Category: Art Journey

Once upon a time, a long time ago, in about 1986, I was sitting in a classroom at Eckerd College, listening to an amazing teacher named David Cozad. He was talking about hope.

Now, somewhat typically for me, I remember what David said, though not the name of whomever might have said it first. So, with thanks all around, I’ll tell you about the three kinds of hope which have been with me ever since then.

The first kind of hope is Optimistic Hope. It’s the kind of thing we feel when we hope the one we love will like the birthday gift we chose. Or that the rain, which flooded our basement, has moved on to the folks out West who so desperately need it.

Pessimistic Hope comes next. This is the Murphy’s Law perspective… anything that could possibly go wrong will, and in the worst way imaginable.

The third kind is Fantastic Hope which basically holds that our most amazing dreams for ourselves (and each other) can and will come true. Soon.

This has been a week for all three. And, yes, I watched virtually ALL of the Democratic Convention. (Well, the prime time part )

There’s one more piece of learning we need to remember before we go on.

If we keep doin’ what we’ve been doin’ we’ll keep gettin’ what we’ve got!

I’m guessing you’re hearing me.

So perhaps you won’t be too surprised when I tell you there’s more to this story.

On Friday evening, having lots of work to do and no convention to watch, I happened upon Sister Act 2 – back in the habit somewhere in the universe of smart tv.

I love Whoopi Goldberg but the star for me, in this moment, was the scrawny, geeky kid who quit doing what he’d been doing. Which is to say that, in front of all his classmates and the nun-teachers, much to everyone’s amazement, he opened his mouth and sang. Sang as in jaw dropping, glass shattering, award worthy, heart at work singing.

I, who will make you all much happier if I don’t sing, think what happened was that he, finally, found some fantastic hope deep inside and just went with it. He did something different.

There are a few different things on my list just now. And I’ll be sharing them over the next couple of weeks. First a reminder.

I was not known (growing up) as the artistic kid. Three years ago, just now, I picked up a paint brush and changed my life.

And, I expect I’ve been pondering these things in the post-convention days for a reason.

Somebody put a comment on Facebook that said Joe Biden is the lesser of two evils.

I responded that maybe, just maybe, with gratitude to Dr. Estes, Joe was born for this moment.

You see, I also learned that it was after the Charlottesville, VA massacre, just three years ago, that Joe decided to run for president again.

Now, this blog post isn’t supposed to be about politics (which means, by the way, of the people). It’s about not doing the old things over and over again that keep getting us what we’ve got, but don’t necessarily want. It’s about hope. Possibly in the face of terror.

So, today I’ll be posting one of my paintings, along with her story, in a group of 3 or 4,000 women I don’t know. And telling them where they might find me if they wanted to know more. Which, for me, is a fairly extroverted thing to do. I’m blaming it, with gratitude, on another of my teachers, Shiloh Sophia McCloud.

And, with help from some dear, talented friends named Veronica and Leisa, my fledgling Etsy shop is sufficiently fluffed for me to invite you to visit FierceArtWithHeart.

And, one of my paintings has been hung in an online museum art show. The opening event for artists is Wednesday, August 26th. (I’ll keep you posted!)

None of those things is going to fix the pandemic or global warming. They are, though, fantastic hope at work. With thanks both to my teachers and to my students, it’s a pretty great way to be!

ps… the painting is a background layer which no longer exists in this dimension. It carries my thanks for the call to Wade in the Water from this afternoon’s Red Madonna church service and prayers for all those in the path of fires and hurricanes, hoping for just the right amount of water.

VOTE!

Okay, you’ve got to admit that when the big name CNN talking heads are very nearly speechless, it’s been quite a day. Or, in this case two days with one to come.

Yes, I’ve been watching the Democratic Convention. And crying. And filling up a bunch of those shiny new index cards.

Let’s start with a quote from an intelligent, articulate American who wasn’t there. An amazing storyteller, Dr. Walter Brueggemann was one of my seminary professors and is a prolific Hebrew bible scholar. In order to share his words, I’ll need a little help from you.

Imagine if you would, a no-longer-young guy in Birkenstock sandals and those socks with the no odor stitching across the toes, rubbing his shiny head with one hand and proclaiming, in a rather thundering sort of voice, that:

There are no innocent readers.

What he meant by that (I’m pretty sure!) is that we’re all filtering what we read and hear through our very individual, and largely non-conscious, maps of reality.

I know it’s true for me. And I’ll admit, here and now, that I believed Michelle Obama when she said on Monday night that,

Things can and will get worse!

So, I have a plan. Voting.

Vote JOE!

There’s a bit more I need to share about my filters. I wanted Bernie Sanders to win the nomination. And let me take a moment to say how grateful I am for Bernie and Jane.

