Life in progress
It's still going and so will we...
This post is heavy, in more ways than one, on the “life” side of things happening in my world lately. As the title of this blog points to, art and life are deeply connected and so tangled in ways that we can’t reasonably begin to understand at times.
“Art is the highest form of hope”
-Gerhard Richter
This morning, I was searching through a couple of my recent sketchbooks for this quote, which I swore I wrote down in one of them some time ago. Like a lot of my thoughts these days, my writing is scattered throughout multiple sketchbooks and notebooks, finished and unfinished. In fact, during my recent studio reorganization, I found at least three different sketchbooks that I’d begun and never finished using. I’ve been tempted to just pick up wherever I left off in one of them and just continue with whatever new thoughts I have.
If anyone winds up researching anything about me and goes through my sketchbooks eventually, there’s going to be wild jumps in time within my notes. There won’t be a clear, straightforward narrative from one notebook to the other. Same thing has happened with my art over time; I’m always pulling from older ideas to fuel new work.
Back to that quote: “Art is the highest form of hope”. This resonated with me so much when I first encountered it. To even dare to think of making something is to have a sense of there being a future. To act in such a way as to allow room in our psyches for the idea of bringing something into existence is the start of a future for which we do not have any idea what it may look like, but we know something is going to happen through our actions.
Engaging with creativity of any form is an act of faith of the highest order. Every time we’re painting, drawing, sketching, doodling, make a simple line, whatever it is, we’re shaping a future in that moment.
Faith in and shaping the future has been on my mind a lot recently, and I’m sure it’s the same for a lot of you reading this, especially as we’ve come through the presidential election in the U.S. Last Tuesday, I completely disengaged from keeping up with any news about the potential outcome as well as the actual outcome. I was burnt out already from the months of constant speculation, the big shift on the Dem side and the continuing support for someone on the other side who champions some of the darkest visions for this country I’ve witnessed in my lifetime. I was determined to get some amount of sleep that night and thankfully did, even though I woke up too early to see who’d won.
Disappointed, but not surprised was on repeat in my ensuing conversations with people. The people who support DT and what he stands for were never going to waver and we saw that play out over the past few years. They doubled down and others followed suit. I don’t know exactly what the future holds, but it doesn’t look good for most of us.
Could the Dems have been better about how they handled things? Yeah, maybe. One can only hope that they’ve learned some lessons, but I’m not optimistic. I don’t know what shape that party will take now, but thinking too much about what went wrong doesn’t matter now. There’s a future to be written and I hope we all are taking time to care for ourselves and the loved ones we care for so we can be ready to deal with what’s likely coming.
In the week since, I’ve worked hard to take note of things that I control and change while putting what I can’t personally change on the back burner, for now, in the interest of emotional and mental self-preservation. I’m moving further into being present with people who bring light, positivity and uplifting visions to life and I’m trying to be the same for others in whatever way(s) I can.
Life cycle: loss
Aside from the election, the past few weeks have been marked by a lot of personal loss, both companion animals and human. About three weeks ago now, we lost Julia’s cat, Dasher (shorthair tabby above), to kidney disease. Like a lot of cats, he showed no outward symptoms of anything being wrong, but there was a sudden, acute downturn in his health, movement and eating habits. A trip to the vet confirmed the kidney disorder we attempted treatment, but it wasn’t enough. We repeated a similar situation with Banjo (white shorthair) a couple of weeks later, last Monday evening, to be exact. Both cats were in the 16-17 year old range, so the diagnoses wasn’t unusual, but still hard to handle.
I only knew him for the last 7 years or so, but Dasher was one of the sweetest, genuine lap cats one could hope for, almost too much so, at times. Those are the times he was after what we were eating more than a warm lap, but I couldn’t blame him. When we took in two sibling kittens, Dasher automatically bonded with one and they remained very close until the end.
