October 11, 2016 – A peek behind the curtain…

My body is working to rid itself of a virus. Instead of sleeping, my nights have been filled with coughing, making my brain not at its best in putting together words. But playing with images sounded restful – and do-able! – this morning. I’ve just finished a painting. It was a commission for someone I’d never met, working with images of his flowers growing on the east coast. Working with someone else’s photos is always a big challenge for me, to come up with something I relate to enough to paint. I thought I’d share in this painting-comes-to-be video some of the work I did in Photoshop, to come up with the composition to work from. The video does not include all the dead-ends I followed and abandoned – just the steps included in the final image. There were at least two versions that were deemed “not quite it.” And I’d almost given up on it at one point. I’m so very glad to be able to tell you the happy ending.

I did write the story of the painting yesterday, so I’m including it here. And I hope you enjoy the video.

With my love,

Cara

Flamenco – October 2016

The years that I’ve been showing this artwork have been sprinkled with moments of serendipity – moments when someone appears in my world and becomes part of it. This painting started with one of these moments. An email arrived in my inbox while we were on vacation in Tahoe in late July (2016) from someone named Charles, who lives with his wife Susan in Cambridge, MA. Their son and his family live a few minutes away from where I do. While they were out here for a visit, Charles saw my two paintings at the Marin County Fair. He took pictures of the art and of my name and then looked me up. The initial request was for information about paintings I’d already painted, which soon turned into a request to paint the hibiscus flowers that grow in their garden as a birthday gift for Susan.

These plants have been living – for 30 years (!) – in containers that are set into the spaces in the ground during the summer and brought inside for their cold, snowy winters. Sounds special enough to have their portraits painted! They wanted me to combine flowers from both varieties with plenty of leaves and some buds for interest. I gave him some pointers on how to take pictures to send me. As the photos came in via email I realized I was going to need to do some work collaging together something that would make a Life in Full Color painting.

I jumped in to Photoshop after the Sausalito Art Festival. The composition was a puzzle to sort out. I landed on the main flower right away. It was taken at that lovely three-quarter perspective. But the red flower was a challenge and piecing together the background took some doing. After two versions that weren’t quite there, I started to get worried that I was going to be able to pull this off. But the next day I was greeted by an email from Charles with more pictures – including of the troublesome red one – taken in full sun. The missing link had arrived! And I went back to work to create an image that – I was told – had “nailed it.” Whew!

Painting was uneventful (thankfully). Painting so many of these “fuzzy backgrounds” has paid off – they are becoming easier – and more fun to do. The leaves, as always, give me fits – so I get them done before the treat of painting the flower. I made a shift in the color of the flower, at their request – to match the actual flowers. In the full sun, digital cameras show things more yellow. I listen to Pandora a lot as I paint.

So many of the pieces on the “mood music” stations are pretty uninspiring, so when this lovely one, called “Tuesday’s Child” by a Canadian guitarist named Jesse Cook started playing, it caught my attention right away. I looked to see who the artist was and for the first time after just hearing something on Pandora I bought his album. It’s Nuevo Flamenco music – creative, emotive and I find myself bouncing in my seat as I listen to some of the songs. (if I painted standing, I’d be full-on dancing!). The music and these flying, swirling petals had me think of the dancers skirts and gave me an idea for its name: Flamenco.

Charles and I exchanged emails starting in July and this was our only mode of communication until the morning in October when he called to say they were on their way over. This was first time we’d heard each other’s voices. It was nice to share our home and the room that is my studio with them. Most importantly, I was happy and relieved they were pleased with the painting! We talked about the name and I played for them Jesse Cook’s vibrant, soulful music. They agreed the name fit. I’ve come to see painting a commission like this as a journey of faith – both for those who I paint for, and for me. We all take a risk – especially when we have never even spoken to each other before. It says a lot about us that there is a part of us that is willing to jump in with each other in this way. It brings a certain preciousness to our time together – when they came here to meet me, and the painting I did for them for the first time.

Thank you so much, Charles and Susan!

October 4, 2016 – Soul on Deck

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My first art studio was in the back of our garage. No more painting just on the dining room table, it was time for a special place set aside, just for me to paint in. This was eleven years ago – I was working in real estate, after two decades in the corporate world. I swept away cobwebs, I bought a carpet remnant for 40 bucks. Using leftover soft yellow paint, I covered up the bare sheetrock. I wedged a piece of plywood between two storage cabinets – so that I wasn’t sitting with the looming presence of my car right there! I arranged glass votive holders each a color of the rainbow on the window ledge – which was just rough 2×4’s. I got a little space heater and the hand-me-down boom box from my father-in-law, that played only cassette tapes. I listened to three tapes over and over: Elton John – Live from Australia, George Winston – December and Francis Cabrel (a French singer) – Samedi Soir sur la Terre (Saturday Evening on Earth).

We had just turned the clocks back, so I woke early. For those last weeks of 2005, at 5 or 5:30 in the morning, I started painted in my new studio. In my slippers and heavy sweats, I went into the dark, through the backyard and the backdoor to the garage – carrying my cup of hot tea with milk. I lit the votive candles, put on the music – and for a of couple hours before going to work, I painted the one we now know, as Paris Roses. Looking at a 4”x6” photo print (my eyes were younger!), I found my way through each petal, creating the folds and edges. The voice in my head told me how awkward these shapes were – it felt clunky and forced (some things haven’t changed!) I attempted to mix the colors – what exactly is that strange, green/grey/pink and how do I make it? Shape by shape, the roses that were growing on an arbor in a rose allé in the Jardin de Plantes in Paris, revealed themselves. I wouldn’t know this for a long time still, but I was also revealing myself.

