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YOU’RE EVERYWHERE IN HEAVEN HERE ON EARTH
26.5 X 58 in
NATURAL DYES ON SILK

This piece was completed high on a hilltop overlooking the ocean.
The French doors to the studio fully open, a light warm breeze wafting through
It was a beautiful morning, and I glanced down at someone else’s dog sitting quietly nearby

And I thought about each of them

This painting suddenly morphed and I began to write
The painting ~ now a reminder -
These flowers ~ a loving memorial

Love is forever

Morgan County Historical Society 

2025 Charity Auction  ~ May 31st

 

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FARM #5  (My Farm, Red Barn Series) 

there are six paintings in this series ~

(Custom Frame) 

IVER,  The Cow

(IVER lives in Uinta. He is adorable - - - and he is also a very friendly cow!)  MOO!

 

 

ABOUT THIS SERIES ~ 

Everything was possible.  

 

I took the train (safely) into Manhattan and changed clothes into something ~ well, . . … let's just say a bit nicer than ripped up - worn-in /worn-out denims,  beat-up running Tretorns,  turtleneck and flannel (‘my usual uniform’).  My friend hadn’t wanted to tag along that evening for what I had planned, but she gladly lent her apartment as a place to change out of my “safe-to-ride-the-NY-subway” outfit into something more appropriate for a night out in NYC.  We had an opportunity to catch up on what was going on in each of our lives.  I was busy with my medical training, so there wasn't time for much else. . . not a whole lot of time for friends,  no time for many of the things I had loved.   (B.G.:  I was informed by my parents when I entered college,  that playing the piano was not 'a real career.'  It was a hobby.  "You can play on weekends when you have free time!"  

I had had to find a "real career," and so I did.  But my heart was not really there.  hmm . . . My heart was definitely not there.)  

 

(Present. NYC) Now the inevitable query ~ 

 

"So let me get this straight," she said,  looking at me still a bit confused by it all.  "You got a series subscription to the Metropolitan Opera?  WHY on Earth would anyone do THAT?!!”

 

I smiled.  "Because I LOVE it!"

 

"Really?" she responded,  still quite confused.  "What exactly do you love about it?"

 

"It has literally EVERYTHING! Great stories! Great music!  Great costumes!  Great stage sets!  Great voices!" I paused.  And then a bit mischievously,  "and really… really GGG-G-GREAT DRAMA!" I added dramatically, suddenly not sounding shy at all!  (I was very shy) 

We both smiled.  

 

I wiggled out of my denims and into a tailored dark wool sleeve, stood up, put on my stilettos and a large shawl with gold thread running through it, which I draped across my shoulders - of course with great flair - and we both laughed.  Then off I went...

 

 

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[A reminder.  We Are Free!  Did you know that if you stand in just the right spot in front of the Metropolitan Opera in New York City with your back towards the building, you can see the Statue of Liberty?] There are many people who’ve attended the opera in NYC many times over many years and are to this day not aware of this little known fact.  Many are even New Yorkers!!!  But it’s true …

 

 

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Octaves.  Up and back.  Up and back. Up and back!  Watch your fingering! Watch your timing. Listen to the metronome. UP AND BACK! (Rosamunde taught at Juilliard.  But I took lessons in her home. She was a character.  She offered carrot juice to a four year old. I didn’t want carrot juice. UGH!!  She was also a relentless drill Sargent.) Faster! FASTER!! Determined.  Focused.  Obsessed.  Up and back.  Up and back down.  I practiced daily for several hours a day.  I was going to NYSSMA and playing at the highest level of the competition.  I was competing against Russian and Chinese children even younger than I and equally focused and determined.  Rosamunde would not settle for me coming in Second Place. (I didn’t) UP AND BACK.  Again and again and again.  Definitely a drill Sargent. But I was disciplined, even when she wasn’t around.  Siblings complained to my mother that they were unable to practice before their weekly lessons,  because I never left the keyboard.  It was true.  I never did. 

 

 

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“PIANO SOLO?  NO!”

