The idea for this painting was taken from a trip to the seashore with my little granddaughter.  Her mother and I dressed her in her new striped sun dress and polka dot sun hat and went out to capture some photos at sunset.  "Daisy" is a bundle of curiosity and constant motion and it was humorous to follow her delighted and exuberant foray up and down the beach.  Trying to capture a photo or two when she was not in motion was somewhat interesting.  She temporarily became fascinated with the ebb and flow of the water at her feet before she got so delighted with the waves that she wound up wet from head to toe. 

As I started this painting, I thought that it would be fun to paint the many colored dress and hat and that it would be "all about the outfit."  As the painting unfolded, I played with different titles and found it impossible to come up with something that didn't sound silly or trite. 

It has been hinted that perhaps the reoccurring themes in my work are somewhat saccharin.  That may be the case to some of my viewers, but for me, it has become a stream of images that express some of the many colors of love in my world.  It is what matters the most to me, and therefore I must paint it.  I think back over the years, of the many faces of my loved ones, parents, brother, children, friends and lovers and now grandchildren.  Each one holds a place in my heart, forever.  Sometimes it seems too much for my heart to contain, but that is only when I mistakenly miss the physical presence of someone I  love.  Then I realize that love is forever.  Even though I cannot see them, that love is alive and vibrant.  I understand what a gift it is just to feel it. 

Daisy came to us from the other side of the world.  My daughter and her husband decided to adopt a little girl from China.  We all waited 3 long years for her to join us.  It was an uncertain, but hopeful and exciting time.  Not much is know about her past, other than she was abandoned by her mother within a day of her birth and then had a foster mother for a year.  When she came to us, she had to leave her foster mother, the only mother she had really known.  It makes you wonder, at first, if there is a memory of abandonment deep inside.  However, right from the start, she let everyone know that her path in this world was to grab every moment with complete joy and enthusiasm.  She is a child who finds everything and everyone an occasion to laugh, play, explore and love.  She is fearless and focused on the now. 

Sometimes our best teachers come in small packages.  I have been reminded by her and her journey, that the best approach to life is with a huge smile and a sense of adventure.  It is a difficult path to follow at times, but she continues to show me the way, for love does come in many colors, and I think it will take me a lifetime to paint them all, because it is what I was meant to do.

This painting and following poem were created to honor a young man and his beautiful family. He was a dear friend of my youngest son and loved by our whole family.  He passed into non-physical unexpectadly, 3 years ago, and is lovingly held in memory by all who knew him. 

The stones that many of us collect often contain lovely memories for us. The idea for the title and also the poem came to me as I finished this piece.  I hope that it will honor his beautiful spirit, the gentle strength of his wife and his sweet little son.  The poem was written by Cristina R. M. Norcross.

"The Memory Keeper"

I will be the memory keeper of time ~
the way trees whisper history
with every wind blown leaf that falls,
Discovery will guide our fingers,
as your breath of wonder
and my breath of pride carry us forward.

I will be the memory keeper of dreams,
watching you find your footing amongst the stones.
After you offer up a prized rock,
we will ponder the crystallized gifts inside.

I will be the memory keeper of love,
sharing stories of the great love that brought you to me.
I will always hold dear that sacred union.
Thankfulness will spring forth,
like a fountain that showers down upon parched earth.

I will never be left wanting
inside the heart of memory.
Within these stones.
within your hands ~
you hold our stories.
We will be the memory keepers of living.

Cristina M. R. Norcross
Copyright 2009

There is no need to share the intimate details of how my story came about other than to say, I married quite young at the age of 20, proceeded to have 4 children within 10 years and led a fairly charmed, and I told myself, happy life with the usual stresses that most families have.  For many reasons my life started to unravel around the age of 40.  I had been on a private and personal quest for spiritual answers, reading anything I could get my hands on.  My children were growing up and leaving home, and my husband was slowly becoming a stranger to me.  During this time my beloved father passed away at the age of 65, my brother, 6 years my senior, took his life, and my mother, an extremely demanding woman, became my sole responsibility.  Due to a series of events that led to what I now realize was the start of my "Phoenix Process," my husband of 31 years, filed for divorce, and I did not feel the desire to disagree with his choice.  I personally had no idea who lived inside of me at that time and was terrified, but compelled to find out.  I came upon a poem written by Mary Oliver called "The Journey" that closely describes how I felt at that crossroads of my life.

The Journey 
                                                      
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice -
though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug
at your ankles,
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do -
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Mary Oliver~

I immediately hired the services of a local cabin builder to start constructing a log house for me to live in.  That winter was an amazing adventure trying to keep warm, keep clean and learn how to live with very little.  Besides finding firewood for heat, I had to drive up the mountain every few days to hand pump around 30 gallons of water into jugs and haul it back down the mountain in my truck to the stilt house.