When my dad saw the finished painting, he remarked that I had arrived at a new level. He is an artist and has an artist’s soul and eye. He saw that this painting revealed something more substantial, more accomplished, more alive. Something was coming through me, for the first time that winter.

I’m working with an exceptional business coach, Lissa Boles. She’s guiding me in a process to understand what I’m up to, as I paint and as I accompany others in their creative lives. This has me looking closely at my “work” – attempting to articulate what’s here. It’s such a hard process, that it’s a challenge to even put words to the process of finding the right words to describe my work! In a coaching call last week, I said these words about the groups of artists, who have made painting once a week with each other – and with me – a regular part of their life: “I actually have something very, very real already – immense love, immense affinity, immense devotion to their art, to themselves, to me, to each other – and [what we have] is something. It’s very real and that’s my grounding. I wouldn’t be able to do this work with my art without this community.” It felt good to be this clear, about the place that my art groups have in my life. I was claiming something. To this Lissa said, that she cannot wait to hear me talk about the art that I make in the same way – as clearly and powerfully.

Lying in bed this morning, I had an inkling of what she’s talking about. I had the distinct sense of something, that I’ve been talking around for a while – that my relationship with my art, with these paintings and the force that is behind them, is as real as any relationship I can have with a living, breathing creature. This art wants to come through me and I can’t not make it. My eyes still closed, enjoying the warmth of my bed, some of things that I’ve said in posts these past months came up:

• It is why I needed to promise to paint every single day – to take it seriously and devote time to it.
• It is why I had such a strong (negative) reaction to the modern art collection at SF MOMA – art needs to reveal human soul – not just explore “ideas.”
• It is fueled by not having had kids – the instinct to procreate is our most potent – if I’m not raising children, I must do something else as significant.
• It is also why I have had to make making art central to my life – having this be a hobby wouldn’t do it.
• It is the combination of my left brain (skills and abilities) and right brain (seeing holistically) modes, and of my feminine need for beauty and my masculine drive to make it real – actually make real stuff – and take it seriously.
• It is a direct expression of my spiritual nature, my expanding consciousness – I’m compelled to illuminate myself and share it with others, this art is filled with light, yes, but also, with illumination.
• It is God made real, it is love – as expressed through me, in this life – made: real.
• It is also why I must sell it – and ask the prices I do – money is how we set value. If I value this artwork there must be an exchange of something else of value when I let it go.

The fear of being grandiose, of being presumptuous has been holding me back, from speaking about my art like this. But the fear does not keep me from seeing it this way. I do know this art is alive, it is enlivening, it heals, it inspires. Though it is not conscious or intentional as I sit and paint, the end result is that it is so. I have heard others express all of this enough to know that this is real. And to deny it, prevents this art from doing what it is here to do. It’s here to shine.

In the days following 9/11/2001, I received this in an email, written by Clarissa Pinkola Estes:

“I have heard from so many recently who are deeply and properly bewildered. They are concerned about the state of affairs in our world right now.

Yet, I urge you, ask you, gentle you, to please not spend your spirit dry by bewailing these difficult times. Especially do not lose hope. Most particularly because, the fact is, we were made for these times.

One of the most important steps you can take to help calm the storm, is to not allow yourself to be taken in a flurry of overwrought emotion or despair, thereby accidentally contributing to the swale and the swirl.

Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach.

One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world, is to stand up and show your soul. Soul on deck shines like gold in dark times.

The light of the soul throws sparks, can send up flares, builds signal fires, causes proper matters to catch fire. To display the lantern of soul in shadowy times like these, to be fierce and to show mercy toward others, both are acts of immense bravery and greatest necessity.

When a great ship is in harbor and moored, it is safe, there can be no doubt. But that is not what great ships are built for.” And neither are we….”

The line I’ve emphasized – soul on deck shines like gold in dark times – burned into my heart and brain, when I read this 15 years ago. And I’m certain it has oriented me, emboldened me, to follow the stirrings to make this art and put it into the world. Just before I created that first studio, my friend Brenda saw me pull out several finished paintings, that were in a plastic bag under my bed. She saw the light in them. She charged me with investing the money in framing them and putting them up on the walls – to release the first tether keeping me moored. Claiming a space – my first studio – came next.

The decade+ since has had me untying, one by one, more ropes that have been holding me safe in the harbor. Yet, millions (or billions?) of people are still shrouded in darkness in our world. Our work is so far from done. The task that has taken me on to see to – the stretching out, to mend the part of the world that is within my reach – is to make this art and see it into the world. Making and showing this art is my soul on deck.

Soul on deck is supported by companionship. Your company has made this voyage possible. I am so grateful.

With my love,

Cara

September 27, 2016 – Belonging to each other – beyond right and wrong

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Where we live in Marin County, California, it is a sea of blue – political blue. I don’t know the percentages, but overall, California leans towards the liberal end of the spectrum, the San Francisco Bay Area even more so, and Marin is right up there, amongst the most liberal counties in the country. Being surrounded by a large majority of people who share our views, it’s really easy to speak freely and openly – to share our reactions to what’s going on in the world, full of opinion and certainty as we do. Earlier this year, I learned that one of the regular members of one of our groups, believes differently. She is a self-described “staunch conservative.”