Mr. Arnold wanted me to continue to play violin with the Orchestra.  That was where I had been introduced to the music.  Vivaldi, Haydn, Handel,  Corelli,  others.  There weren't that many of us in the Orchestra as it turned out,  so even the loss of my admittedly very limited skills would have been devastating to a string section of only three.  And in fact,  I did not want to leave.  I loved the music.  But I also had other plans.  So when Arnold told me there was nothing available for a solo pianist,  I took my limited skillset on the strings and my violin,  and my reeds and clarinet,  and hit the road - or more accurately, high-tailed it down the hallway for the Band Room.  They were a significantly larger group and - as it also turned out - way cooler.  They marched at football games!  And what high school student doesn't want to be one of the "cool kids?!" Mr. Norton welcomed me to his growing marching band.  Shortly thereafter,  Mr. Arnold came to me with a proposition.  There was a work by Leroy Anderson,  and he was wondering whether or not I would be interested in the part for a solo pianist?  WAS I EVER! 

 

A short while after,  I was standing off stage,  preparing for my debut!  Soloist.  A dream come true.  Yes, I was shy. I was not one of the "cool kids." But once I took the stage and my fingers touched the keys,  I was transformed.  I melted into the music.  The audience melted away.   I was alone on the stage with only the music. That piece was who I was… I felt it in every note. I became lost in the notes. I was grounded.  And at the same time, I was also flying.  It was a simple but lovely piece by Leroy Anderson, and I played it with just the right amount of emotional tenderness warranted.  It required a gentle hand.  I was a gentle hand. It was hauntingly beautiful. It was called  

. . … Forgotten Dreams. 

 

 

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[I was the quandary. . . … Nobody could figure me out. I didn’t fit into the boxes.  My brother-in-law’s question?:  What sort of man do you see yourself with?  The answer was simple and required little thought. One who loves kids -- lots and lots of them,  because I love kids and want lots and lots of children….. and a man who loves the outdoors and OF COURSE a man who loves animals.  One who can hang out with me on the farm or in the wilderness during the day,  wielding an axe to chop the wood,  working around the farm in our overalls & boots,  hiking through the mountains, herding the animals into a pen,  roughhousing it later on with the children and with the big dogs - YES!! Several big ‘ol dogs!! . . .  So far,  simple enough,  right?  And then that same guy, that very same guy! - putting on a tux and escorting me in the evening to the Opera!  TA DA!  'My brother-in-law looked at me for a second, shook his head,  and replied, “Good luck trying to find THAT!'  He was correct.

 I never did.]   

(I ought to add here, that this description of an “ideal man” really falls flat in areas such as New York, Los Angeles, Chicago . . . … if I had described running away with an alien whose spaceship just landed in our great city - that description would have gained far more traction in NY or LA- - / but a farmer?  Preposterous! To a New Yorker or Angeleno, my description sounded bizarre.  I’m not certain that others around the country really fully understand how the coastal elites actually view them.  In short, they view them as other-worldly. 

 

 

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No sound of laughter in the yard.

 No farm and broken fences needing repairs.
 No sheep or goats to be herded.  

No farm.  No red barn.  

 

The years they came and went, and I don't know where they went.

 

 

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(OjAi, California)

Bert Collins is one of the best pastelists in California if not the country. I was invited to sit in on her class. (I remain one of her very favorite people. And yet, she still to this day, she never gets my name right. She Always calls me ‘Emily.’  (How that came to pass, Dear Reader, is another story!)  But for now,  suffice it to say,  I just sat there looking off into space.  Not knowing what to paint.  Bert sided her wheelchair next to me at the table.  'Just paint something you love.  And then you can do a series.   Do the same thing over and over until it starts to improve.  Until it appears.  Or changes.  You can alter the palette.  You can alter something in the subject.  What do you dream about?'  I stared blankly off into space. I couldn’t think of one thing. Not. One! Was it possible that I'd entirely stopped dreaming?  My mind went blank.  I couldn’t think of a reply. What do you love?  What do you dream about? 

I had had cancer at an early age.  Children, many children, …. a huge family, a dream which I no longer entertained…  suddenly every other dream had lost its meaning too… my mind searched for an answer but I couldn’t think of anything… I hadn’t really given it much thought at all until Bert asked me that one question … and I couldn’t think of an answer

 

Bert looked at me.  It shouldn't be that difficult.   Just tell me,  if you could paint anything at all,  what would you want to see manifest itself on your canvas board.  Show me, . . . .  What do you love?'  And that’s when I remembered my childhood dream - when I grow up, I want to live on a farm… lots of children…. lots of animals…  a big old barn that I was going to fix up….  My Farm ~ and a Red Barn 

MR GREY, ATHENA, CALLIE & HANS 
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Forgotten Dreams ? 
 . . . ahhhhhhh, but the fat lady has not yet sung! 

         

After all,                                                                                            Anything is possible!  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE MORNING AFTER  (For Nuit) 

Original,  2007/ Malibu__ Oil on Canvas_ 36 in. x 48 in.  

