Pitcher & Blueberries

Pitcher & Blueberries, 8x8 Oil on canvas.   Bid on eBay


This is from my stash.  I painted this in December and was saving it while I accumulated a body of work suitable for gallery representation.  I particularly liked the background in this one and the sexy, lost edges on my Longaberger pitcher.   I also love the arrangement of the blueberries; the way they pile then softly spill and gently roll away.  Some to the floor.  One was stepped on. Fruiticide is not uncommon in my studio.  :(  

This painting, as I said, is from December, my otherwise past life.  An era gone by.  A time forgotten.  This was a time when I was dodging visits to mom or else running her errands.  Buying her Ensures, taking her to dr appointments.  My husband took care of her bills while I did all the follow up calls to the incompetent billing departments who could never get the billing vs. payments straight.  That was then.  It seemed as though it could go on forever.  No end in sight.  Were it not for her Alzheimer's mom was in fairly good health and in her 70's.  I could see at least 10, maybe 20 more years of this.  So I settled in.  Got comfortable in my role.  Learned to love this new person and new responsibility to me.

And I did love her.  She was fragile and getting more so week by week.  She began losing weight.  Gradually but steadily.  She developed a bed sore.  No matter the care she received from her caregivers at the facility, it worsened.  In fact, became so bad it seemed to become the focus of attention.  Morphine was given and dressings were changed regularly but it persisted and worsened regardless.

I purchased a canister of protein supplement powder, the kind athletes use, to help her body repair the damage but it wasnt enough.  Especially since she began to refuse nourishment.  I was asked to consider hospice.  Hospice?  For my mom?  I could hardly believe what I was hearing.  Hospice always meant to me that a person was in the last days of their life.  I didnt see that as a reality.  What I saw was my mother degenerating but I accepted that it would likely go on for an inconceivably long time.


I spoke to hospice who did, in fact, admit her but I was told that many, many people will stabilize and "graduate" off of hospice. Some go off and on hospice several times.  So it was my new perception that mom just needed a little extra help to get her through this bed sore issue then she would probably, most likely, definitely "graduate back to her current status.


Hospice became a new era for me.  In this era I educated.  Sadly, we so often learn our valuable lessons far to late in life.  I wish I had be wiser sooner.  Here I was, 48 years old and only now realizing, really realizing, who my mother was.  I began to see her, not through the eyes of her child but as an individual watches another individual.  As her child, I couldnt see the forest for the trees.  But during the hospice interview, questions were asked which planted seeds in my thoughts.  Questions.  I evaluated mom from a whole new perspective.


Hospice changes things.  Mortality for one.  And if you will go there: retrospective.  The possibility of moms death was a springboard to the reality of her life.  And how the reality of her life molded mine. 

Pears And Grapes #2,  Oil on Canvas. 

I have taken on a looser brush it seems.  It's interesting that as I write  the events of my past I see my painting techniques unfold in new patterns.  It has always been a goal of mine to paint looser.  Actually, I find that is a goal of many artists.  Not that painting photo-realistic is easier, but it seems the way of the beginner most of the time.  We learn to paint an apple by looking at the apple and then we paint what we see.  Loosening up requires a shift in the thought process.  For me anyway.  It would be unreasonable for me to assume how other artists approach their techniques.

I'm not sure if I can explain my process yet as I'm not sure I completely understand it myself.  It's like a place I go to when I'm painting where I dont have so many restrictions.  It's like no one is looking over my shoulder anymore and it's just for me.  I cant say for sure that I felt restricted before just that I feel less restricted now.  I dont know how long I will be able to achieve this technique or if it was accidental.  Only time will tell for sure.

If you will indulge me for a moment once again I'd like to explore another experience with mom.  When I first put her in assisted living, I had hoped that would solve much of my chaos.  In fact, it did not.  She called me daily.  Several times daily. Sometimes every 15 minutes.  She fell into a deep depression and I was told she needed a "more structured environment" aka: an Alzheimer's facility.  That was the last time she used my name.

I was told that moms dementia had escalated and the assisted living facility she was in gave her to much freedom and hence to many decisions to make thus causing her frustration and ultimately, fear and depression.  Dad was no longer there to call the shots and direct her.  Of course, I see that now.

