Seriously though, I have worked hard over the last several years (many of which have been challenging to say the least) to find a way to balance my joy of life with the heartaches I have had.
The way I look at it, bad stuff will come to each of us--we can't avoid adversity. Many people think that joy is fleeting and elusive, but I don't agree. In my opinion, joy is a constant mixed with bad times here and there, and you simply have to know how to recognize it. And rather than thinking about how challenging life can be, I prefer to think about how wonderful it all is. Each new experience, each new friend, each new love brings a wealth of sensations. I think many people become numb with the challenges of life and lose their childlike ability to see these things as gifts--how many people do I know who prefer to take a nap than struggle with life?
I try to find a way to be honest with everyone--including with myself. It is important to tell people how great, funny, handsome, beautiful they are, because if I don't tell them, no one else may either! And what if I don't say anything and they get hit by a bus before I tell them?!
The world has enough pessimistic people and I do not want to be them. I find myself reminding me that no one wants to hear the bad things happening in my life--everyone has plenty of their own. I find myself trying to make people laugh with me (or perhaps at me) as I falter through the ups and downs of my life.
And I have always told my daughters to fake being beautiful so that the world believes that you really are. Years ago on my first trip to Italy, I observed that all women, even those that were not beautiful, moved through a crowd on the streets as if they were the most beautiful women on the planet. I took that lesson to heart--if you walk through life, head held high with an illusion of beauty, soon, everyone believes in your beauty, even you!
Which, by the way, after the March/April trip to England for the birth of my newest grandchild, and my discussion in one of my earlier blogs of my ex-husband's comical antics, it is important to share here that he and I are now spending time together on a regular basis. Isn't it cool after twenty-five years to discover that a man who used to be a spouse can now be a friend? He and I share two daughters and their husbands and a grandson, some good memories and some bad ones. Back to that statement I made earlier about the joys and heartaches of life. Pretty valuable treasures to share. Twenty-five degrees of separation? Oh, the ironies of life!
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Aspens almost fully leafed out beyond my studio window. Spring winds tossing New Mexico around. Softball sized hail in the southern part of the state last night. High fire danger across the state today.
Last Friday night Ventana Fine Art, the gallery representing me here in Santa Fe, was on fire with their 25th anniversary show and celebration. Decided to have a little fun and pair my leather slacks with my new Harley Davidson jacket and a ruffled blouse. Amazing how many people I met through that crazy outfit! Just like the old days when Gene and I always put together a "costume" for our shows.
With May comes the start of the Santa Fe season. Busy days ahead.
On Thursday evening I will attend the "Notable New Mexican 2008" gala dinner to honor Glenna Goodacre at the University of New Mexico Ballroom. I am one of the guest artists invited. I am donating my big bear fountain, "The Gift" to the new University of New Mexico Cancer Treatment Center in Gene's memory.
Friday evening, May 9, 2008, is the opening reception for my son Josh at Gallery 822 in Santa Fe. My daughter, Jami, also has an opening reception at Raindance Gallery in Durango, CO on Friday evening.
Next week the University of North Texas alumni association will visit Santa Fe and I will attend the dinner on Friday night. Three of my kids graduated from UNT and the fourth began her college education there. Other visiting artists for the weekend include Bill Worrell, Jesus Moroles and Aaron White, flutist.
Which brings me full circle to the beginning of this entry--when I spoke to the Alumni Director at UNT today, she said that the new Harley Davidson logo was designed by someone at UNT! Knew there was a reason for wearing the jacket--besides just being cool! Can I call that school spirit?
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"Imagine. Know what it's like to hurry home, hoping to lean on the one you love, only to find an empty room. Waiting and waiting. I know that empty room. Yes I do."
Jean Cocteau "Le Bel Indifferent"
The thing about loss and grief is that there is no prescribed method for doing it. I have recently been involved in a conversation about death and loss, which is something I have experienced--my technique for dealing with the death of Tobey has been simply to live. The only way I could manage to heal was to take it one day at a time. I live through one more day, and then one more day, and so on, until a year goes by and I have lived without him for a year. The initial agony I experienced at the beginning when Gene first died did pass.