Spring came and with it followed months of back breaking work to clean up the construction mess, cut and split massive amounts of firewood for two woodburning stoves...my main heat source, move tons of rocks from the yard and build gardens, stairs and walkways around the cabin.  Luckily my four grown children, 3 sons and a daughter, were happy to visit and help out with some of the work.

Sioux Star Blanket

(Inspired by the artwork of Holly Kallie)

 

Strike the match –

independence breathes.

Energy set alight –

leading the way with a lightning path.

 

Branches reach and stretch

like a dancer’s limbs.

Snow peaks melt

into the flurry of the river’s current,

just to touch the living heat

of the Sioux star blanket.

 

A firelight glows

from day until eventide,

singing the electric beat

of woman’s power.

 

Rushing waters flow past courage –

the solitary candle –

the spark of the search.

 

Brave Heart speaks:

Seeker, be still –

stay red.

Your time is coming –

your time is now.

 

Cristina M. R. Norcross  

Copyright 2008

 

It seems appropriate to share this story on the day before Thanksgiving.  There is something about the holidays, and this one especially, that causes us to pause and reflect on what we have to be thankful for at this particular time in our lives.  I have spent nearly 50 years painting the human figure.  It has been at times frustrating, but mostly an inexplicable source of joy for me.  I have often asked myself the question, "Why this particular subject matter, when perhaps some other choice would be of more interest to the buying public?"  I really didn't have an answer other than, "This is what feels right to me." 

Recently I had the honor of being asked to paint a family portrait for a very special person.  A message was left on my answering machine several weeks ago with a request for a portrait of several family members, who had passed away.  He said that it was going to be "a gift to himself for Christmas."  Being involved in several other art projects right now, and also knowing that finishing a portrait for this Christmas was, "out of the question,"  I waited a couple of days to call back.  When I finally did, a pleasant sounding young man listened to all of the excuses I had for not being able to fulfill his request.  He then assurred me quite nicely, that he was willing to wait.  At this point he softly mentioned that it would be a portrait of his wife and unborn child that had died in a car crash this past April. 
After a few moments of speechlessness on my part, I agreed to meet with him.  

Even though I am one of those people who prefers not to listen to the news, I had heard of the death of Jennifer Bukosky, her unborn daughter, Sophia, and her ten year old daughter, Courtney Bella, in a car crash that took their lives prematurely.  It would be impossible not to, in a small community such as Oconomowoc, and also because Jennifer Bukosky was a much loved teacher and associate principal at Oconomowoc High School.  Michael Bukosky is a gentle soul, who immediately impressed me with his ability to remember the goodness, and to honor that memory, as he attempts to move forward in his life.  He asked me to paint "the family portrait that would never be" of himself, Jennifer and Sophia,  I, of course, agreed having no idea how this would come about.  I simply hoped that they, (Jennifer, Sophia and Courtney) would help me out.  For the next 2 weeks I painted pretty much non-stop, hoping that I could fulfill this lovely man's request. 

It turned out to be a creative time, filled with great joy and satisfaction, that flowed through me and on to my canvas, as easily as breathing.  It seems that "they" in fact were definitely helping me.  It occurred to me that we, as artists, paint endlessly because we are, in fact, compelled to do so, but also because we are hoping in some way, that the images we create, will make a difference to someone who views them.  Michael has given me this great gift, because I know, that in my small way, I did make a difference in a situation that is something most of us will never have to experience.  So, to Michael, I say, "Thank you, more than words can express!  For you have given me a gift and made a difference in my life." Whether or not anyone would judge my painting as good or mediocre does not matter.  I have come to realize that it's not "how you paint," but "why you paint" that matters.

So on this Thanksgiving, I would like to remind all of us, that even though we may or may not always measure up to each other's expectations, in our hearts most of us have good intentions.  My family which includes my partner, 4 grown children and now 3 grandchildren, quite often don't agree with each other.  But in the long run.......how much does it really matter?  We all still have each other, and the hope that love will matter more than any other differences we may have.  So, I will leave you with the poem written by Jennifer Bukosky's daughter, Courtney Bella.  She wrote this poem a couple of weeks before she passed on.  It is the perfect poem to go with the portrait that I was so honored to create.

Imagine a Day

Imagine a day...
When nothing can hurt or scare you
Where everything impossible is possible.

Imagine a day...
When the beating of your heart
And your voice
Is all you hear.

Imagine a day...
When the twinkling
Of the nighttime stars
Is the only thing visible.

Imagine a day...
When you take a nap
Floating on the clouds
Dreaming about
All the good in life.

Imagine a day...
When, the only thing
You want to do,
Is fill an empty page with words
Writing your story.

Imagine a day...
When you become best friends
With the moon
Sharing its night time splendor.

Imagine a day...
When all you want to do
Is wonder and think
Wonder and think
Just imagine...

April 2008  Courtney B.



Related Journal/Sentinel article published 11/30/08
http://www.jsonline.com/news/waukesha/35235849.html
Related Oconomowoc Enterprise article published 12/08/08
http://www.gmtoday.com/news/local_stories/2008/Dec_08/12062008_05.asp