July 12, 2016 – Our immortal creations

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Our hearts are full and heavy, as we mourn the loss of one of us. Yesterday morning our sweet, kind, gentle, beautiful and courageous Holly passed on – as her best friend Marilee said – to be with the angels. It’s too tender today to share about her, her art, and the friendship we shared, I’ll save that for next week. What is in my heart today, is gratitude for the creative work that we all do, that touches lives beyond our reach and beyond our time on Earth. I was looking through the photos of Holly’s work on Tuesdays – and then Thursdays – over the past nearly five years. I was touched to see some that included her hand holding a brush, actively painting her paintings.

Last night after spending a lot of the evening on email communicating with members of our community, I went into the little room in our house, that is my studio to paint for just a bit before bed. I watched my own hand touch into the water, the paint, the paper towel and the watercolor paper. I realized how my mind was sending it signals: which colors, how much paint, how much pressure, which way to drag the brush. All these tiny decisions – starting with the one to actually sit down and paint – eventually become a finished painting, and then another and another after that. The aliveness that animates our bodies, which are the containers of our consciousness, is how the life force uses us to bring new creations into existence.

When we then hang our paintings somewhere – a café, an office, a gallery space – they are seen by and likely touch people who we don’t know. Since our big floral show last year, I heard from many people – who I didn’t know before – share with me how much they appreciated it. One woman, told me how she went back several times to take in all the beauty again – she was so taken by it. Three of the artists in our groups had paintings sell at our annual county fair, a week ago. One of them was Susie’s painting of a bowl of candies – the one she called “Temptation.” I happened to be at the fair on the last day and talked to the person, who had handled the sale that morning. She told me the woman who bought it was thrilled to get to buy the painting – she was surprised it hadn’t already sold. On Thursday, I was talking to Susie about it and she shared the strange feeling of having her creation – the thing she conceived of and painstakingly painted – being in a place she’d likely never be. It will be viewed and appreciated by someone who is (at least for now) a complete stranger.

Yesterday was my Donna’s birthday. I called her to wish her a happy birthday, and she told me of her celebration with her family on Sunday. She has a collection of Life in Full Color coffee and latte mugs. She told me how pretty they looked on the table outside – each one different – spawning a conversation about which mug each person chose. I’m told fairly frequently, how people enjoy their morning coffee or tea in a mug, with one of these paintings on them. It’s a strange and wonderful experience, to realize how all these brush strokes that have become paintings, have ended up wrapped around ceramic and in people’s lives. I know many of the mugs that have gone into the world have been gifts – so there are people having a cup of something with me, who I will never know.

Years ago I read something about imperfections in workmanship, that has stuck with me. I can’t remember the context, but it was pointed out that a brick slightly out of alignment in a brick wall, is a mark of humanity. It brings us to a moment in time. All the perfectly lined up bricks were also each placed in a particular moment, but they all run together in our awareness. It’s the imperfect one that has us realize that this was a living, breathing person, who made a zillion little decisions as he (likely it was a man) placed the bricks. Maybe he was distracted, allowing him to leave one out of place. This has me looking at and holding differently stains on cookbook pages and dents in cars – as well as washes, brush strokes and spatterings of paint in paintings. They all say “someone was here.” That someone was living a real life. And that particular life is often no more. However humble or sublime, they’ve left their mark.

In my pink room, I have a piece of embroidery that my Grandma Brown did. It was a little kit, not her design, but that makes it no less precious to me. It was her hands, that pulled the threads through the fabric putting flowers around the little house. I also have a piece of linen that my other grandmother – my Mama’s Mama – made. She did exquisite Venetian cutwork. Some of it is too fragile to have out all the time, it’s falling apart. Though I never knew her, having her painstaking work in my midst, connects me to her life when she was alive. Each of us must have similar things that were made by those we loved and who loved us.

If you look at it, you can see how our lives are touched in many ways by all kinds of creations. People have composed pieces of music and dance, written books and poetry, designed and engineered the structures of our world, planted trees and built gardens, invented gadgets, started social movements, taught students (special teachers of mine live on in me, you too?), and even the ordinary/extraordinary creativity that goes into raising children.

Thinking of the force, that generates the myriad creations that bring beauty and meaning into my life – I feel… well, the right words escape me… but it’s somewhere around humility, awe and wonder. I don’t know about you, but when I’m sitting to paint, I’m not thinking of those that this painting may touch – during my lifetime or beyond. I’m just painting – I’m an instrument of this creative force. It’s like we all live, breathe and swim in this infinite creative soup.

One day we will all leave our bodies, making way for new generations of people to further the course of humanity. Most of us won’t be in the history books, but we will all have those who will treasure our creations, bringing our lives and the love we painted into moments beyond our lifetime. Of the gifts found in Holly’s passing, as with any loss, one is the reminder of the preciousness of this moment. Hold tight those you love.

With my love and appreciation for the hearts in this community, with their great capacity to hold each other so, so dearly,

Cara