Gene's life threatening lung illness was first diagnosed in 1994 and he fought to stay alive for eleven years. Perhaps the foreknowledge of a loved one's mortality helps in coping with their eventual death...I don't really know. However, after he died, I know that more times than I care to count, I found myself sobbing--my grief renewed by a lyric in a song or the discovery of a note he stuck into a book, or a particularly amazing sunset that pulled me outside to sit on the pinon stump in front of my house. Each time I pulled myself up with the question of whether I cried because I was feeling sorry for myself or whether I missed him and was sad because he died too early. Sometimes I must acknowledge that I have felt sorry for myself. And I have had to determine how to take a positive step to overcome that feeling. The most important thing that I have learned however, is more than anything else I have ever experienced, Gene's death demonstrated to me that I know very little about life, the world, and people. And what a cool thing it is to discover that!
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My grandson was born at 10:45 pm on his late grandfather's birthday, 4/2/08; 8 lbs 13 oz; 21 inches.
My daughter was in labor all day long, but through the morning we all sat around the apartment, laughing and talking as she danced most of the morning to Jack Johnson's new album! Very cute with her big belly, doing slow rock dancing! I have a couple of photos. This baby also loved Flamenco music while in utero, and so at one point after lunch, his father put on flamenco. Her contractions were coming at about six minutes apart most of the afternoon, but until early evening, she was in great spirits. They finally called a taxi at 8:00 in the evening to go to the birthing center. With a complete stroke of luck, she got the birthing pool and had the baby in the pool after only 2:45 hours!
It is always a humbling moment to behold a tiny newborn baby and contemplate who that individual may become. With interesting parents like baby Hector Arthur's, the possibilities are limitless.
I flew back home on a full, TINY plane from Birmingham with an oversize, teenage boy behind me who pounded the video monitor on the back of my seat probably playing video games, so there was no sleeping, although I was not ready to sleep anyway. Sat with a very nice man who, it turns out, was in the original group who redesigned the Birmingham Bull Ring Shopping Center, reconstructed St. Martin's Church and figured out a way to make the grade from the Bull Ring work with the elevation of St. Martin's--a twenty foot grade difference. Very interesting. Talked about the uproar over the Selfridge's Department Store design too--it looks like something out of Star Wars. Fascinating. He is now in a line of clothing stores in the UK and is on an exploratory trip to the US with a colleague who is black, and while his colleague was flirting with the pretty black flight attendant, this man shared with me the black man's concern about traveling in the US to Atlanta, which led to an interesting conversation about race in the UK and immigration both in the UK and Europe, where the problems with immigration rival those in America. There does not seem to be the same concern about different races, certainly not about black people in the UK that there is here in the US. Great conversation.
Long lines at customs, had to sprint to a different terminal and through security again to make the next flight. Managed to make it. Bad turbulence due to storms from Newark to Houston, so they went to 40,000 feet, which didn't help much--no sleeping on that flight, and slowed down, putting us into Houston late. Had to take the train to another terminal there, but with the American Airlines cancellation of almost 1000 flights due to some mechanical inspections that had not been done--the overflow of extra stranded passengers helped to make my ABQ flight from Houston a little late, so I was able to run again to make it. Even had time to grab a boxed chicken Caesar salad on the way through the terminal. Turbulence on that flight too, but not as bad. Half an hour late into ABQ but my Mom was there waiting. Suitcase made it too. Got home to SNOW on the ground!
But traveling is so much fun! Like childbirth, you soon forget the agony of this trip and are on to the next one!
Anyway, as Judy Garland said, and as I always say when I walk into my house, kissing the floor in gratitude over being home, with a crazy Springer Spaniel slobbering my contacts out, "There's no place like home, there's no place like home!" As I got the coffee ready and set the timer for the morning, my travel alarm went off telling me that it was 5:15 am in England and reminding me that I had been up for 24 hours!
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For all of my friends to whom I have already told this story, forgive the repetition. As happens regularly to me, most of you reacted with hilarity as you responded to me, and as a consequence, I am going to post it. I have a friend in Las Vegas who tells me to keep on writing, so here goes!
This has been quite a visit in England. Not only are we awaiting the birth of my daughter's little boy, but also for the first time in twenty five years I am spending days with my ex-husband. In the intervening years between our divorce in 1983 and today, we each re-married; he had a son with his second wife and I got three step-kids with Gene Tobey; and then he was divorced again and Gene died and we are both alone again. We have come full circle, having perhaps learned how to get along with people a little better, and certainly how to get along better with each other.
And during those twenty five years, my ex-husband came to terms with his alcoholism, joined Alcoholics Anonymous and has found Eastern religion. He has also grown into a kooky, delightful kind of eccentric that everyone enjoys. I am having a lot of fun with him, and am so pleased that he is here for our daughter. He probably should have become a lawyer instead of the contractor that he was, because he has a decisive mind and shifts gears rapidly, with the ability to argue a point from either side. Which is sometimes maddening, but right now it is just comical. I have told my daughter Jami that she should go on the comedy club circuit if she ever decides to stop painting and writing, and I think we should send my ex along with her. As long as he can sit down, like Jack Benny, and lounge back in a chair, he would be terrific.