The new facility was great.  The staff was loving and considerate to the residents.  Their aim was preserving dignity.  I saw that.  I also saw mom living amongst people nearly catatonic in some cases and 'delightfully addled" in others.  That worried me but mom never questioned any decisions I made.  She never argued with me.  In fact, she rarely talked anymore.  A few words at a time was all she could manage and often they were random words not relating to anything.  She was declining. 

I dont know if she remembered who I was and I was afraid to ask.  Visitation was harder and harder as I was the only one talking and I would run out of things to say quickly.  I learned to never ask questions.  It caused pain and frustration when she tried to answer.   I was responsible for her well being and I had no idea what I was doing.  I feared I was not doing enough.

It wasnt until several years later that I finally figured out the key.  Several years.  The things that went through my head in that time.  My mom was healthy were it not for her Alzheimer's.   Healthy enough anyway.  I didnt see an end in sight.  I didnt know if that was good or bad.  I had guilt.  I began to consider my own arrangements should I be diagnosed with the same disease.  I would not want it to drag out like this.  My mother was not thriving.  She was barely surviving.  I had no idea if she even remembered her faith.  She quit asking about dad.  She quit talking period.  She slept most of the time.  She ate only when the staff reminded her to.  Then she would sleep again.

My visits went from daily to weekly to every two weeks.  What difference did it make?  Everyday I'd count down the days until my next visit until I couldnt put it off anymore.  Then, after I left, a brief feeling of relief that I was okay for another two weeks.  I dreaded it.  Dont get me wrong, I loved my mom.   I hated what what happening to her.  I was an orphan in the making - or was I one already?

Super Red Apple, 6x6 oil on canvas.  Bid on eBay.

This is a new palette for me.  I suppose it is analogous as the colors are side by side on the color wheel: red, orange and purple but with the added interest of reds compliment - green.  I think it gives the painting a dreamy appeal.  Subdued to a degree.  I see my palette coming down these days.  Gone are the chiaroscuro dramas or the high key explosively happy little pieces.   This painting is soft, romantic and, like I mentioned, dreamy.  In my opinion anyway.

I painted this about two weeks ago.   It was just before my husband whisked me away on a two week road trip to New Mexico.  I needed a vacation.  Or better said, I needed a distraction.


As I've mentioned in previous posts, my father passed away and I found myself in the position of caring for my mother who, it turned out, had Alzheimer's.  HAD.  As it turns out, when the primary caretaker of an Alzheimer's patient passes away (and they generally do when they are the spouse, it seems) the patient loses the one thing that keeps them grounded and can spiral downhill rapidly.  This was explained to me by the local Alz facility.   And spiral she did.  Within one week after dads death, it was clear mom was no longer who I thought she was.  Keep in mind, dad had never mentioned moms illness nor did he mention she was diagnosed by a neurologist several years previously.  But the elephant was in the room none the less.

So there I was with some hard choices to make without the backup of a diagnosis.  Sure, I took her to the dr.  The nurse said it was normal for her to have these lapses following the death of a spouse.   But I felt the nurse was not seeing the big picture.  The dr gave her a 10 min memory test - which she somehow passed and sent us home.   My life became pure chaos at that point.  Mom was definitely not fine.  I saw it and so did moms neighbor who eventually convinced me to do the unthinkable.  Put her in a home.  But even that wasnt enough.  

My life became a series of dr visits, facility visits.  Phone calls with lawyers, drs, nurses, CPA's, brokers, insurance agents.. you name it.  Every flat surface in my house was covered with moms paperwork in an effort to settle dads estate and care for mom.  Every day I had projects to deal with regarding moms health, well being and estate.  I had her home to clean (48 years of marriage) and prepare to sell, not to mention my own home and small farm to keep up.   I was taxed.  My brain was turning to mush.  I was unprepared for this and unqualified.  I do not do details.  I wanted things to go back to the way they were.  I wanted dad back and I wanted to pretend mom was fine, just fine.  I wanted to be selfish again.


