One of the things that first struck me when I looked at the space that is now my studio was the windows. And entire half wall of windows. While it isn’t the traditional north light that is the optimal lighting situation for artists, the morning light pours gloriously through the tree branches and leaves of the oak tree outside the third story windows. Not only did the tree provide perches for birds and squirrels, it also served as a model for sketches and paintings. The canopy of the tree never failed to cheer me throughout the seasons. Late last fall, I came to the studio on a gray day. It was evident as soon as I opened the door that something was very different and it took a moment to figure it out. But suddenly I realized that the tree was gone. Completely disappeared. Vanished. I was stunned. The view was completely altered. No longer would I view the seasons through the tree. The view is now of a barren industrial landscape. Muddy and sterile. The death of my mother-in-law has removed the canopy of her love from our lives and the view right now is pretty bleak. Dad continues to search of her and we are helpless to comfort him. We grieve and shed tears, sigh and try to move on. This isn’t the end of our story, though. Just a transition. There will be new things planted. Better days are coming.
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For years I’ve experimented with calligraphy. I bought the basic pen holder, C-4 nibs, ink, slant guides, and books and practiced italic. I’m proficient enough to address some envelopes and that’s about it. The craft just never generated a passion in me. I have a friend who is a calligrapher and she believes in me. She just knows I could do it and she has invited me to attend calligraphy groups and workshops with her. Since I love her, I’ve tried. Really. But other things call to me and I set aside the latest nibs and attend to them. Lately, I’ve been kicking around a concept in my mind for a painting based on Micah 6:8. The idea I have consists of lettering, layering and collage. I want the lettering loose, bold and free. I turned to YouTube to find lettering artists that have bold styles and discovered a new calligraphy tool called a folded pen. It looked promising and I asked my calligraphy friend about it. Soon, I had a stack of books and a bag of pens to try out. It turned out that I’m not a fan of the folded pen. However, I’ve discovered the beauty of the automatic pen. It was instantaneous. Bold, loose strokes just flowed from my arm through the pen to the paper. Finally - the bold look I’ve always wanted to make. I believe I’m in love. Several weeks ago, on a lark, I applied for a position as painter/animator for an upcoming film titled Loving Vincent, about Vincent Van Gough. You can learn more about the film and view the trailer here: http://www.lovingvincent.com It is a fascinating concept and hope the film does well. I spent an entire day pulling material together to send in my submission for a chance to travel to Poland for the summer to paint and animate frame by frame, and earn a bit of cash.
I do have the chops for the project, but you could never tell by my portfolio. The whole process of trying to gather materials together was eye opening. I sent in my application simply to finish what I had started. It was obvious as I tried to organize images and information that it wasn’t going well. Needless to say, they didn’t call. However that’s not the point. At the end of the day, trying to put together a reasonable bio and digital sample sheet revealed that several years of building an art career has pretty much been lost. Yes, I set painting down intentionally to care first for my mother and now for my wonderful in-laws. I did realize (at least to some extent) the sacrifice I was making at the time. I did hope one day I would return to it. Now, I’m realizing that in order to do so, I’ll have to start back at square one. I’ve lost or misplaced my archive of slides that need to be transferred into digital format. I have no idea who owns the works that were sold through various galleries and shows. A few blurry prints from old photos is not going to cut it. All the years of art shows, awards, group and solo gallery shows, and earning a listing in Who’s Who are gone. Perhaps gone is the wrong word. Irrelevant. The world of art has passed me by while I’ve attended to other (important) things. Questions arise. Do I have the passion and the stamina it will take to start at the beginning again? Do I even want to, or do I want my creative expression to be more personal and out of the public eye? So far, that has mostly been the case. That begs another question. How do I make a living? Building up a body of work, entering shows, framing, and transporting work all take a chunk of change. Eventually, you may start selling and recouping your output but there are no guarantees. Do I want to go through that process again? There always seems to be more questions than answers. Today is no different. But questions are important. Sometimes, more important that the answers. You wouldn’t know it by many conversations in the public square. Conversations about faith, social justice, equality or politics revolve on various people claiming they have the answer but often to questions no one is asking. Questions that have no relevancy. Seriously, a seventy year old Christian woman is paraded down the street naked in Egypt, there is genocide in the Democratic Republic of Congo, there are serious questions of racial inequality in the United States, and our biggest public dialog is about bathrooms? We need to not be afraid of hard questions and hard answers, or even no answers. Else we run the risk of being irrelevant. The project has been completed. Hallelujah! My original estimate for it was between three to six months but it took almost two years. There were moments I wondered if I'd ever complete it and to be truthful, I'd really like to start it over. It's not up to my former standards and I want to make it 'perfect'.