Yesterday, I awoke at six, my usual early-bird self, and decided to walk down to Harborne for coffee at a UK chain like Starbucks and as I was putting on my jacket, My ex called and said if I'd wait a minute, he would go along. He had not shaved for 2 days and was un-showered, but off we went. He is returning from a three month stay at an ashram in India, and has not yet had his hair cut, so it curls along the top of his collar, and along with the India clothes, in layers to combat the chill of the UK, he is an interesting sight--somewhat reminiscent of an older Michael Douglas in Romancing the Stone. So we arrived at the coffee shop--me with my hair done and make-up perfect, as usual and him looking rather eccentric. (Years ago, I worked at a gallery in downtown Santa Fe, and had to take some film to the photo developing store. I remember stepping down into the gutter to avoid a somewhat disreputable man coming toward me on the sidewalk, and as he passed he smiled and said "Morning, Mam". I was chagrined to recognize Dandy Don Meridith who lived in Santa Fe at the time and prided himself on being able to wander the town, incognito! My ex looked that way yesterday morning.) Back to my story, the morning coffee discussion was that I don't need to go into therapy, but the family is full of alcoholics and manic depressives and generally screwed-up people, but that I am OK and don't need therapy. I was very reassured.
So then we rode the bus to the City Center, deciding to give our expectant kids a day off from parents. My ex is such a trip. You just listen to what he says, and although you agree, you turn around and find yourself chuckling to yourself. It's as though he cultivates being eccentric and says and does things to substantiate his eccentricity. God knows how we were ever married. I look at him in disbelief most of the time.
We had lunch at an Italian place and there we talked about alcoholism and why he has turned to the study of Indian religion, and I learned about the two girlfriends who have taken him to India and how Indian religion pre-dates Christianity and I just smile and shake my head!
We went to a bookstore and for one pound, I bought a book on Goya, the amazing Spanish painter whose work I love. As we left and walked back towards town, my ex-husband was astonished by how many Starbucks coffee shops we saw which led to a discussion about why America switched from tea to coffee due to the Boston Tea Party. I emailed Elizabeth, my histornian daughter, who said that in 1773, after the Boston Tea Party, it became patriotic for Americans to drink coffee instead of tea. She also said that when coffee arrived in Europe in the 1000s Catholics said it was the devil's drink but when the Pope tasted it he loved it so much that he baptized it. You know, it's wonderful to be able to turn to your kids for answers!
I hate people who pride themselves on being wise, telling you things you already know or that you really don't want to know at all. Nonetheless, I have to say that this time I feel as if I have arrived at another plane of existence to be able to spend time with my ex husband and really enjoy myself. Oh how wise I have become.....?
You know, our interaction is just what we need right now, that comic relief that they put in operas or Shakespeare to lessen the momentary tension as we have passed the baby's due date and set out the Monopoly Game to while away a couple of hours!
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In 2007 I was contacted by James Burns, curator of the Booth Museum of Western Art in Cartersville, GA to be part of a special exhibit entitled 21st Century Regionalism: Art of the New American West scheduled for December 18, 2007 through April 20, 2008. Each artist in the show had five works chosen for the exhibit, and on January 12, we were present for a weekend with the members of the Booth. It was an honor to show with artist like my son, Joshua Tobey, Mark Yale Harris, Louisa McElwain, Trish Booth, Howard Post, Josh Elliott, Ed Sandoval, Jim Vogel, Woody Gwynn, Elaine Holein, Tricia Higgins Hurt, Gary Earnest Smith, Doug Smith.
The Booth Museum is located in the small town of Cartersville, 30 miles north of Atlanta and 60 miles south of Chattanooga, TN.Having never been to the museum, it was with great excitement and awe that Josh, Mark Harris and I arrived to spend the morning exploring the museum on January 12. It is an 80,000 square foot structure built of glass and steel with high ceilings and marble floors--the kind of museum that is usually in major cities and remarkable for a town the size of Cartersville. The galleries include one on the American Presidents with letters and photographs from each; a wing devoted to the Civil War, and a most impressive collection of Western Art spanning many years. Museum Director, Seth Hopkins shared his plans for future exhibits with us, and I only wish I lived closer to be able to visit more often and see upcoming shows.