So I sat, as Monday and Tuesday ran together, knitting prayer scarves and demolishing really dark chocolate and crying my way through the convention.

And I listened, while I prayed and cried. And an answer found me, as it often will when I listen. This time in the voice of Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes!

Do not lose heart. We were made for these times.

Joe Biden wasn’t my first choice. But, Joe is clearly one of “we” and it’s entirely possible that he was born for this time.

So I ordered a Biden-Harris sign for my garden and am editing my Bernie Sanders sign so that it reads, “For Majority Leader!” (Which is, I might add, a whole other reason to vote!)

PLEASE Vote Joe!

And I listened and prayed and cried some more. And another one of my heroes spoke. Stacey Abrams said something pretty close to this:

It is not by taking sides, but by taking stock of where we are and what we need, that we move forward.

Or, as my Red Thread sisters, spattered in paint, would say, it is by being intentional.

And I heard Bernie, again, saying:

Together we must work toward building a world that is more compassionate, equitable, and inclusive.

As intentions go, it works for me. And, from an odd place called Motherboard-land, where I learned about thinking about thinking while moving a pen, Joe is whole enough and ready enough. And that, when you get right down to it, is what there is.

Please Vote Joe NOW!

Or, as the late Congressman John Lewis said:

When you pray, move your feet!

One of those who’s been known to move her feet quite a bit is former First Lady, Michelle Obama. Someplace I happened upon a quote in which she said, of the Obamas’ time in the White House:

I woke up every day for eight years in a house built by slaves.

I knew that. Academically. It sounded different in this moment as she reminded us that each of the the 30 billion lives in this country has value and worth. Then she called us to join in going high.

Which was a bit ironic by Tuesday evening when a whole lot of newer generation Americans claimed, from all over the nation, that this battle for the soul of our nation was a big f’in deal.

Here’s the thing. It is a big f’in deal. For us and for all the world.

I know this because I have two granddaughters growing up in this world. I’m also a granddaughter.

My Gramma Elsie came from people who arrived in America on a boat called the Mayflower. She was about 30 years old (depending on whether you believed her or my Aunt Em!) the first time she was able to vote.

My Granny Elizabeth came from people I’ve managed to follow back to England and Wales, including some folks named Mathias who were, as legend holds, a very determined bunch, indeed.

Both of these amazing women were adamant Republicans, but, as I learned watching The West Wing, politics in this country changed with the advent of television and I would claim that they changed again in these times of social media. Twitter, for one obvious example.

The Voting Rights Act in 1965 also changed our political identities.

And, knowing the wise, caring, engaged people both of my grandmothers were, I’m entirely confident that they’d vote for Joe now, too, if only they could.

Bernie is right.

The future of our democracy, our economy, and our planet is at stake!

Also right is another wise, caring, engaged woman named Dr. Jill Biden, who said this:

If you listen closely you can hear the sparks of change in the air. We haven’t given up.

There will be more words, many more, to come, but for now I’ll give the final words to John Legend.

ps… if you’re intrigued by the thinking about thinking thing, email me. suesvoice@gmail.com ! You, too, are whole enough and ready enough!

pps… The painting is a bit of my Muse painting from Color of Woman 2020, known as Muse Eyes. Soon she’ll be welcoming you to my new Etsy shop!

pops… As a wise friend just reminded me, Bernie can’t be Majority Leader because he’s an Independent. It was a lovely dream…

Last night I dreamed about climbing trees. My hip, it should be pointed out, was not in favor of the adventure!

There was a kid named Olaf who lived in the house behind us in Illinois and had an awesome weeping willow in his yard. I was about 10 at the time and I suspect it’s the last time I did the literal climbing thing.

And, no, I wasn’t any good at climbing ropes in gym class either!

Last night’s dream trees, however, weren’t a huge surprise. You see, I’d spent most of the day climbing about in the land of online family trees which feel, to me, more like Banyan trees than the more usual kind with one trunk!

Armed with a bunch of handwritten stuff from my sister, who seems to have inherited the genealogy fetish in our family, my hip and I spent hours and hours hunting the folks my cousin Chris always referred to as the old farts.

Wow, are there a bunch! (And a bunch more work to do!!!)

I’ve also been pondering trees to put in my new Etsy shop. At the moment it’s mostly mythical divine feminine type original paintings. (Getting it to exist has involved at least as huge a learning curve as the genealogy site!)

My brilliant and talented print guy is now on board, though, and I’ll be adding more and more options this week. Including some abstract pieces that no longer exist in this dimension!

This morning brought a surprise, though, as mornings often do. My dear friend, Peggy Meador, has passed on to the place where pain and suffering are no more.

