July 19, 2016 – Holly

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In the fall of 2011, when I first tiptoed out through my fears to lead watercolor groups, Holly was one of the early joiners. She wasn’t there the very first Tuesday, but within the first few. We were still meeting at the Fairfax church when she came. She brought an in-progress painting of a branch of a pink magnolia tree, with a house in the background. We talked about the composition – the part of it that she was unsure about. It’s funny how largely unremarkable moments can come back to us so clearly. By the time the weather had cooled and the big space in the church was too big to heat for just our little group, we moved to my house not far away. Holly’s dear, dear friend Marilee, then came along with her. By the end of the year the original group had formed – all of whom still come to paint nearly every week.

Holly was tall and carried herself with a gentle ease. She wore lovely scarves and interesting jewelry. One of the loveliest people I’ve ever known – she radiated such warmth. Holly hardly ever asked much of me, in the way of guidance or help with her paintings. It seemed to me she was with us to share in the love and companionship of the group, as much as anything. And though quiet, her loving presence was always felt. She never showed an edge – I experienced her essence as grace in human form.

Based on the subjects she painted, she was interested in all kinds of things: Portofino and Roman ruins, her loved ones, pumpkins, tropical foliage, tropical fish, a local historic building and of course – like most of us in our groups – flowers. In between working on paintings some weeks, Holly took a pause to just play with paint. She would noodle/doodle around with an idea – leaves, tulips. I admired how much enjoying herself was a priority – I have a streak that almost always needs to be so purposeful! And her palettes were often so beautiful, I just had to take pictures of them. And when I did, she always thought it was silly.

The creative force burned brightly in her. In addition to painting weekly with us, she made fused glass beads and ceramics, with Marty and Bud Meade out in the San Geronimo Valley, every week too. She brought in a collection of her necklaces one day, to share with us some of her other creations. She made every single one of the fused glass beads! I just had to capture these too – and I’m so glad I did. On a personal note, Marty and Bud have been in my life, since I was very little. When I was in the fifth grade, Marty helped me sew a period costume to make a doll into Martha Washington, our first First Lady. And Bud took my dad’s job, as ceramics teacher at Drake High. Sharing Holly, formed yet another connection between us. I have one other connection to Holly – Charlie, Holly’s husband, and my dad taught high school together for a while. I loved seeing Charlie and Holly together – it was so evident how he was both devoted to and smitten by his beautiful wife – and he always supported her artistic pursuits.

It wasn’t until towards the end of Holly’s life, that we learned the extent of her health problems. For a number of years, her heart hadn’t been strong, which meant that a cold took her out for longer than it did others. Marilee told us that in recent months, she came to paint and then went home to nap in the afternoon, because she used her energy to paint and be with us. But she never let on – she just came in with her warm smile, a cup of coffee and a pastry from Rulli down the street, ready to paint. When I heard this it, dawned on me – she didn’t want to waste precious time complaining about her health. She wanted to live – she created, she sang and danced and spent time with those she loved – to the extent that she could – and then she rested in hopes to be able to enjoy her life as much as possible tomorrow.

Now that she’s left us, I see even more clearly how Holly was such an example of how to live: focus on what matters with our time, and do it with good cheer and with grace. It is so easy to get wrapped up in our troubles. Health troubles are the hardest – there’s no escaping them – we take our aching bodies with us wherever we go. But when we complain, we don’t just impact those around us with negativity. I know that when I find myself complaining, I’m not happy, my experience – my life in that moment – is unpleasant for me too. We do need to pay attention to all parts of us, including those parts that are not happy – denial is unhealthy. But we have a choice, as to how we then show up and how we interact with people in our lives. It seems to me that Holly must have really accepted, even surrendered to, the realities of her health – which then allowed her to choose how to spend the time she did have. She spent it in beauty – both what she did and how she did it.

It’s hard to believe that she’s not coming back. She painted with us on June 23rd, just two and a half weeks before she died. She’s still very present to me. I can picture her face, hear the sound of her voice, so clearly. Those of us who knew her well – particularly the Thursday regulars – will miss her terribly. Since she’s left us, we have been circling each other in our love. This little community of artists is such blessing. We came together to paint, to learn more about watercolor, to have the structure in our lives of regular painting. Out of this has formed a web of connection, linking our lives, our paths and our hearts together.

Holly, wherever you are, know that you are with us still. Who you were to us is who you are to us – and will be as far into the future as we can imagine. We see you in your paintings, we feel you when we share with each other, our experiences of you. Your physical presence isn’t here anymore, but your radiant spirit and sweet soul shine on in our hearts.

With my love always,

Cara