This is stretching me as a leader and as a person. Mostly we don’t talk politics, but there have been a couple of times, that the conversation moved into the political arena. We all stayed respectful, but I felt the tension and I knew it was upon me to hold the space, to keep it safe for everyone. I said something about how our views can be woven into deep parts of us and we may need to agree to disagree. I want our shared painting time, to be a refuge from stress as much as possible.

Then, last week, I forgot myself.  I walked into the kitchenette where my mom and another person, were quietly talking politics. Without thinking, I shared how I had emailed a friend in Britain about what might happen, if the person I oppose ends up our next president. I wasn’t mindful of the volume of my voice, I just spouted. Then I realized where I was and reminded myself who I was – the leader of this little group. Oh, gosh. I felt awful. Did she hear me from the opposite end of the room? I couldn’t risk not knowing – I had to ask. When she next asked me for help on her painting, I knelt down at her table and softly asked her: did you hear me when I was talking in the kitchen? She said she hadn’t. Oh, good.

But then I felt I needed to tell her why I asked. I told her that I was with those who share my views, and I indulged in what I called “tribal talk.” I said I was sorry and I reiterated I wanted to do all I can, to make sure she always feels safe and a sense of belonging amongst us. This started a short conversation between the two of us, about opening to those whose views we don’t share. I recently listened to a level-headed conservative person, to try to understand what is behind their stance – what values I may share that drive their views – and what I may be blind to, that is the shadow side of liberal actions and positions.

My coming clean with her was a huge relief. I did not feel judged or viewed any differently.  She graciously said that I’m only human.  And the experience was a lesson, about being in a leadership position. As casual and un-authoritative as I generally am, I feel a responsibility to conduct myself with more discipline, in what I say and how I say it – especially during our group time. I am grateful for the sense of myself, that I’ve come to at this point in my life. I trust in my own basic goodness, which gave me the courage to admit what I’d done and express my regret. The connection I felt with her was completely separate from our political views. Our views aren’t the entirety of who we are. Our views can matter greatly to us, but on another level, they are just our views. It felt open hearted – we were receptive to each other, as two women who share the love of watercolor.

I woke up today with the first sentence of this Rumi poem in my head:

Beyond our ideas of right-doing and wrong-doing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase ‘each other’
doesn’t make sense any more.
There’s so much judgement and talk about what’s “right” and “wrong” in the world. I believe we do need to be engaged in our society – our common life. At the same time, I have an aversion to the polarization in it – which seems to be increasing. I can’t bear to listen to much of what is said – even by the pundits on “my side.” So much of it is inflammatory and divisive. I’ve been taking myself off email lists and being careful about what I read – and how much. It just upsets me. There are those who are called to be fighters – and to them, I say: “you go!” But go be effective – I am not interested in anyone’s rants. As for me – I’m not a good fighter. I’m so not at my best when I get riled up. I’m here to be a connector. I’m called to stay in relationship and increase my capacity to hear what’s being said – as long as it’s honest and thoughtful, and I can share too.

But what I really want to do is just make art together. If Rumi thought that the world was “too full to talk about” in the early thirteenth century, then it’s certainly so today. The purpose of our groups is to paint, to share our creative lives, encourage each other’s unfolding as artists. To do this, we need to stay connected. And in stretching ourselves as we paint on our Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays, there are plenty of “right” and “wrong” voices in our heads as it is! To some, this may appear as burying my head in the sand. But it is really not. It is a service to everyone to still the waters as much as we can. Cultivating wonder and delight is life-on-the-planet-affirming.

There are some translations of this Rumi poem, that use the word “garden” instead of the world “field.” Last Wednesday nine of us found our way to a garden – back down to Filoli down in Woodside – to see what was there in the early autumn. The parking lot was half as full as it was in April, when spring was on full display. I felt a profound peace when I walked into the garden, that was a balm to my nervous system. The espaliered apple trees that I last saw in covered in white flowers and pink buds, were filled with deep red apples. There were cabbages and peppers and bright orange zinnias. Ever my favorite, the roses were still showing off. I captured a perfect image to paint of strawberries. It was lovely to share this experience with each other.

Belonging is a human need. Nothing good happens without it. One of my most closely held beliefs, is that we all belong to each other – every single one of us – even those who don’t believe this too. “They” belong too. Really. I wonder what would happen if we were all able to live this way? It’s my hope and prayer that, though the progress is slow and imperfect, this is where we are headed.

It’s my privilege to belong to you – I so appreciate how you receive me.

With my love,

Cara

September 20, 2016 – Cooking my love – and a recipe

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“Love people, cook them tasty food.” As I shared in a post about my love of cooking a couple of years ago, this is what the only bumper sticker on my car says. It’s from Penzey’s, the spice company where I order my dried herbs and spices. I so appreciate that they want to encourage cooking – the bumper sticker has no reference to them – they just want people to cook! Cooking for people, is entwined with the double-helix of my DNA. As much as painting, being an artist and accompanying other artists in their creative process is central in my life, I can cook with more skill and confidence, than I can paint. I regularly cook without referring to a recipe – I put together meals, almost without thinking. Because I’ve been cooking at least 5 days a week since I was 12 or 13, putting together food to make a meal just comes from me. I love the magic of how preparing and then heating raw ingredients in certain ways, can bring such pleasure and nourishment. There’s hardly anything more seductive than the smell of good food. Making delicious food for people is an important way that I love – and I am so grateful that I have the capacity to contribute to others in this way.