The evening of January 12, the artists able to attend spent time with museum patrons discussing the pieces in the show, and then we gathered in the auditorium where we sat on stage and answered questions posed to us by the exhibit curator about our work. At the end of the formal questions, James opened the discussion to the audience, and one member asked our thoughts on whether Western Art is appreciated outside of the region of the American West. Having had some experience with that when I worked at the Glen Green Gallery in Santa Fe in the mid-80s, I was able to tell the audience about a touring exhibit of Alan Houser's sculpture and Dan Namingha's paintings that traveled throughout Eastern Europe. Howard Post then told them about an exhibit in which he is participating that is traveling throughout Japan; and Elaine Holein said that she has work in an exhibit in the Middle East! It was a great evening.
The Booth Museum is a wonderful place and I urge you to visit if you are in the area.
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When I published my new book,"Partners in Art", many of you requested that I continue to write. However, the work on the book occupied all of my time in 2007, leaving little time for sculpting and painting.Consequently, at this point in time, I have decided to write as often as possible here on my website, rather that taking the time for a second book. However, never say never, and another book is in the planning stages to be gotten to some day down the road.
My daughter, Jami, also a professional artist as well as being a professional writer, urged me to create a blog of my frequent travels. She said that it would be interesting for me to share my thoughts while on the road in both the United States as well as abroad. Since this past Christmas, 2007, I have done quite a lot of traveling, and only wish that I had created the blog for those trips. I went to Jami's in California for Christmas; went back to Santa Fe for one day and then flew to my daughter Jessica's parents-in-law in Venezuela for the week of the New Year. I returned to New Mexico for four days followed by a weekend trip to the Booth Museum of Western Art in Cartersville, GA where I was in a show entitled "21st Century Regionalism: Art of the New West" along with my son, Josh. (More on the Booth show later) After the Booth show, I drove to another show in Palm Springs, CA at Adagio Gallery. I was home for ten days and then went on a two week trip to Tubac, AZ for a show at the Karin Newby Gallery, followed by a show in Sedona, AZ at Exposures Fine Art. Whew!
I had a month at home during which I used the inspiration of my time in Sedona with the herons in Oak Creek Canyon to create a new piece of sculpture before heading to England to the home of my daughter, Jessica and her husband, Hector, where we await the birth of their first child. This blog comes to you from the University of Birmingham, in the UK.
I feel a real connection to England. I am not sure if it is because my ancestors on both sides of my family came to America from England, or if it is simply a country that I find appealing. But I love it. I pile on layers of clothing to keep from getting frozen because, as many of you know, I am always cold and England is a cold and damp place! We have had snow here every morning for a week! I then head out with my kids to discover new people, places and things.
I also love being back in a University setting. My daughter and son-in-law live in a tiny flat (apartment in American) in an international dormitory. Last year Jessica finished her masters degree in teaching English as a second language and has continued teaching international students. My son-in-law, Hector, is completing his PhD in musicology specializing in Renaissance Lute. The lute is the early predecessor to the modern guitar. Because of their location with very few hotels nearby, I decided that it would be best to be closer to them as we await the birth of their son, and I also am living in the dormitory. I am across the lawn from them in a dorm for international post-graduate students. Having completed my degrees in 1972, it has been a few years since I lived in a dorm! The first day I was here, we checked into my dorm, and my kids went upstairs with me and helped me make my bed, just as I had done for my daughter when she went to the university for the first time. Talk about deja vu all over again! Although the room is small and my single bed very hard, I have a stack of books with a reading lamp next to the bed, a dock for my IPod, a French press for my morning coffee transfusion, a nice view of the garden, and it is very quiet.
Last week, I walked over to the University with Jessica, and while she attended to an appointment, I browsed through the bookstore. I am one of those people who finds bookstores like candy stores. I love to read. As I wandered through the University bookstore, I found myself greeting books with great excitement that I have recently read and caressing titles and remembering favorite characters. Hello, "Middlesex", how are you "A Thousand Splendid Suns"? What is it about the dry almost musty smell of books that gets some of us? It's like my mother's association of freshly sharpened pencils with the first day of school and her excitement about being back in class.
And I began to think that if I had another couple of lifetimes, I would go back to the University and get several additional degrees. I have said for many years that I wanted to study Archeology and Anthropology. I have also coveted a degree in Geography, linking the places where people settle to the kinds of cultures that develop. This week I long for Shakespeare, which was a passion when I was at the University. "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace..."
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