales is that they give the reader space to make meaning. So, I’m going back to art for today. My first act was to choose art for this post. You’ve probably met her before. Or, rather, them.

Tomorrow, Willow and the Bear are going to their forever home.

It was a journey which surprised me in many ways. What you’re seeing is the first four months or so of work on a painting called Codex that was supposed to be a 13-moon project.

A friend and I worked long hours one evening, each on our own Codex canvas. Eventually, I went to bed with all kinds of magical prompts for calling up deep knowing dancing in my head.

The next morning I woke up and, when I walked past my studio door and glanced at my canvas turned just so on its easel, I saw her.

Willow. An image which looked startlingly like a dear friend’s dog who had just made her trip across the Rainbow Bridge. (Left of center, near the top, if you’re curious.)

I knew, in that moment, that I couldn’t loose her in more layers of unknown. Instead, I started a new Codex journey which involved some scrambling to catch up.

It wasn’t until I looked at a photograph of Willow’s canvas that I saw the bear. About centered, blues and blacks. A Koala.

I adore this painting which surprised me so much! And I’m thrilled that she’s headed for a home where she is already loved and understood. And, somehow, with help from a flock of Iron Chefs, the Shrek crowd, and Willow and the Bear, I woke this morning, ready to go on.

It’s not that I didn’t mean all the ranting from last night. I did, with every fiber of my being. It’s just that I meant it so much I concluded that my job was to give you a chance to find your own truth, just as I did.

And, by truth, I mean not political views I happen to hold (Which would, in fact, be okay!) but the truth of your journey and your voice and your art, whatever it might be.

Before I go, I have a favor to ask. Please consider making hearts. Kind of like prayer dots. If you agree, and if you happen to be a subscriber to this blog (which means you got this via email) and you happen to make those hearts in my Etsy shop, “favoriting” one or some of my works, a magical being I don’t quite understand will email you 10% off coupons for items you marked in the shop. (The coupons may take until tomorrow morning to arrive )

If, however, you’re not yet a subscriber to my blog, you could sign up in the annoying pop-up box, get on the list for some cool welcome emails (which are about to become collectors’ items in their own right) and go do the fav thing on Etsy. The magical being will be delighted to send you coupons, as well.

ps… there is at least one print of Willow and the Bear available now. And, since you know the artist, more could magically be made!

pps… My vote-by-mail ballot arrived Saturday!

Context is, as they say, everything.

A year or so ago, when I shared the following passage in these pages, the magnificent Julie Steelman was teaching some of us about financial sovereignty for women.

In this moment, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who has taught, and fought for, so many of us through the years has passed on.

Here is some of what she was fighting against…

A man and wife are one person in law; the wife loses all her rights as a single woman, and her existence is entirely absorbed in that of her husband. He is civilly responsible for her acts, she lives under his protection or cover, and her condition is called coverture.

A woman’s body belongs to her husband; she is in his custody, and he can enforce his right by a writ of habeas corpus.

What was her personal property before marriage, such as money in hand, money at the bank, jewels, household goods, clothes, etc., becomes absolutely her husband’s, and he may assign or dispose of them at his pleasure whether he and his wife live together or not.

A wife’s chattels real (i.e., estates) become her husband’s.

Neither the Courts of Common law nor Equity have any direct power to oblige a man to support his wife…

The legal custody of children belongs to the father. During the life-time of a sane father, the mother has no rights over her children, except limited power over infants, and the father may take them from her and dispose of them as he sees fit.

A married woman cannot sue or be sued for contracts — nor can she enter into contracts except as an agent of her husband; that is to say, her word alone is not binding in law…

A husband and wife cannot be found guilty of conspiracy, as that offense cannot be committed unless there are two persons.

Now, a couple of questions.

What did you notice as you read? What did you wonder?

I’m betting that one of the things you’re wondering about is the source of this quote. I learned it from Carolyn Heilbrun’s magnificent book, Writing A Woman’s Life. The quote itself is from a pamphlet, Married Women and the Law by Barbara Leigh Smith Bodichon in the USA, 1854.

It’s true that many of us are in a different place, today.

But, just in case you think we haven’t quite made it to the world we’d like our granddaughters to grow up in… or our grandsons, for that matter… what, then, do we do?

I can only speak for myself.

Prayer dots and tears, for a start.

Petitions to the Senate. Several of them, already. Insisting that a nominee for Ginsburg’s Supreme Court seat not be considered or confirmed until the national election is complete.

Working harder even than before for the candidates I trust.

It’s a challenge. I’m having a bit of an orthopedic adventure at the moment and delivering yard signs or knocking on doors or learning to be a poll worker aren’t really viable options for me. And we’re not exactly overflowing with spare cash in the moment.

But I have words. And a way to share the words of others. Kind of my own microscopic news organization. One that I, unlike some of the big kids, freely admit is biased. It’s biased toward the future we are creating in this moment. It’s biased toward upholding laws and norms my girls don’t even know once needed fighting for.

And I have fierce compassion. I’m giving it away. All you need or want, to put to work in your world.

Oh, and I have a painting I’m working on. Collaging names of my grandmothers. And a new grandmother. Ruth Bader Ginsburg. May her hopes and dreams for us and for all the generations to come be so.

Amen. Amen. Selah.