How and what we feed ourselves, is also incredibly intimate and personal. If someone criticizes what we eat, it cuts deeply; eating can make us feel very vulnerable. At the most basic level, eating provides us energy, it’s the fuel to keep our bodies going, but there’s so much more to it than taking food into our bodies. Food is connected to a whole lot of what makes us human: emotion, tradition, relationship, family, celebration, healing and enjoyment. Food changes things – imagine going to a gathering, whose main purpose is not eating – like a community meeting, a book club, a prayer group. If there is food, especially food to be shared by everyone, all of a sudden things are friendlier. Even just cheese and crackers or cookies, bring an element to a gathering that shifts things – but if the shared meal or snack is home-made, it brings even more goodness. I’m having a hard time describing the difference that food makes, but it feels primal in the way it connects us.

I was invited to show my art at an event called “Artisano”, which was all about food and wine. You’d think that this would be perfect for this art, all these yummy images I paint – I did too. But when given the choice between tasting a fig stuffed with gorgonzola, wrapped in aged prosciutto, drizzled with a balsamic reduction, or crispy, briny, spicy fresh sauerkraut, or rich and salty local artisan cheeses, or a big, fruity Cabernet or a dry, nose-prickling sparkling wine… well, my bright, life-filled, color-filled art was hardly noticed! Funny, huh? I realized that I never wanted my art to be the least sensual experience at any event again! Just hearing about food and wine as I’ve described it here gets our imagination going, doesn’t it!? It seems that taste buds take precedence over beauty!

A dear friend, one of the women in my life who has mothered me into who I am today, is having a hard time. She is handling a lot in her life at the moment and making meals at the end of her days, is the just thing that can put her over the top. I so love her – and have endless gratitude, for how she’s loved me into loving myself, I’d do anything for her. The idea came to me (taking my bumper sticker seriously), that I could cook meals for her sweetheart and her. We started last Tuesday – a good day to cook – I’m usually home painting after I’ve written to you. It felt so great to see her drive away, with the stuffed zucchini and steamed artichokes that I’d put together for them, knowing that the food I’d prepared was going to feed their bodies – and bring her ease.

I took home all the chicken bones from my family’s Sunday dinner. They are boiling on the stove with some dried jalapeno pepper bits (from Penzey’s), garlic and cilantro. It’s the broth – enriched with the minerals from the chicken bones – that will become a tortilla soup I’ll offer them for dinner. Joe is out tonight, so it will be my dinner too. I adore tortilla soup. I make mine more like a sopa de lima, without any warm chilis – no red pepper, seasoned with just spicy green pepper, plenty of cilantro and squeeze of lime juice. I adorn it with good, thick tortilla chips, avocado and shredded Jack cheese. To make it a meal and bring a bit of freshness – today is supposed to a warm one again – I put it in a big bowl and add shredded romaine lettuce and my fresh pico de gallo too.

I’ll pack all of this up for my friends this afternoon, and as I make myself a big meal-sized bowl of this soup tonight, I will be thinking of them, feeding their bodies with it too. I’ll also spend some time painting today. The commission I was working on, came together last Tuesday (phew!). I drew it Wednesday morning and have made good progress on it – the whole complex background done in one week. I can now see, that I have a chance to make the end-of-the-month deadline! There’s so much struggle and suffering in the world, I almost feel sheepish about being able to spend a day this way. It’s hard to know where to put my appreciation. What I do know, is that I will do all I can to care for those who I touch today – sharing my love in the ways that I do – painting my love – and cooking my love.

With my love for you – thank you for reading, it’s always a gift,

Cara

Fresh and Tangy Tortilla Soup

• 2 T oil or fat skimmed from the top of the homemade broth
• 1 onion, chopped
• 2-3 stalks celery, chopped
• 2-3 carrots, peeled and chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, minced (if you didn’t add to the bones when making the broth, or are using canned broth)
• 1 serrano or ½ – 1 jalapeno chili, minced (for less heat, seed it first – ditto, if you didn’t include it in the broth)
• 4 c. chicken broth, home-made if you can – if homemade, check to see if it needs salt
• 1 can garbanzo beans, drained (I sometimes use pinto or black beans – especially if the chicken bones have smoky flavors)
• 1 ear corn, kernels cut off (if you want)
• 1 medium zucchini, diced (if you want)
• ¼ c. fresh lime juice – or less – you can also offer wedges for squeezing into individual bowls
• 2 – 3 T chopped fresh cilantro
• 1 – 2 c. cooked chicken or turkey – or the chicken from the bones, if there is some
• 4 – 5 Roma tomatoes, seeded and diced – unless you have pico de gallo
• Grated jack cheese
• Avocado, diced or sliced
• 4 – 5 leaves romaine lettuce, washed and shredded
• fresh cilantro sprigs
• tortilla chips – thick chips are best, coarsely crumbled (I don’t bother to fry up the strips, even thought that’s what most recipes call for)

Directions:

Sauté onion, celery, carrot, and garlic and serrano, if not already in broth in oil or chicken fat, until soft and onion is golden. Add broth, corn and/or zucchini. Heat up and simmer 20 minutes or so – until the vegetables are soft. Add the beans, cilantro and lime juice (if you wish). Simmer 15 minutes more to meld flavors a bit. Add cooked chicken and tomatoes and cook just to heat through – tomatoes should stay fresh. Garnish bowls of soup with cheese, avocado, lettuce, chips and cilantro as you wish.