But perfection kills and I need to learn to let things go. Not just in art, but in life. I could bring myself to a nervous breakdown trying to do things perfectly for Mom and Dad. It just can't be done. When I was caring for my own mother, I had to accept that I could not make her situation perfect. I just had to do my best and keep moving forward. Years ago, I read a book by Larry Crabb. I don't remember the title, nor do I remember anything about the book, but I do remember one thing. A quote that has stayed with me. It was a question, actually. In relating to our spiritual lives the question is, “Do you want to be a mystic or a manager?” You could try to have a nice, orderly, managed spiritual walk with everything in its proper place, striving for perfection. Or you could have a wild, reckless roller-coaster ride with Jesus through life - not knowing what is coming next. There is a small part of me that would love to have an organized, 'perfect' life. The bigger part of my heart wants to run hard after God, find the mystery He has for us to explore, and the power He has to change me into something extraordinary. I let go of perfection. The project has come to an end. We'll see where the ride takes me next. There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. - Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (NIV) 2015 really kicked my ass. We felt a tremendous amount of loss last year, from our car getting totaled to the death of several of our loved ones - the year left us spinning. Grief and loss overwhelmed us and we needed time to process everything, yet it kept coming. While trying to care for our own broken hearts, we were also trying to care for Mom K. as she was adapting to her new reality of being in a wheelchair, losing her brother to Alzheimer’s and watching her daughter grieve the loss of her husband unexpectedly. We’ve spent time traveling back and forth to Texas to help Mike’s sister adjust to her new reality and to try to help with all the maintenance a house needs. Fortunately (sort of) I’ve been laid off from my part time job and have time to do all this. I confess, I've felt dazed and numb for several months. However, I refuse to be defined by loss and I refuse to be a victim. It’s time to get moving again, even if it’s only in baby steps. Painting is once again happening in my studio. I can’t say I’m setting the world on fire, but one of the paintings for the Freedom 58 project seems to be done. I hope. It’s been put aside to look at it again once the second one is completed but it’s movement in the right direction. Last night we went over to Mike’s parents’ apartment and helped Mom call her youngest (and now only) brother for his birthday. There are still things to celebrate and that is our focus. It is the season to move forward. Like posting this blog.
A couple years ago, when our ancient car breathed its last in a construction zone during rush hour, my husband finally acknowledged it was time to get a different car. As we laid that vehicle to rest, Mike started doing research. We decided it was time to take a step of faith that I was really going to go back into painting and with that in mind, started making a list of what would meet my needs. First and foremost was gas mileage. If I was transporting art, or attending workshops hither, thither and yon, I wanted great mileage. Then, there was the need for space. When transporting large canvases or panels (or antique mirrors), I’d need something that could fold down to lay things flat. And, since I love to paddle on rivers and lakes, I wanted to have a roof rack to transport my boat plus a hitch to pull a trailer full of kayaks. At first we were looking at station wagons, but then focused more on crossover SUVs. We found the Chevy Equinox fit the bill. It got the same mileage as the now defunct sedan, had lots more room for art supplies and as an added bonus - for someone who lives in the great white north - had seat warmers. The Artmobile, as I called it, gave great service. It hauled me all over the Midwest, helped me move into my new studio, and was great for my mother-in-law to get into before her stroke, since she didn’t have to bend to get in nor have to be lifted to get out. It was an all-around great investment. With a tear in my eye, I must report that the Artmobile has died. I was broadsided at an intersection on May 15th and was immediately enshrouded by airbags. It its final moments, the Artmobile took good care of me. There were a few cuts on my hand, but with the airbags, side curtains and seatbelt I was secure. I called 911, got my information together and then tried to move the car but it was no go. It was eventually taken away on a truck. I had the wherewithal to take a photo of the car before the towing company came. It’s the last I saw of it. I am greatly blessed. No one in the collision (three cars were involved) was hurt. Mike and I had been wondering what to do with Dad’s car since he can no longer drive, and it is now sitting in our garage where the Artmobile used to reside. We have good insurance and have been