Things were crazy but I knew they were not unique.  I was one in a hundred million other folks in the same desperate scenario.  And who was I to feel sorry for myself?  It was my mother who needed compassion.  She was the one who was losing her mind.  And she knew it.  She didnt understand what was happening and it scared her.  I knew what was happening and it really scared me.  I had a pretty good idea what lay ahead but I had no idea how long it would take.  All I could do was watch and wait.  I never told her she had Alzheimer's.   


Those were desperate times.  Keeping it together was a full time job.  Painting was a drug.  Once the brush was wet with paint the world could stop spinning and I would be none the wiser.  Those were my chiaroscuro days.   Thankfully (?), those days are behind me.

 










 

BluePearry #2

BluePearry #2, 6x6 oil on canvas.  Bid on eBay

This is a painting over a painting.  That's not unusual I'm told.  Many, many artists have done so.  Some to save on materials.  This wasnt a green project though.  I have an armory of canvas and back up of paint.  The only thing I ever lack would be subjects since I'm not a huge fruit eater just a fruit painter.

I painted over part of this painting because it wasnt right.  I had 2 pears.  And the background was light.  Bright.  I couldnt live with it and actually had it in the burn pile.  Generally, once a painting is dry, it's done.  I dont like painting on a dry surface. But if I was going to make this painting 'right' I was going to have to get over it and work it.  This was going to be a challenge for me and possibly take the fun out of it.   Yet, for whatever reason, I went for it.

I repainted the background taking out a pear.  I scraped off the new background leaving a mess.  I repainted again.  Nope.  Again - this time darker.  I stepped back.  Really?  Why so much effort for a 6x6?  Why not? I like the darker.  It works for me.  I like the way some of the blueberries disappear in the dark.  And I really like the pot bellied pear and the way it pops against the blues.  More paint.  Gotta see those brush strokes.  Just a tad of light in the upper right.  In order to do this right I had to remix blueberry and  pear colors  and repaint edges. 

At the end of the day, I was happy with my new painting, re-signed and put it aside to dry.

I put more effort into things these days.  Someone once told me, "if it's worth doing, it's worth doing right".  I've given that a lot of thought, believe it or not. Folding clothes, loading the dishwasher, day to day whatevers and most definitely - painting.  That saying creeps into my thoughts at the most inconvenient times it seems.  No more eeking by. No more scurrying through.  If I'm going to do it, I better do it right.  And once again I ask, "why not?"  What else am I going to do?  What's the hurry? 

I have the rest of my life to accomplish the rest of my life.  But what if I didnt?  What if the rest of my life was imprisoned in an uncooperative body unwilling and unable to accomplish - anything?  What if I have the Alzheimer's gene and lose my mind - literally?  Once the mind is gone, so is the body.  And then what?  I know what. I saw it.  I saw it from the beginning and when I questioned it I was told I was "making mountains out of mole hills".  But I had red flags.  I didnt brush off the indications that something was wrong.  After all, nobody asks the same question, word for word, with the same inflections, 3 times, only seconds apart when it's been answered each time.  I saw and I knew but buried it because dad was taking care of it.  He never mentioned it or asked for help so we could go about our selfish little lives none the wiser, even if we were. 

So I repainted Bluepearry #2.  Might as well get it right.  And I'm glad I did.  Who knows what tomorrow brings?

Bluepearry, 6x6 oil on canvas.  Bid on eBay

A little more on my history:  My artist friends can attest that my earliest work was, to say the least, ēmo.   A small sampling below:

 I played tenaciously with chiaroscuro.  At times losing the the lit edges entirely in the light and the shadow edges in the shadows.  I used to joke it was because there was no drama in my mundane life that I felt a need to interject it into my art.  ...?  Who can say that??  Certainly not me.  Not at the time anyway.  My father had died around that time and I had learned that he had covered for my mothers Alzheimer's like a pro.  I was left to care for her and that, boys and girls, was not mundane.  It was maddening, horrifying, and a multitude of other feelings I'd rather not explore right now.  

So as I progress through this retrospective period and analyze the daylight out of my work, I ask you, what is said about an artist through his/her work?  Look at Edvard Munch and The Scream.  On the other hand, consider Georgia O'Keeffe's work.    Is it color that we first respond to?  What do  brush strokes, choice of brush, or subject matter have to say?  What can be said about how we interpret and relate shadow and light?  How much can really be said without saying it at all?  