September 13, 2016 – Painting our prayers – an invitation

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I start with a confession. I didn’t paint two more days – this past Saturday or Sunday. I share this not as a mea culpa, but because of how much I noticed it and missed it. I take to heart the promise I made, not just to keep my word, but also because of what painting is to me. I really missed what even a few minutes of it does for me – and to me. I didn’t not paint because I couldn’t have. I was home and passed by my studio a zillion times. But I allowed myself to ignore the pull to my painting and instead, took care of the next thing on “the list.” I was also working on an extensive Photoshop project, for a special occasion commission – working with someone else’s photos, to put together something that is “Life in Full Color.” And it’s not coming easily. By the end of the day yesterday, I was still nowhere with the project, and I still hadn’t painted since Friday (and that was only for a few minutes). I came home from dinner with my mom and dad yesterday evening, and I dove into the painting of grapes – the one whose image I’m completely in love with. Even after just two days away, it was such a relief to be there with my brushes and paints, bringing through this image that has so captivated me.

This is a marked difference from times in the past, where days and days and days would go by, that I didn’t pick up a brush. Even just last year, I barely noticed that I’d not painted for several days – at least not consciously. The promise I made has changed my relationship with what I do. Though I knew it in my head that painting for me is a devotion, I feel now it more closely. Painting is one very important way that I pray. It’s funny how things can shift. I’ve told myself that the free and therefore fun part of what I do, has always been taking the photos and then playing with them in Photoshop – which is more an exploration; I don’t know where I’m headed. And I’ve held painting as the hard part. But these past few days, have me seeing how the painting part is where it gets real for me. It’s where my mark is made and it’s where I sense my love coming through.

I used to be a very regular and very active member of the Fairfax Community Church, when my beloved Sara was the pastor there. Sara officiated at our wedding 16 years ago. This experience with her, drew me to want to be with her more and be part of the community she led. Going to church almost every Sunday for 11 years, revealed part of me to me. In a post last year about my spiritual journey, I wrote this:

What is most precious to me now is that, along the way, I discovered the part of me that is deeply devotional. There is a place in the center of my chest, in my heart that longs to long, to revere, to surrender, to worship even – something greater than me.

Since Sara left (she’s now the chaplain at Marin General Hospital), and things changed at the church, I stopped going and have been staying home on Sunday mornings. I don’t feel the pull to go to church anymore. The years I was so engaged with the church community, I wasn’t part of the one that surrounds me now – it didn’t yet exist. Now that it does, I see how the precious nature of what we do and what happens when we gather in our groups each week and month, gives me much of what nourished me at church.

And yet there are things that I still miss. I miss the intention to be in worship, the explicit “this is devotion, this is prayer.” I’ve been tossing about an idea in this vein for a while. It now seems like it’s time to make it real. The idea is to gather on Sunday mornings in Larkspur – once a month (for now) – to paint together. I won’t teach. I won’t lead or intentionally hold the space for each artist’s creative process, as I usually do. I will instead, hold the space that the gathering is sacred – and joyous. I will be there with my painting and palette – but not all the extra supplies nor set up the projector. We’ll play music that suits this spirit – not necessarily religious (and I am open to suggestions!). We will paint a few hours in the morning – no more than 2 or 3. We will paint our prayers.

I could do this at home, all on my own – but I paint alone all the time. What I miss is being together, in what I’d call worship. Wherever two or more are gathered… Here’s another bit from that post from last year:

The clearest truth for me, is that [my faith] is a relational faith – as much as it is the source of infinite love exists in each of us, is each one of us – it’s most potent as the connection between two or more of us. I have a hard time putting words to my experience of it. It’s a feeling in my body. I have the sense that the center of my chest is expanding. Love is being received as well as emanating out from me. It’s heartwarming and heartbreaking all at the same time.

It came to me earlier this year that what I do, that what we do, is paint our love. And it is my belief that love is God. And I’ve come to believe, that there is no separation from the sacred and anything else. Connection is the nature of our universe. Putting my intention and attention on this, feeds my faith. I am inviting you to join me here.

There is no cost to come, but I’m thinking we will have a basket for donations, we could offer to someone who needs help. A woman came into the office last Thursday evening, asking for our help getting a place to live again, so she can bring her kids back under one roof. She’s doing this through an organization in San Francisco. It came to me, that she’s the perfect person to begin with.

This well-known Rumi poem has been with me, as I’ve written this post today, translated by Coleman Barks. I read a post by a Muslim blogger, that dismisses this translation, because it waters down Rumi’s Islamic religion. But this translation is all over the Internet and I appreciate how the words Coleman Barks used, made the wisdom, the spirit of Rumi accessible to millions of us.

If today, like every other day
we wake up empty and frightened.
We don’t have to open the door to the study
and begin reading.
We can take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do
there are hundreds of ways
to kneel and kiss the earth.

So, will you come, kneel and kiss the earth with brushes and watercolor with me? We’ll start this Sunday, September 18th at 10 in the morning. I’ll have coffee, tea and something to nibble on. Please let me know if you want to be there.

And, if Larkspur is too far for you, I invite you to join us – and paint from wherever in the world you are. I will set up a Zoom video conference so you can join us virtually. Please let me know if you want the link.

With my love,

Cara

September 6, 2016 – Schlep art, carry panels

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Last week in my coaching group call the conversation arose about what constitutes a “healing business.” Implicit in the conversation was a pre-conceived notion that a healing business is mostly one that involves one-on-one interaction, where one person is the healer and the other is being healed. Where we ended up is, that though this can be true, healing comes in many forms. My coaching sister, Susan runs a place of lodging in the wild grasslands of Saskatchewan, Canada. The business she runs with her husband, involves doing plenty of laundry, making beds and cleaning toilets – doing plenty of physical work. They host hunters and other travelers (as did the previous proprietors), but it is their intention to establish a retreat center on their place – with an explicit intent to heal. Someone else on the call (I wish I could remember who) pointed out that even now, without the overt context as a retreat center, they are still making it possible that those who come stay with them are healed – by simply being on the land and in how they are welcomed and cared for by their hosts. And – by holding what they do as a healing business, it might make the relentless chores less arduous. Making up a bed for the next weary traveler’s body to rest in, rather than just longing for the day the business can hire someone to make beds, might change what it’s like to do the work.

