Little Scraps of Magic

Sheer Silliness

Art imitating life imitating art...

Taken at "Wine in the Woods" this past Saturday at Merriweather Post Pavillion. A good time was had by all!

Week 20: Nurture

Week 20! So far, I've manged to post, some pics obviously better than others, but I've done it. I'm looking forward to doing a book of these at the end of this year, and if I'm smart, I'll start putting it together now!

Kara and Alex in the black and white version - taken during our usual Friday night mayhem.

You can lots more pics here, over at Focus 52.

 

Connections

My father adored his family; over and over and over again, he remarked at how very blessed he was with his wonderful family. All through our lives, he created connections, each and every chance he could.

So, as I wandered through April's photos, searching for a photo-heart connection, this one simply grabbed at my heart, no questions, no hesitation. This one was it.

A great photo? No. Lighting, composition, etc. all need something. Dad looks positively disheveled, unkept in so many ways.

But, this precious hour and a half visit makes me smile, because for the first time in over a year, I saw and experienced the dad I knew  - the dad with a twinkle in his eyes, the dad whose sole mission was to make you laugh. A lost connection was  back.

You see, my dad has dementia, has had it for some time now. A stroke in March 2011 accelerated the dementia, and most visits, he has no idea who I might be; some days, he really doesn't even know I'm there. His words are incoherent, and he rarely makes any sort of sense.

On this Saturday, as we entered the room, his eyes lit up, he smiled, and called us each by name. Those few seconds alone made a 3 and a half hour drive worth it. We've all taken our parents for granted, never imagining that it would ever be our mom or dad felled by dementia, that it would be our mom or dad who wouldn't know us. After all, how could that ever be, when we were the light and center of their world for so long?

And, even when our brain tells us that this is happening, our hearts refuse to acknowledge it.

For whatever reason, dad was in fine form. He teased us, laughed, and cracked jokes until we were bent over double and wiping tears from our eyes. As the aides strolled by, he looked at them and announced that he could do nothing with us as we were all drunk.

For an hour and a half, there was magic. My dad knew me. I've missed that so much, I can't even begin to describe it.

I don't know if I'll be this blessed again; he may know me he next time, or he may never know me again. But this day? This day was a gift.

Q & A with Seth

Have you had a chance to read this yet?  I've gotten to the point where I'm pretty picky about buying new art books, since so many of them seem to be much the same, or although there may be some lucious eye candy inside, not much is new as far as technique.

But, I'm loving this one. It's not about technique, and there's some eye candy to be sure. Instead, the book delves into the mind, heart, and soul of the artist, exploring the stories behind the work. I'm able to pick it up and enjoy it, whether I have a few minutes or a few hours. Better yet, I'm feeling like I'm getting to know a few online friends and mentors just a bit better.

Seth has an open call out for art work based on 3 questions presented in his book. I've chosen to answer 2 of them, the first being, "Who has had the most impact on your creative life?"

Answer? My dad,his mantra being, "Girl, you've got a brain in that head. Now, go use it. Figure out the answer; you don't need me for that. You can do whatever you've got a mind to do. Now, just go do it. Use the brain God gave you."

And, with that pronouncement, he generally went back to his nap! But, dad had a firm belief in his "girls." He knew they were capable of great things, and he wanted them to prove it.

Dad put the first camera into my hands; he rambled on about the "light" long before I could begin to get what he was saying. He loved photography and now two of his daughters are seldom found without cameras in their hands.

Question 2: "If your artwork could talk, what would it say?"

Answer: This woman has a lot to say, and she simply can not seem to make art without words. She has stories to tell, colors to smear, pounce, scrape, and brush. She adores texture, but really, she's all about the stories, capturing them, saving them for the future, and telling them. Everyday stories that so often get lost. Give her a chance, and she'll bend your ears with her journals.

So, what better use to put some copied journal pages to? Bits and pieces of my story, bits and pieces of everyday magic or even every day hum drum.

Thanks, Seth, for the opportunity to share my art and my stories! I can't wait to see what you do with it all.

Keeping Things in Perspective

"From the top of a mountain, we are able to witness life from a different perspective bringing us a new perspective." (Daily Om)

Or, as Janice writes over at Focus 52, shoot from a different angle and you have a whole new photograph.

Well, I couldn't shoot from every angle, since I sat in the front seat hampered by a seat belt, and "Bam Bam" rode facing backwards in his car seat. But, with a bit of angling of bodies, and a great deal of chuckling and babbling, we both definitely enjoyed ourselves!

Here's the typical straight on baby is being buckled into to his car seat shot:

And, then, the fun began!

Pretty much a "blind shot" here - I pointed the camera, clicked the button, and hoped for the best. I also managed to yank the camera back before he planted a finger on the lens.

This poor child seems to lack a torso...

I really didn't have much of a chance to change my angle, but being the very cooperative baby that he is, Bam Bam kept shifting his position.

Definitely no torso here...it's a head on a set of legs!

Bam Bam is constant motion; luckily for me, the seat belts held him more or less still, and I had the chance to get some "different photos!"

