I thought about blowing it off. Everything in me just wanted to sit on the couch and have a glass of wine. It was 5 PM. We’d had a long day of doctors, shots, shopping, -general errands that need to happen if you have a family. “Go on Kelly, just a quickie and you’ll be on track” I assured myself. Reluctantly I went.

Standing before my proposed subject – a leaf, a beautiful leaf – I felt unmoved. The light is not good in the studio at night, and it just didn’t seem as intriguing as it had the day before. I rubbed my forehead. I sat down. For a moment I let the long day wear at my resolve. I stood up and stretched, I bent over, I turned around. There I was, staring back at me in an old flea market mirror I had just hung on the wall.

“OK – a quick study of my funny little face,” I told myself.

Generally, I find self-portraits the most difficult practice out there, but I’d been painting a lot and I was feeling confident that I could whip one out. Perhaps my half-exhausted state of being might even project me into something fabulous and telling.

It didn’t.

I started one – wiped it out – started again – left it for a larger canvas – started again. Over and over again, I struggled with it. By 7 PM I was close to weeping and decided to give up. I went home and climbed into bed feeling beaten by my own face. I was sad that I had nothing to show for the day, other than children current on their immunizations.

Morning brought a new commitment to remedy my “missing piece”. I looked at my efforts from the night before and worked to correct and simplify. By 11 AM I wiped it out all over again.

I set up the bottle and olives – and there they stayed – still – without thought or emotion – without judgment of age or time – without notice of me. Into them I sank; a peaceful fit of bliss. Then they were finished.

I looked at the floor – a canvas stained with the remnants of my crooked face stared back at me. Up it went. On I went. At some point, I felt a hint of “happening,” a small glimmer that I might find myself. I simplified in every possible way. I tried to eliminate all of the age and hardness that life has left me and prayed for even just a whisper of the essence. I think I found it.

It may be a while before I look again.

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Over homemade gnocchi perhaps…

Cheese is divine, but it proved to be a difficult study.

I had a tube of Vasari paint given to me by an old friend. Unsatisfied with my original background color, I squeezed out this warm “gray” and cut it in. It moved like butter on hot toast, and I think I want some more. Many of my paints lack that luscious slip of premium pigments – I may need to upgrade my sticky old tubes someday.

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Cotton…nothin’ like it.

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Old things, old friends, old memories…

I have many thoughts on this exercise. It’s interesting – it’s hard. I’m happy for the experience, but I’m a bit too pressed for time to share anything more than the work I produce – most days. I’m excited to see it through, and I’m blessed to have the chance to do it.

**This small piece is in honor of a neighbor that I never met. He was taken by cancer just over a year ago. I am told by all that loved him (and there were many) that he was a larger-than-life guy who loved and welcomed everyone. Food and friends were his passion in life. I’m sure I would have loved him. So to his old things (like this great bottle), his widow, and his friends – I raise my glass and toast to the time we have. May our eyes be open enough to use it well.

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Playing with color on a cold but sunny day.

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Man – though not exactly simple, is a pleasure – and always an interesting quick study.

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I love them in so many ways – off the vine, with cheese, crushed, fermented…

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Balance is everything. This lesson was evident with my pepper/pepper exercise (#6), but my agitated outlook could not see it. Instead they were opposing opposites competing. A slightly shifted perspective may have viewed them as compliments.

My husband commutes from Idaho. I’m in NJ. A few years ago we would have adamantly argued that no such separation would ever be possible. Then things changed. He’s still a hottie, and for whatever reason he still finds me infallible (that might be an exaggeration, but you get it). The economy crushed our life as we knew it in Idaho. Banks went under, business credit shut down overnight, and we were economically crippled. It was strangely…freeing. I always felt compelled to stay put when the money was flowing in. I needed to pick up everything else – the house, the kids, the general well-being of the clan – it was my job because he was bringing in the cake. I would not say I was content in that position. I had a budding career and huge dreams before marriage and babies. I missed the chase, and in a not-so-overtly way, blamed him for its absence. I love my husband, and I love my kids, but I was co-existing to keep the peace, hesitant to rock the boat. What if I had forgotten how to swim? Then the banking meltdown capsized our little ship for us. It turns out – I still know how to swim. In fact, years of treading water have increased my upper body strength and reminded me that when I get tired, I can still suck it up… and float.

This commuting business is hard. The kids don’t really get it. The absence makes them question, makes me question. Unspoken thoughts turn into mistaken innuendos. Blame and resentment creep into telephone conversations that end in “well, goodnight honey” phone calls, and as cool as Skype is, it doesn’t cut the mustard.

We just had a sweet little in-person date. He’s just arrived and he’ll be here for two weeks. We didn’t talk about money, the mortgage, taxes, health insurance, tuition, or gas bills. He has his gig, and I have mine. The entire conversation resembled something from our dating life 15 years ago. I talked about what I was doing – things that turned me on – projects I dream about – and places I want to go. He did the same. They were not all the same, but they were honest. They were pure in their excitement. They had a breadth of fresh air. He fueled mine. I fueled his. Within the conversation was the mutual admiration for the children we created together, and how we could balance and envelop them into our greater plans, the ones we would experience together, and the ones we would not. It was a widening – an awakening – a re-adjustment. It was lovely, and it was full.

“Lovely and full” is as good as it gets in life. If we hit that mark occasionally – be it in life, or art, or love – we are engaged. When life (or art) engages, all the little things go pale and our focus pushes forward in bold intensity – and we are alive – thankful for every short breath we take.

His commute is long, and the gas bill high. No regrets for the struggle, no expectations for the outcome. Paint mimics art; sometimes we need to push to get the color to pop.

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3 Responses to The Ginger Pear -Simple Pleasures – #9 of 30

The pepper is better than the pear. Sometimes deliberation, slogging through, and a heavy hand bring about better results than you expect. A true critic could talk about size, contrast, etc between the peppers and the pear/ginger..I dont’ really have an ey for that stuff….but from my gut, that pepper looks more like a pepper than that pear looks like a pear. You can read a whole lot into that…or not.

Posted by kim · via kellysullivanfineart.com · 126 months ago

Hi Kim, isn’t that funny. I’m happy you can look at it and see something different. I look at it and feel the struggle of the day. I look at the pear and I see/feel something totally different. That’s the beauty of it I guess – ‘eye of the beholder’ kind of thing. Gotta love that.

Posted by kelly sullivan · via kellysullivanfineart.com · 126 months ago

Strong lady you!!!

Posted by Ginny · via kellysullivanfineart.com · 126 months ago

A Rose, for all the love that lives…

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2 Responses to Rose – Simple Pleasures #8 of 30

Oh, Kelly, that is achingly beautiful…

Posted by Diane Pool · via kellysullivanfineart.com · 126 months ago

beautiful painting mama! I love you (:

Posted by Aidan · via kellysullivanfineart.com · 126 months ago

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