I've certainly traveled a few miles from my ēmo (short for emotional, by the way. An older buzz word for those who prefer to wear all black including black fingernail polish, black eyeshadow and so forth - as I understand it)  fruit.  I, myself, was never ēmo.  Not even close.  I was a soccer mom.  With a perm.  And a station wagon.  Actually, no.  By then the station wagon had evolved into an Acura I'm happy to say.  All in all I was, by and large, the average American homemaker, caring for her elderly mother.  One of many. One in a crowd.  A army of housewives, invisible to the world, caring for their elderly mothers dieing in care facilities. Dieing on the inside and the outside.  Losing touch with the world and themselves.  But I digress.

I was never ēmo.  Certainly not when I painted Bluepearry.  Nope.  By then I had come to terms with my reality.  I had bonded with the congregation of housewives across the world crushed with the reality of losing reality.  I had bonded to my reality and accepted it for what it was. I was now able to paint happy, rich, colorful little worlds on my little 6x6 canvases in the privacy of my 10x12 studio just behind my yellow house.   I could paint the same pear until it was worthy of the compost pile yet you would never see a scar or a bruise on one of my little pear paintings.  You would never know it was getting to the melting stages.  Decaying.  I would paint the heck out of that thing.

I still like chiaroscuro.  It no longer comes naturally for me though.  Or maybe I should say, I'm not drawn to it like I used to be.  That was an era.  A moment.  That was then.  

Today I list my Bluepearry.  The background is warm which is fairly odd to me.  And the foreground is cooler.  Even odder.  I've begun painting warm shadows and cool light.  I prefer that now, actually.  It's happy, I think.  And I think the pear is in charge - if you want to go there.  Or maybe it just looked right to place it as such and randomly scatter the little blueberries about.  It is what it is.   But I wonder what, if anything, it has to say..

Crisp Trio, 6x6 Oil on canvas. Bid on eBay
After a much needed sabbatical from mid March through April I am happy to say I am back in the saddle, so to speak,  inspired and energized. 

Much has transpired since then.

I've been giving a lot of thought to my paintings and what others see.  I've heard many comments on various aspects such as "beautiful work!" and "juicy brushwork" as well as "..so full of color!".  All of which are much appreciated! :)  Who wouldn't want their ego stroked from time to time?  I wonder though, after a rather riveting conversation with a local gallery manager, what people feel when they see my work.  Granted, this is a painting of 3 apples.  What are you supposed to feel?  Hungry?  Maybe..  I glanced back through my digital files in the day view (that is - the most current upload listed at the top and descending by date to the first upload at the bottom of the file) what, if anything, is said about me through my paintings ~  Too deep??  Get used to it, I'm reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Repair and it's inspired an introspective approach to my own work ~Wikipedia says, "..Introspection (or internal perception) is the self-examination of one's conscious thoughts and feelings.^[1]"

This particular painting is happy.  Satisfied.  Non threatening.  Maybe even sunny - cheerful.  The composition is non chaotic.  Simple, if you will, yet the apples are snuggled together.  Whatever that means. 

When I painted this, all was well.  My future was perhaps not defined but secure enough.  I had a degree of routine but not boring.   You see, at the time I painted this I was caring for my mother who had Alzheimer's.  Not by myself but with the help of a wonderful facility about 4 miles away.  My responsibilities were to love and visit her, pay her bills and the occasional trip to the doctor.  The easy part.  Sounds easy enough.  Visiting got harder as the disease progressed.  More can be said but at another time.  The point is - I knew my role and I performed it to the best of my ability. 

When I painted, I was alone in my studio and zoned in entirely on these three apples and their little nuances of color.  Everything else - gone.  Dissolved.  My Bose radio repeated the same 4 discs over and over yet I wouldn't even be aware of the discs changing.  In the zone.  You artists know what I'm talking about. 

I dont know what others see in this painting but I see someone who had come to know who she is/was.  Satisfied with that.  Maybe even happy with it.  Definitely comfortable.  It had taken a while to get there but I had arrived.  These apples are a testimony to that. 

Blueberry Spill

Blueberry Spill, 6x8 oil on canvas. Bid on eBay.
My cup, she runneth over. Again with the blueberries and likely more coming. Love the mystery in the darks and the hazy blues in the lights.