With this past weekend’s Sausalito Art Festival before me, this conversation pointed me to someplace important. I have been able to see that the weekly and monthly groups that I offer are opportunities for healing, but it occurred to me that showing my own paintings to the world, is also a way I offer healing. I’ve been told before, that my art heals those who see it. I’ve witnessed it touching people. In the post I wrote right after last year’s festival, I shared several of them. The ladies from Austin came back again this year to see me. And the young woman who couldn’t stop crying too – this time with her new boyfriend and their sweet little dog. She shared how seeing my art just after she had moved here, not knowing anyone, had somehow helped her know everything was going to be ok. And then there are those who end up with the artwork – many of them enjoy looking at it – they find it beautiful – and that is enough. But I’ve heard from many too, who find something in the artwork – even a print or calendar or mug – that touches a place in them, that longed to be reached. Yes, this part of what I do is a “healing business” too.

I’ve been griping inside myself from just about the beginning, about how much hard, physical work these shows are – looking forward to when I either don’t do them anymore, or I can hire help to take all of that off me. There is a lot of packing, schlepping, unpacking, hoisting, fastening, labelling… And then it all happens in reverse, after the weekend is over. After our call, it occurred to me that my mindset, the frame I put around why I am going through all this effort to do a festival, could use an upgrade. We live in a physical world. The healing through my art happens because I actually put real paint on real paper, which goes in real frames. These real paintings all need to be supported, displayed in order for people to encounter them. So what if I go through the effort to set up and take down a festival, with the idea that physical work is a spiritual practice too: chop wood, carry water. And – that I do it in service to someone’s healing.

The plan at the end of the festival, was for me to button up my booth as I had the previous three nights, and then to come back in the morning to take it all down, after the majority of the artists had left. Since I live here and don’t have to get on the road today, this works great. But just as everyone was starting to pack up, something happened in the row behind my booth – a big, drunk man smashed through someone’s booth, causing damage and injury to her – and then attempted to climb up a really tall cyclone fence. There was the awful sound of people struggling physically against each other, a man was repeatedly screaming for security to come help. This whole thing really shook me up. Though he was taken away, I realized I wouldn’t sleep well, unless I got my artwork out of there last night. It ended up taking a while, because I hadn’t gotten my name on the list, for a cart to take it out to my car. In the past, I would have been anxious and crabby about being there so long after the festival had ended, and still not been loaded and out. But there wasn’t anyone else I was holding up – it was just me – and I was seeing to it that my irreplaceable paintings were safe. And even more amazing, I was not weary or feeling sorry for myself. I was just fine! Even this morning – I’m a bit tired – but not completely wiped out, like I have been after just about every show in the past. This is amazing!

There is another healing that happens through my doing festivals like this one, where people are engaged and connecting with the artwork. I’m healed too. Even in my 10th year of showing this artwork to the world, it hasn’t gotten tiresome to experience the impact it has on people. Twelve years ago, I faced the grief that I wasn’t going to give birth to any children – at least not on this go-round – and likely I’d not raise any children either, as we chose not to pursue adoption. It took doing something that mattered, really truly mattered to me, to reach in to touch this grief and give it a purpose. I absolutely know that if I’d had a child in 2004, I’d not have been at the Sausalito Art Festival this past weekend. The space in this life that was left by being childless, made possible the experience of witnessing the appreciation that my work received the past three days.

I’m still cozied up in bed as I write, warm and snuggly in my PJs, with Bo curled up on the other corner. And now it’s time to get myself up and dressed. I need to get down to the festival site, pack the truck and finish the job of putting it all away until next year. I’m so very grateful for all that supports me to make this possible – my husband, my incredible Mama, my friend Carla who helped set up, Jean from our Friday group who came yesterday to relieve me – and all those who stopped by to give me a bathroom break – and brought me glasses of champagne (no kidding!). And I’m grateful for my strong body too – my physical presence, that is able to take apart panels and load them into the truck. I am clearly a feminine being and I need to express this feminine in order to be whole – and this means I need rest and quiet time. But – and – it’s also fun to rock – because I am able to, I love to dig in and get stuff done.

So – here I go!

With my love and appreciation for you and how you allow me to offer healing to you – and for how you heal me as well,

Cara

August 30, 2016 – Our Love Affairs with our Paintings

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Last Wednesday, just after posting about how I was able to be really productive by not making myself do anything, but shifting gears to keep myself fresh and engaged, I called foul on myself. I had been using this as a strategy to keep going on a painting, that I was indeed making myself paint. I had intended – I had really wanted – to finish the big painting of apple blossoms and bees in time for my big festival this weekend. I wanted a big, new piece to show off – and deadlines offer helpful structure to me – they help me get things finished. But this can only go so far – especially when making art.