reimbursed. All is well…or as well as it could be. I’m back to driving an old sedan with no seat warmer but it does have a roomy trunk. If the work starts pouring out from the studio we can look for another vehicle. For now, the Buick will do. But if I’m completely honest, I have to admit I miss my car. It was good, it was solid, and I had plans to keep driving it for twenty years. We’ve all heard the saying, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.” I’m pretty sure I’m hearing some giggles from heaven right now. Recently, I met a group of co-workers for breakfast. One in particular had a need to vent but at the end we all agreed it was not about her, it was her expectations and she needed to let it go. Less than two hours later, I found myself in a similar situation. In caregiving, I had certain expectations but people who were more affected had different expectations. In fact, there were four sets of expectations and three of us had to let ours go. You would think that with over a dozen years of caregiving experience – my mother with Alzheimer’s, someone’s else’s mother with cancer in hospice care, my husband recovering from injuries, and my in-laws – I would have everything going like a well-oiled machine. Alas, no. The truth is, the biggest obstacle to my peace of mind is myself. When I first stepped into caring for my mother, I was at a critical juncture of my art career. I’d accrued a long list of shows and awards, had news articles written about me, and had my work mentioned a couple times in an art magazine. I’d been in some prestigious regional and national shows and had had two person and one person shows in some pretty good galleries. My main gallery representative was urging me to start focusing on the east coast. I chose to put that aside with the thought I’d be able to pick it up again in a few years, but as each year passes it’s increasingly obvious that I have to lay down all those dreams and expectations. If I want the same sort of career I had, I will have to start at the very beginning again. I don’t know if I can or if I even want to. Nonetheless, letting go of those expectations is a constant struggle. It involves a certain amount of grieving as you face the death of a dream. I’ve been postponing that grief for some years, but I think it’s time to face it head on. Art has changed significantly for me and it’s time to own that. Only by letting go can I find my way again. Recently, I joined a Facebook group called the Holy Disorder of the Dancing Monks. There will be some who will be dismayed by this fact, since it’s not what one might consider “orthodox.” Too bad, so sad. I joined it to remind myself the need of joy and beauty in my life.
This morning, someone in the group asked the question, “How will you add beauty to your day?” Since the weather is lovely, I knew the answer. After working out and visiting Mom, I was going to create a rock garden. I've been collecting rocks for some time now. Today was the day. Once again, the theme ‘labor to enter into rest’ came to mind. Beauty gives my soul rest, but creating beauty is labor. Whether it’s dancing, painting, writing or gardening you have to put the work in for any sort of beauty to result. Oh my, did I labor. In hindsight, I shouldn't have gone to the gym this morning. It will be days before I will be able to move easily again. But digging in the dirt feeds my soul, and the end result is good, albeit small. I have a lovely little corner garden. However, I want to do the entire bank because I’m sick of mowing the incline….and I've run out of rocks. Sigh. Surgery was successful, I'm happy to report. My leg is sore, but getting better every day. I'll spare you a photo of the scars. I've been on pain meds most the week and feeling a bit disconnected, so I'll also spare you my writing.
However, you may be interested in a new documentary being made about the relationship between dementia and food choices. It's called Bread Head. You can find information about it at the following link - just copy and paste it into your browser: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/maxlugavere/bread-head-can-we-prevent-americas-most-feared-dis The young filmmaker says, "This is not another documentary exposing the hardships of dementia. There are plenty of those.BREAD HEAD (working title) will be the first documentary to investigate the empowering science that is happening in labs and clinics today to help us beat it. Because changes in the brain begin decades before Alzheimer's symptoms, the absolute best way we can move the needle on this disease is through minimizing risk when it matters most." I thought I'd share this with you in case you are interested in his film and in helping him out. |
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July 2021
Donna KemperDonna Kemper put aside her art career to care for a mother she hadn't seen in over a decade. For seven years she followed her mother's journey into dementia, caring for her and putting forgiveness into action. Categories
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