If you’ve been reading along a while, you already know Peggy, even though you probably don’t realize it. Peggy was the real life elder who called me on the phone one dark and stormy night and literally changed my life.

Peggy was the one who opened the door to my learning that I wanted to be “one of those five people” for as many kids as I could, and teach others to do that, too. (Boardman, Grandmothers Are In Charge Of Hope, pg. 1)

I’ve been telling that story a lot lately. With all the pandemic news and the racial unrest and the political lunacy, it feels like we need more of those five people than, perhaps, any time since I first learned the story.

That story is about to take a new form in my world.

My SoulWork project, SuperPower SelfPortraits (or SP2, for short!) is about to be available remotely, by video. (Stay tuned!!!)

Bringing this passion to life in a form that can be shared involves quite the learning curve for me. I suspect my ancestors felt something similar when they boarded the Mayflower. Or, many generations later, a much less famous boat bound for the USA from Sweden.

And those are just the stories I know! There are more to learn and some of the ones calling my name come from France and Italy. In fact, I’m about to “go” to France, with my dear friend Laura, on a virtual pilgrimage having to do with stories and art.

Which feels a bit like this lady you’ve seen before…

Her official name is What the World Needs Now, but I realized yesterday, as I wandered through centuries of family, with her standing watch nearby, that she may also be what geneticists refer to as the mitochondrial Eve, my grandmother. And yours. Which, when you get right down to it, may be exactly what the world needs now!

ps… Blessings to all those dealing with school in whatever way!

So, yesterday I was watching YouTube music videos and catching up on my email. It took me a minute to realize I was also crying.

You know, like Frederick Buechner says that the sudden flash of tears we get is the surest sign of truth we have.

Now, I’ve loved Piano Man for ages. And, yes, I know all the words. But this was different. I’d never seen or heard this version before. It was from the Gershwin Awards in 2014. Billy Joel won for Piano Man.

And so I watched. Really watched the video:

First of all, did you catch Tony Bennett in the gang on stage? I was raised on Tony Bennett and very glad he was there, older than I remembered, but still smiling. (And did you know he’s a painter, too???)

I listened on. And watched. And cried.

The second time through, I figured out why. It was the crowd. Both on-stage and in the audience. Different ages and colors and backgrounds. All singing a song that ties many, many of us together in our memories and, perhaps, our dreams.

At the risk of overstating the obvious, I think most of us are dreaming of a day when it would be safe for ourselves and for others to be in a room like that, singing and waving our arms and being a live part of such an event. I know I am.

I’m also dreaming of a time when we could be together in all of our vast and miraculous diversity; one song, many voices.

And then another song from another time. And another song from a different land. And on and on, celebrating both diversity and connection.

I’m not sure which of those dreams seems farther off in this moment.

I am sure of this. Bill and I voted on Friday. Me, by hand-delivered, mail-in ballot. Bill, in person, early.

Nothing major in a newsworthy sense. But very real in the place where we live. It matters who the next county super district commissioner will be. (Yay, Ted!) It matters who the sheriff will be. And the local court judges. And the school board members.

It’s entirely possible that it matters more now than ever. The things that seem little, or hopeless, add up. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll add up to better. Safer. Kinder. Wiser.

I’d add less corrupt to the list but it louses up my parallel structure

Just know this, I’m working on a time when our dreams can come true. Even if there are folks who think that grandparents like me aren’t worth worrying about and would, in fact, improve the economy if we had the good sense to die.

And, with all due respect to Billy, we may have to take a break from forgetting about life for a while, if we’re going to pull this one off!

ps… If the photo at the top had a title it would be The Thinking Goes On. Thanks, Levengers!

My world has been – shall we say – worth noticing lately.

Not me, so much, as the things I’ve been learning. It’s had a lot to do with the notion of limiting beliefs. Or, rather, non-limiting beliefs.

I used to believe that I was camera-phobic. I wanted to hide photos with me in them. This week, I’ve spent big chunks of several days in partnership with a camera making demo videos for one of my art workshops.

And I don’t hate the videos! (A bit more practice would be okay, too.)

I went to an online demo for something called Podia. I have more to learn but it is, according to a wise friend of mine, going to help me get those videos delivered to people along with helpful things like materials lists and background info. I really, really want to share this journey so I’ve decided to believe I can.

And I’ve decided not to let my dreams be limited by so many of the things happening in the world around me. I’ve decided that the call of the late Congressman John Lewis to get into good trouble means me, too.

Good trouble, if you boil it down, means basically letting go of our own limiting beliefs and refusing to be belittled by the limiting beliefs of others.