I took the photos that inspired this painting in March, when spring was busting out – everything was fresh with brand-new petals – which on that day, were lit through with bright sunshine. I dove in to paint it, but it is big and complex – I’ve yet to take on a painting, with as much detail over such a large space – and detail takes time to paint. I took a break to finish “Offering” to enter in the County Fair – and then to paint “Global” – the eggplants I started for the “Painting Shiny Things” Special Saturday in June. I returned to it and worked diligently, while up at Lake Tahoe this summer. I’ve painted on it, every day since the beginning of July – and have been having moments of sweet enjoyment doing so. But after a weekend up in the vineyards, surrounded by the fullness of ripe summer fruit – all in jewel-y colors, the need for something else crept in. It was no longer the time to paint softly colored blossoms. And making myself do so, felt like I was putting myself on a creative diet.

The time and place that we paint, matters. Looking back at these paintings, I can see how where I am in the world, and the time of year it is, is reflected in the artwork. I painted most of “Tropical Peaches” while on vacation in Kauai. The blues in the reflections of the light on the leaves became turquoise, as my eyes were filled with the color of the tropical ocean. On a later trip to Kauai I started “Firelight,” but then stopped because the hot reds, oranges and pinks felt incongruous, as I smelled the plumeria and felt the breezes on my skin. Instead I painted “Melia,” changing the pink flowers to white, to suit my softer mood. I picked up and finished “Firelight” late last year, when it was chilly – and there was real firelight in the fireplace. At this time and place, I found the rich colors warm and comforting.

This brings me to the life-of-its-own that each painting has. “Firelight” had been kicking around in my studio, unfinished, as I regarded it as “that old thing”, for a couple years. The same with “Raindance,” which, when finished, became a big favorite of all my work. I have to believe that if I’d pushed through to finish these two paintings when I had first started them, they could not have been the paintings they were. The time and place changed – and so did I.

Apart from time and place, I’ve noticed also that paintings seem to have a lifespan, going through several stages. Here are the ones I’ve been through:

• We begin with the Courtship Stage – before ever starting a painting, the idea of it captivates us. We think about it, play with images. We may have a long engagement with the idea – or we may start work on it right away. I’ve got a whole folder of these “candidates” that I sometimes visit – asking: are any of you coming through next?
• When the time comes to paint, usually – hopefully – we start out eager, hungry to paint it. The first paint to touch the paper is thrilling, as we dream of the finished painting. This is the Twitterpated Stage.
• After a while we may hit the Ugly Duckling Stage (which often goes by less delicate names) – the first layers look clunky, awkward, colors may be off. We can feel like we’ve lost our way.
• We might hit an Ee-Gads Stage – we’ve made a mistake, spilled something on it, mis-read our drawing, painting where we didn’t want to. This can bring the terror, that we’ve absolutely ruined it!
• After painting a while, we may wonder if we will ever be done with it – it seems to be taking so long! Welcome to the Sick and Tired Stage. This is where we might need a planned separation.
• Once enough of it starts coming together though, the spark that got us going can return, re-energizing us to see it through – to realize our vision – or maybe – because of time and place – it could be coming out differently, than we had even imagined. Regardless, we’ve arrived in the Homestretch.
• The Am I Done? Stage comes at or towards the end. It seems like it could be finished, but there are still places that might vex us, things that still look funny, awkward. For me, these parts can be all I can see – like the pimple that just arose on my chin. This is where we really, really need each other, to help us sort out what needs to be attended to and what is better to leave well enough alone.
• With any luck, we’ll eventually come to the Oh, There You Are! Stage. For me, this is after it’s been framed and I’ve moved in with the next painting. I’ve forgotten the parts that bugged me, and I can see what everyone else has been seeing all along – the spirit that the painting carries that is entirely apart from me.

I had started on this one here, the one big apple, with the thought that it might be good for the 2017 calendar. I started it at the San Anselmo Festival in late June, loving the colors. But then, fell flat when we hit the Ugly Ducking Stage, while I was painting the leaves. Last week, after deciding to set aside the big blossom painting, I picked it back up again. All that remained unpainted, was the apple. I dove in, playing with colors and textures, layering and having a great time. I finished it in one day – on Thursday – during my two groups. Just a few hours was all it took! It’s not one of my best, but I love the light and the freedom I took with the colors. I’m happy to report, that the leaf in the lower right that had me hating it, no longer bothers me. Thank goodness for how a little breather can settle everything down.

I used to say, that I only had two disciplines – that I finish every painting and I keep my website updated. Finishing every painting was a really good thing to do early on. It taught me a ton about how watercolor works – and how fixable it really is – contrary to what most people think. Now that I’m sure that I won’t fill my studio with partially painted sheets of watercolor paper, never finishing anything, I’ve allowed myself more freedom to set things aside. Maybe a temporary break-up with a painting, is just what we both need. The big blossom painting is tucked away, waiting for me to crave painting luminous petals again. And until then, I’m excited to be painting my newest infatuation – these Zinfandel grapes, that I took two Sunday mornings ago in Cloverdale. Oh, those yummy colors!

Just like any love affair, painting our love isn’t always bliss. We are related to our paintings and the creative process bringing them through us, like we are related to anything and anyone. How we relate changes day to day. I see how listening to our own voices and the voices of our paintings – and then responding accordingly, is the best kind of refreshment – allowing real intimacy with our creations and with their source – the source of all of us.