Blueberry Mound

Blueberry Mound, 4x6 oil on canvas. Bid on eBay
These are the ones that didn't roll off onto the floor. Sometimes I lose a few when I'm working with blueberries as they want to scatter rather than mound like I have them in this painting.

But when it's all said and done, we have the rich, deep purples that are blueberries.

Crisp Quartet

Crisp Quartet, 6x8 oil on canvas. Bid on eBay
I found my self painting these little beauties several times in preparation for a larger painting. These multi colored apples provide a certain challenge that I wanted to get right.

Cherry Chaos

Cherry Chaos, 6x8 oil on canvas. Bid on eBay
I love cherries. What can I say. So here we are again with cherry spillage this time flirting with a complementary green background. I'm also lovin' my ceramic and china creamers. I may have to get a collection going. Or maybe I already have one... :)

Blueberry Cream

Blueberry Cream, 6x8 oil on canvas. Bid on eBay
This particular creamer came from my maternal grandmothers set that I inadvertently ended up with when my paternal aunt passed away. My cousin was gracious enough to pack up the entire 12 piece setting along with several miscellaneous items and ship it three quarters of the way across the US. All I had to do was pay shipping! Of course once it arrived, I had to go shopping for a cabinet to hold and display it all... bummer, huh? :)

Cherry Spill

Cherry Spill 6x8 oil on canvas. Bid on eBay
Again, mass chaos on the counter/shadow box that is my still life set up. Cherries across the board. And some tumbling onto the floor because as I dump them into the cup and allow them to spill - spill they do.
On a sad note, these cherries died a natural death in the fridge after a high-spirited and vigorous modeling career for a devoted, albeit, obsessive artist. :)

Pinks & Bronze

Pinks & Bronze Tin, 8x6 oil on canvas. Bid on eBay
This little bronze urn used to hold my chapstick tubes by the front door but was recently upgraded to a studio prop. Such is the way of many odds and ends around here. Husband and I just got back from the Home Show in Seattle where we gawked at the little cottage like sheds. Many with storage attics which now look really good to me as my prop pile begins to take over my studio...

Pinks & Cherries

Pinks & Cherries, 8x8 oil on canvas. Bid on eBay.
A few free spirited cherries and a small bouquet. Quietly romantic. :)

Cherries & Heirloom Creamer

Cherries & Heirloom Creamer, 8x10 oil on canvas. Bid on eBay.
Once again, it appears cherries are having recess all over my counter top. The creamer is from my grandmother and was passed on to me several years ago. Grandmas can have cool things.

Pop Of Red

Pop Of Red, 4x6 oil on canvas. Bid on eBay.
A happy little painting of one of my favorite subjects - cherries! A nice break from the eye-crossing roses I had been working on which, while challenging at first, I now have a better understanding of their complex shapes. Clearly, cherry shapes are less complex but can still say so much in a small space! :)

Red Rose Keepsake

Red Rose Keepsake, 8x10 oil on canvas, bid on eBay
Again, another attempt at roses. This time I got smart and purchased some beautiful silk flowers at the local florist shop. My last red roses didnt even open so I had to find a more economical solution if I'm going to perfect these. These silks are fabulous! The buds and flowers are really lifelike. The leaves, not so much. I have to do some improvising there but as I like to say, " How do we eat an elephant? One bite at a time..." :)

Rose Impressions

Rose Impressions, 6x6 oil on canvas. Bid on eBay
I think this little bouquet of pink roses is just about bloomed out. An impressionistic and energetic version of my three pinks fully bloomed. Time to find a new bouquet.

Cup O' Roses

Cup O' Roses, 6x6 oil on canvas. Bid on eBay
As I said in an earlier post, I'm working on roses. Trying to achieve the general shape and feel of the layers while maintaining a fresh, impressionistic look. I think I'm beginning to get a feel for the the general shape now. It is still a bit overwhelming but I'm confident that with time and effort I'll get more comfortable with them.

Three Minis

Three Minis, 4x6 oil on canvas. Bid on eBay. I'm not sure how many more paintings I can squeeze out of this little bouquet of pinks. Not exactly quality flowers from the grocery store so I have touse a bit of artistic license here.