Category: Phoebe and Luther

I have been a huge fan of the writer, Irving Stone, since I was in high school. My first encounter was Those Who Love, a biographical novel of John and Abigail Adams. I still consider it one of my more useful history texts, along with the play and movie, 1776.

Twenty five years or so later, I practically inhaled The Agony and the Ecstasy. This amazing account of the life and faith journey of Michelangelo struck a chord deep inside me long before I picked up a paintbrush.

One of my favorite scenes was young Michelangelo, as an apprentice, spending years learning to grind minerals and gem stones into pigments for paint.

I, personally, am pretty fond of Dick Blick when it comes to buying paint. It has, however, been a weekend in the life of the artist kind of time at our house.

Tomorrow, I have a workshop. My first in the classroom at Jabula Dog Academy. For a few hours, the dog beds known as “place” will be set against the walls,  while tables and chairs and easels will be set up for about a dozen artists.

It’s a big room and my dear friend Kate, whose space it is the rest of the week, doesn’t care if a bit of paint spills on the concrete floor. This is big for art classes!!!

The prep work has taken quite a bit of help. The young man next store who paints with me did an extra background for one participant who is flying home tomorrow morning and may be running a bit late.

The Legendary Husband has schlepped and toted and hunted and gathered like a champ.

My sample painting is complete. As is the sign for the front door of the classroom.

I was feeling really good about the plan and the progress until we were setting up furniture this afternoon. Suddenly, as I headed up a short, but rather steep, ramp from one room to another, the place in my calf that “popped” a couple of weeks ago and has been feeling better for the last few days, “popped” again.

It’s actually an auditory sensation. Not to mention the pain. And the timing is, well, pretty lousy.

So, back to the magic chair tonight. Small prints to mat and package. Larger Giclées to put in temporary frames.  And, I suspect Bill might agree that there’s been a little more directing involved than would otherwise be optimal!

We have roses and chocolate and nuts and even some shortbread biscuits straight from Scotland. I have four flavors of tea and a marvelous new machine to make the water hot.

We still need ice!!!

Mostly though, I have an intention.

The quote from a song by an old friend named Jim Morgan came to me while I was reviewing my outline.

You gotta do the things that you pray. 

It’s Sunday now and there’s a glimpse of my painted intention above. Interesting that this particular quote should show up on Grandparents Day.

There are a whole lot of things I can’t change in this moment, but I can help women claim their power and envision a world that works better for all of us, which happens to be what I pray for my girls every day.

Anyway, the workshop went really well, in the sense that everybody tried new things and learned about themselves and noticed, as they listened to each other, that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t the only ones who might have a limiting belief or two that had been holding them back, which then makes room for new beliefs that help create new futures.

There’s only a little bit of paint on the floor. I more or less managed to stand up long enough and am giving thanks for the new wheelie chair and lots of help from Jabula friends and paint friends and the Legendary Husband. Phoebe and Luther are really glad their dinner was only a little bit late.

Next month, we’re going to do it again. I’m excited already, though I’m going to need some more time with my leg up. And some more of the magic Hawaiian joint and muscle oil!

For now, I’m just really, really glad I decided I might be an artistic kid after all!

 

 

I’ve been thinking about language a lot, lately.

It’s not the first time!

I graduated from seminary in 1990, right in the midst of a major “discussion” in my denomination about the issue of gender inclusive language. Hymn books became a major battleground. Reading scripture, a land mine.

One morning I read from the passage known as the Beatitudes in an inclusive translation:

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God (Mt. 5:9).

There was audible muttering in the pews. And one woman burst into tears.

She hugged me at the end of the service and said, “When you read children instead of men, I felt included in the peacemakers for the first time in my life!”

Very nearly 30 years later, it seems to me as though we’ve had time to get used to radical notions like that and might consider moving on, though there are those who adamantly disagree.

More recently, I’ve been thinking about the extent to which we native English speaking folks, at least, use visual language so automatically.

I catch myself at it daily. “Luther, look over here.”

“Luther, see this…”

“Luther, watch out!”

Luther, as you probably know, is our Newfoundland rescue dog who lost his eyesight, due to a combination of negligent decisions that make me shudder even to think of them.

He’s doing really well, but he does need some extra auditory cues. Alas, pointing doesn’t help either, which is a struggle for me after years of training dogs with hand signals.

When it’s time for a trip outside, the routine goes a lot like this.

Open the door. Say “door.” Then, “Yes!” which is our universal word for “well done” or “good dog”, which I try to avoid from long years of coaching parents.

Then comes, “Step” to get him over the threshold and another “Yes!”

Then, we follow him out to the top of the deck steps and it’s time again for “Step” and “Yes!”

After that the muscle memory kicks in and he knows what comes next.

This happens three-four-five times a day.

And every time, I think about all the folks we’re leaving out, or not helping as much as we might be, simply by our choice of language.

He’s learning, “touch” which means to reach with his nose to know where he is which is especially good in interior doorways.

And, he’s also getting the hang of “right” and “left”!

A friend of mine, whose English is a great deal better than my Spanish, chats with him in Spanish and he wags and does the universal safe, happy dog move of rolling belly up for a rub.

I often wonder how many things might work better in our world if we all worked hard on language about abilities and ethnicity and gender diversity and family relationships, focusing on like instead of different.

I also think about images a lot and firmly believe that empowered feminine images by women artists in a world dominated for centuries by men, and often absent of images, have experiences of inclusion to offer all our children.

All it really takes is awareness. Changed hearts. And, for some of us, sparkly pink cowgirl boots!

We start by changing our own language and images in the ways our hearts lead us and trust that others will hear and see. Slowly, perhaps. Too slowly.

But we start, wherever we are today, because it matters.

Which is, when you think about it, a whole lot lot learning from a sweet, huge dog who happens not to be able to see.

He and Phoebe do, however, excel as studio angels!

And, lest she feel left out, Phoebe would also like to remind you that through August 25th, we will donate 15% of my proceeds from all art sales on my Fine Art Marketplace page to Grandmothers Against Gun Violence.

I’m also supposed to tell you that one of our paintings has an awesome big blue Newfoundland in it!