Banjo was one of my cats that I brought into the house when I moved in a few years ago. He’d been with me since 2008 and was one of the five shelter-adopted cats I shared with my ex-wife. Losing him has been especially hard. Probably the hardest animal death that I’ve had to deal with. Starting with his presence being missing. It’s been hard not seeing him running to get fed or lounging around purring and waiting for belly and full body rubs and so much more.
Like Dasher, Banjo was incredibly easy to love and was loved by everyone who met him. An incredibly affectionate cat, he had a knack for knowing just where to position himself when he laid on my stomach so as to not cause any discomfort. There’s a ton more I could type, but I’m going to leave it here, for now. Both cats were well loved and had long lives. I’m glad to have been one of the chosen to receive their love.
While dealing with those losses, the day after Halloween, I found out about the sudden death of a friend from my teen years. On Halloween afternoon, he texted me and other friends and family a Halloween meme as well as one of the best Vincent Price imitations of the “Thriller” voiceover, ever. The reality still hasn’t fully sunk in, yet. One of the highlights of my memories of Cornell, or “Cory” as he liked to be called, was that if you gave him some styrofoam, some tape and cardboard, he could make just about anything, including a very faithful reproduction of the Millenium Falcon, the detail of which blew my mind when I saw it for the first time visiting his house way back when. He and I nerd-bonded over sci-fi, comics, Monty Python and bad humor. He was one a of a kind, gentle giant of a soul who will be missed.
Oh, and my laptop died, too. Luckily, I have my desktop here in the studio, but it’s somewhat limiting now that I’m used to doing so much on the laptop these days, like writing in chunks at home before or after being in the studio. I also got a lot done on the weekends with it.
I’ll just adjust until I can get another one.
Reset
My recent studio reorganization, which I did back on Halloween, still has me floating just thinking about it. The change was so needed and feels a lot more like “home” now. Opening up the space in the way I did completely changed elevated my already good feelings about being here.
In the midst of everything else going on, this has been among the few things lately that has kept me pretty sane. It feels really good walking in here now and I can’t wait to get my hands on the materials I need to make some new paintings.
Into the woods
Nature has a way of making almost everything better. It’s one of my favorite ways I’m able to recharge. Especially this time of year, when it hasn’t gotten too cold and the fall colors are out in abundance. If there’s a chance to get out into the woods for a few hours, we try to do just that. The Wissahickon Valley Park is such an oasis in the city. You can almost completely forget that you’re in the middle of the convergence of three major Philly neighborhoods. It’s only when you’re on some of the upper trails that you get catch sight of people’s homes whose backyard is basically the park itself.
Etc…
Work in progress. I began this piece last night, using an old work on paper from 2011 and collaging some images onto it, so far. The original image is a black stencil repeated many times over a red background. This morning, I was walking to catch the bus to the studio and this pile of burgundy red-brown leaves caught my eye. The connection in colors just hit me a moment before posing, so I added in the leaf photo. This is the kind of serendipity that I live to witness.
Arvo Pärt’s “Te Deum” provided some of today’s writing soundtrack. I hadn’t listened to this in a long time and really enjoyed hearing it again.
That’s about it for today. I feel like I just gave a two hour talk or someting even though I was only thinking and typing between errands and working here in the studio.
A lot of you are new readers who recently subscribed after my last entry on 10/18 and I thank you for joining me here! I appreciate everyone who reads what I’m putting out into the world and I hope you’re finding value in it. If you like what you’re reading, consider sharing and/or recommending Art & Life Stirred Vigorously to your readers, thanks!
Where to find my work:
Black Drawings & Other Things You Didn’t Know About at The Gallery at Mercer County Community College through December 18, 2024. Go here to read about the show and take a virtual tour.
See you around soon!
So sorry that you're experiencing these losses. Death seriously sucks! O hope that coming to terms with it all is not too hard.
I've enjoyed your 2 hour lecture though, it was really easy to read and felt like we were catching up over coffee.
I’m so sorry to read about the deaths of Dasher and Banjo! After being in your life for so long, you must really feel the loss of their presence. That sudden absence when an animal is gone feels so hard to bear! I hope that your memories of them will console you after time has passed.