With my love,

Cara

August 9, 2017 – Summer stargazing, connection and the future of Earth

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Last week, while up in Tahoe, my friend Steff and I went to Sugar Pine Point State Park, to gather with a few dozen others and listen to a ranger-led talk on the cosmos, after which, we all ventured out on a large pier to star gaze. Not only did I learn stuff in his kid-oriented talk – like the term “Goldilocks” planet – not too hot, not too cold, likely existence of water. The first one of which was discovered only in 1990, and since, then we’ve identified something like 40 such planets. Goldilocks planets conceivably could support some form of life – we could have company out there in the universe. We gazed for constellations – the Big Dipper has always been easy for me to spot, but I learned how to reliably find the Little Dipper too. Dave, the astronomer/ranger was there on the pier, to help us sort out other constellations amongst the dense stars and the splash of the Milky Way across the entire sky, clearly visible over our heads. Jutted out into the expanse of Lake Tahoe, with only a bit of light pollution from Reno to the northeast, we had a view of outer space that we, here in “civilization”, no longer have. Dave – with the help of the night sky – created a homespun kind of experience, that was altogether magical at the same time.

Steff and I could have gone out onto the pier to see the stars, on any given night on our own. But there was something really special about sharing the wonder, the discovery of what surrounds our planet-home, with other summer vacationers. Being with others – who also, were interested enough to venture out of their cabins and campsites and wait until dark to see the stars – made it communal – and an entirely different – richer and sweeter – experience – I felt connected.

Then on Sunday night after dinner at my folks, some of us got involved in a very engaged conversation about the presidential race, fears about what might happen if… We pondered the state of our country, planet and whether real change – especially in how we impact the climate – is truly possible. There is such a strong reaction to both the candidates, though much more to one than the other, in the circles I travel in. I hear many express something along the lines of “how can so many people be in support of someone like that?!” There’s a strong tendency to be aghast at this candidate, and jump on the scathing criticism bandwagon. We cannot relate to anyone who could possibly vote for this person. And, the thought is, if we make sure that as many people as we can, truly understand the likely ramifications of such a presidency, there’s no way that candidate could win, right? But I keep reminding – both myself and those I talk to – that we need to be paying attention not to what this candidate represents, regardless of how strong our reaction is to it, but instead, to how it is, that so many millions of people are saying a big “hell, yes!” to it. There have been off-the-wall candidates for President of the United States before – but none have gotten this kind of traction – have had this kind of resonance. There is a whole lot of making the “other” wrong and bad. We are disconnecting from each other – or not attempting connection in the first place.

Along my path to self-discovery, there is a thread and it is the word connection. It’s my #1 strength in the Strengthsfinder. It’s my first Noble Quality (as the thing that I want most for those I love), it’s in my Codes. Connection has many forms: I find connection between ideas, people, and I see how it creates patterns. Connection brings meaning – it’s why I write about each painting, so people can possibly connect what their eyes see – through story and words – to something deeper. My teaching has taken the form of regular groups, where those who come can forge a bond, a connection with each other. I understand now, why I’ve not been called to travel all over, teaching workshops like most art teachers seem to do. I’d rather stay home where connection is most alive for me.

I have an inner-meter that registers connection. If you watch for it, you’ll see it all over the place. It’s there in the camaraderie and joined purpose, in construction crews and amongst sports team members. It’s in the care and tenderness between parents and children, as they are out shopping. It’s there between humans and their pets – look for it in vet’s offices. I can sense it in well-done marketing. And the absence of it, is glaringly obvious too. There is a big bank chain that has someone at the door, welcoming people as they come in. This seems like a nice idea, but I always find it fake – assigning “welcome” to an entry-level employee. It seems much more natural and real to have a teller mention briefly, to people waiting in line that she or he knows they’re there and will get to them as soon as possible. When I get someone in a call center, who is able to speak to me human to human, it makes all the difference. When we remember we are all people, who have those we love and who love us, it’s another world.

Though I’m a connection seeker, it seems to me that cynicism is rampant these days. Bad news – conflict, violence – is far more reportable – and in the face of that, it’s easy to be pessimistic and dismissive. But it’s also the luxury of those of us who don’t really understand, how much we need and are dependent upon each other. This ties into what I shared about the past two weeks. Cynics aren’t curious; they already have made up their mind. There’s no place in them, in their point of view for, “I don’t know.” The capacity and willingness to connect, to be curious, to stand in not knowing, all take a bit – or a lot – of risk. We have to open a portal into our self, and step out of the security of our certainty.

The thing is, we don’t know what will happen. If we choose fear, protectionism, clinging to the familiar, we very well may not take action in time, wrecking the climate of this planet such that, it will not support the life that is currently here. It is possible that there could be immense suffering, a die-back of the human race. But, even in considering that possibility, I’m not going there. I cannot believe that we evolved as a species, to have the consciousness that we have – with all its creative capacities – to have it all go to hell in a handbasket.

Over the history of humankind, we have become more inclusive, more tolerant, more conscious, more awake and aware. It’s steady and progressive. This is the evolution of human consciousness – life is more precious, we are more connected and the world has gotten smaller and smaller. Thousands of years ago, the people in the next town were our arch enemy, competing for resources, now they are our community. The “other,” by in large, has gotten further and further away. I’m banking on this, carrying us into a new future – one that we cannot yet imagine.

I have to think that stargazing is a good thing to do, to forge connection with others and the planet we each share with them. Looking out into space is a powerful reminder, of how little Earth is, in the scope of the ever-expanding universe. From this perspective, we are all Earthlings – life here, has taken the form of human beings in us as its expression – along with all the animals and plants, that we share the biosphere with. This Friday night, is supposed to be the peak of a meteor shower. I’ll be up in Cloverdale, perched high up on a hill – the start of a painting weekend with friends. A perfect place to see the light show the cosmos has in store for us.

Wherever you’ll be, know that I’m aware of our connection and appreciating sharing this life with you.

With my love,

Cara