 

Too Cute!

This little bunny came to see me today...Kara, with her Alex! He's 15 months and beyond precious, wouldn't you agree?

Black & White

He's just too cute, isn't he? The oldest of my two grands, heading towards 4 this summer!

I've always loved the classic look of black & white, and I'm starting to figure out this texture thing as well. Once again, I got so lost in the process, playing with textures and blending modes that I forgot which texture I used.I do know I used it twice.  And, since I don't have time to really sit and complete the on line class I've bought and paid for, it's all pretty much intuitive at the moment. A few google searches here and there, but more of the "Let's push this button and see what happens" approach. What does this blending mode look like? Oops, forgot to play with opacity again; let's hit the edit and undo (Undo is such a blessing; too bad it's not available in real life.), and the brush thing is also beginning to make sense. I plan to work through the course over Easter, but in the meantime I'm far too impatient and just want the magic to happen right now.

Of course, much muttering would be heard should you care  to listen in, but I'm getting there, and it's fun!

This is for Kim's Texture Tuesday, where you can peruse the "Black & White" edition. Go see the pretty pictures! So much eye candy and so much to study and learn from.

Breathing in Violets

They rest quietly on the studio's windowsill, waiting patiently for me to notice that they're blooming yet once again. Delicate purple faces, edged in white, stretch toward the sun, as so many of us do. A tiny little miracle occuring right before my eyes.

Breathing in literally, well, their scent is muted, but that's not fills my heart and senses with delight. I'm breathing in memories that sate my soul.

My mother could coax anything into bloom; in fact, when she had tired of the yearly poinsettia, she did her best to try to ignore it, hoping it would die of its on accord. She'd ignore it, watering only when she couldn't stand it anymore, but its red and white blooms filled our laundry room, long past Christmas, long past Easter. Flowers filled her house, her favorites being African violets.

And in my house? Not quite the same story. Cacti and I partner well, as does the quite boring philodendron. I need something that requires minimal care.

In the last few months of mom's life, her flowers began to die quietly. Taking care of then was beyond dad, his whole being focused on mom.

After her funeral, he asked us to remove her things, leaving the house for my sisters and I to do the job. We quietly packed, sharing memories. I noticed a plant in a corner of the sewing room, determinedly holding on to life.

Neither of my sisters wanted it. Dad told me, "It's up to you. I'll kill it."

But the problem was, I thought I'd kill it too. I'd bought so many of these beauties, and I killed each and every one no matter how hard I tried. I relucantly brought it home, mourning its sure demise.

Here we are, nearly 8 years later. It's outgrown several pots, and I hold my breath, figuring that surely this time I'd kill it.

I'm thinking it's mom, quietly making sure that something of hers would survive. I'm certainly not doing it on my own.

And, each time it blooms, it takes away my breath and makes me smile in delight.

 

 

So Many Goodbyes

I found this a month or so ago in my parent's attic. It's crumpled and creased, and the image is any thing but clear.

I'd like to think, though, that his laughter comes through loud and clear, across the years, across time.

I was his girl; he gave me a ring to prove it. For sure, I thought we were engaged! It didn't matter one whit that I called him uncle, because, you see, he gave me a ring and told me I was his girl.

He loved my mother and she loved him back. Out of a family of 14, only he and Annie graduated high school. She was first, and she pulled him along with her, never letting him quit when he wanted to do so.

Annie married her Eddie, and Chuck married his Shirl, and their children grew up together, cousins to the end.

He brought me paper, reams and reams of paper, salvage from the mill where he worked. I drew and I drew, and then I drew some more.

In the end, he was a lost soul, so much like my own father. He didn't really know where he was, and the twinkle was lost. He became oh, so very very quiet.

But, this is how I remember him, and I have to wonder, who took the picture? My mom, his Annie? Or my dad? I'm not sure, but once the camera clicked, I'd bet you almost anything that he pelted him or her with that snowball.

I lost him two nights ago, while I was at Art & Soul, he quietly exited this world. I know that Annie greeted him and welcomed into heaven, showing him around and showing him off.

There have been too many endings lately; so much has been lost, so much to grieve for. I have to say that it's wearing me down, and I'm finding it hard at times to remember what is so good right now.

And, as I type this, I can see him shaking his head at me, and I hear him telling me to get over it...to enjoy what I have.

And, if God sends me some snow, I'm throwing one in honor of Uncle Chuck.

So, so me a favor, because I really don't think I'm getting snow anytime soon. If you have some, would you please step outside, pick some up, make a snowball and throw it heavenward? Would you do it please? And, say hello to my Uncle Chuck while you're at it, cause he'd love it. He'd absolutely love it!

The Grandpa Connection

This grandpa loves his boys.

Yes, he surely does.

This is the photo that tugs at my heart this month.

Yes, it surely does.

Both of the grands rest in their grandpa's arms. There's no question that he adores them both.

Head on over to Kat's Photo Heart Connection and feast your eyes and soul. You'll be glad you did.