I spent a while last night watching John Lewis… celebrating a hero. I’ve already noticed that good trouble can be a bit lonely, depending on where we’re used to hanging out, so I went, virtually, to hang out with a whole lot of folks who get it.

More and more of us, declining to be limited by our beliefs or our gender or our skin color or our age or our struggles.

I was 7 years old in 1965. In all honesty, there were two things I “knew” about Lyndon B. Johnson. He picked his beagles up by the ears and my parents were emphatically opposed to him.

I assumed, in the way of most children, that he must be a bad man. At the very least, he was more complex than I’d been led to believe. That he signed the Voting Rights Act of 1965 was a huge act of laying down limiting beliefs.

Sadly, while it changed the law, it has clearly not changed the hearts of all Americans. Including many of those in power at this moment.

I’m not sure who the speaker was who said, “John Lewis chose to make the last public appearance of his life at Black Lives Matter Plaza in Washington, D. C.” during the TV memorial last night. I was too busy writing it down.

I do know that I’m grateful for that very emphatic statement just outside this White House.

I also know that the way forward is not simple. There was a political ad on TV last night that scared me. Sadly, the people I consider to be “the other guys” in our political journey have way too much money to pay for really powerful messages. Messages that all-too-effectively play on the fears of voters struggling with the very limitations those paying for the ads would continue to impose on them.

That’s one of the things “the other guys” have in common with many of the ones I think should know better. Playing on human fears and blaming those fears on “them” works way too well, often in the wrong direction.

Or, as my Qigong guru, Chunyi Lyn, would say, “That which we resist, persists.”

It’s time to change the conversation. Time to be actively for respect and equality. For an economy that works for all of us. For accessible healthcare and good schools. For the rule of law. For a color blind system of real justice. For humanity.

Here’s why it’s hard. I, who deeply believe all those things I just listed and who have more facility with language than many, spent over an hour trying to write the paragraph just above this one. Every choice of this word or that is filled with danger. The danger of offending. Of being judged. Of wanting to be understood. The danger of not being enough.

But I am enough. Enough to speak out. And so are you.

And just in case you’re reading these words in another nation, the same things are still important. The details and the news may be different, but the things which really matter, matter everywhere and for everyone.

Which, when you get right down to it, is really the point of good trouble.

So be it. Amen. Amen. Selah.

ps… I’m not much of an astronomer, but the image is called, North Star. It’s a bit of my first Legend painting.

A while back, I read a book called When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams. I chose it mostly because Anne Lamott described it as, “Brilliant, meditative, and full of surprises, wisdom, and wonder.”

I think it was the “wonder” that hooked me most. I am a fan of noticing and wondering.

And of Anne Lamott!

Anyway, the book had wandered home with a friend of mine, as books so often do.

Last Friday, it wandered back, along with Phoebe’s new eye medicine. As soon as I had it in my hands — It has a very sexy cover! — I knew exactly where it needed to go next. But first, I needed some page flipping.

And there it was. On page 100, Ms. Williams wrote:

Muriel Rukeyser asked the question “What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.”

Just in case you’re where I was, recognizing the name but sketchy on the details, Wikipedia is happy for us to know that:

Muriel Rukeyser (December 15, 1913 – February 12, 1980) was an American poet and political activist, best known for her poems about equality, feminism, social justice, and Judaism. Kenneth Rexroth said that she was the greatest poet of her “exact generation.”

Wikipedia will gladly tell you more about Kenneth Rexroth, too, but it’s almost time to feed the dogs and I’m on a roll.

Never mind for a moment that being the greatest poet of one’s “exact generation” sounds like a really cool business card to have, I read on, already knowing where we were headed.

Reproductive choice.

Birth control. Surgical pregnancy prevention. Abortion. The Supreme Court.

(Well, that last is my addition.)

A little more than 100 pages later, the book nears its conclusion with these words:

The world is already split open, and it is in our destiny to heal it, each in our own way, each in our own time, with the gifts that are ours.

If telling the exact truth of our lives — women’s lives — or painting that same truth, or quilting it, or baking it into a loaf of bread, or using that truth to run for Congress helps heal the splits in the world, I’m in.

And I’ve made a bit of a beginning.

The books are here.

The artwork, here.

And, very soon, more opportunities to join with me in workshops with the power to help us live into our own sacred assignments and to help out with the world splitting thing.

ps… in many places in the US, it’s about to be voting time for run-offs, which just might help heal the world, too.

pps… one of my granddaughters finished a race yesterday which included a 400 meter swim, a 20 km bike ride, and a 5 km run, in 1 hour and 35 min! She and her younger sister are counting on you, too!

ppps… if you haven’t already subscribed to this blog, please do. It’s the best way to keep up with the new stuff!