(SOLD) 

Prints Not Available At This Time 

 

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La Nuit ~  (French)  Darkness or night.   Also the name of one remarkable cat living in the 'Bu. . . 

 

 

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In many of my works,  I view the surface of the canvas as a point in time. When I scribble into the surface (beneath the surface), to me that is another moment of time -- the past.  And when I place things "on top of" the canvas, sculpted in 3-D,  that too represents a moment of time -- the future.  I thought about that quite a bit while working on this painting. 

 

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THE MORNING AFTER  (“the morning after the Malibu Fire” of 2007)  was started while I was living at the top of Busch Drive in Malibu, California. It was one of those pieces where I just 'got stuck'  (I hate when that happens).  It's really tough walking away from the work and returning to it -  for many reasons,  but the main one is this -- the mixed colors can never be exactly duplicated, only approximated,  and for a colorist this is a holy catastrophe.  But that's where I was when I headed off to New York City in 2007 for a short stay.  

 

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Nuit.  Black as night.  Filled with light. . .

I watched the News from the City.  It was not good.  Malibu was on fire.  I wondered if my place was still standing. I watched footage of helicopters overhead dumping their payload over the City.  I could "smell the fire" and imagined the traffic along Pacific Coast Highway (P.C.H.)  And of course, I worried about Nuit and other wild cats in the area.  One in particular that had befriended me. She would sit outside my door in the middle of the night howling until I opened the French doors to allow her inside.  (Generally speaking,  I don't recommend letting in the bobcats.  They are wild animals, of course. And yet I had befriended one. . . .)  . . … it was entirely my own fault.  I left a can of tuna out one night, and I think that that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. She'd cry. I'd let her in.  Sometimes I’d fall asleep.  When I awoke from her cries, there she was.  Other times, she would lie next to me on the bed.  I'd rub her back and belly. . . .  It was usually at 2 or 3 in the morning,  when I had fallen asleep next to the wild thing,  she'd wake up and stand by the door, crying to go back out.  She'd disappear into the night and several nights would go by.  I'd hear nothing from her.  I worried about her, but respected her freedom and never tried to force her to be an “indoor cat!”  WHERE WAS SHE??  

And then she'd reappear,  flinging a dead mouse in the air for me to catch. (I didn't).  She would toss it in my direction. (It was d-i-s-g-u-s-t-i-n-g).  But I knew she wanted me to have it.  It was a gift. And when I didn't take it, she'd throw it repeatedly into the air trying to attract my attention and get me interested. (I wasn't).  Then she would play with it for a very long time.  And soon there wouldn't be much left except for a trail (of guts).  

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Fire raged across the t.v. screen.  I though of Nuit.  And I hoped she had found safe refuge.  

 

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When I returned to Malibu, the house was  - remarkably  - still standing.  Some of the neighbors weren't as lucky.  (WHY HADN’T OUR GOVERNMENT  LEADERS  DONE  WHAT NEEDED TO BE DONE TO CLEAR THE  DRY BRUSH?  ON WHAT HAD THEY SPENT ALL OF OUR TAX  DOLLARS?). Devastation in every direction with homes leveled, trees gone, and the earth charred.  People were understandably angry. 

Many people lost everything.  

But over there something caught my eye.  It was a small cluster of flowers that grew from the earth. Ahhh, . . … hope.  I started to work again on the piece.  It became an explosion of fire on the canvas,  the yellow and the oranges and reds,  but mostly the yellows.  But it was quiet all around me and there was no sign of Nuit.  This painting was an impression of what it was like here in this place of beauty after everything disappeared and then new growth started to reappear and take the place of the old.  (And I waited. And I listened. But I heard nothing.)  There is one small cluster of flowers in THE MORNING AFTER that represents life and hope for the land after the fire. 

 

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Night fell.   And in the sunlight,  The Morning After was finally complete.  It was beautiful and deeply meaningful.  There is always hope even after the darkness. Those who survive can always start again.  Yellow as the fire. Yellow as the sun.  I drifted off to sleep alone in the dark in the hills over Malibu. And then in the middle of the night I heard a familiar sound.  And I jumped from my bed and ran to the French doors leading out into the garden. I flung the doors wide and she sauntered inside, aloof and casually as if nothing at all had happened.  And I lay there awake on my bed with her next to me.  And I rubbed her back and her belly. 

 

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*   Archival Prints No longer Available   *

*   Original has found a loving home in a Private Collection in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan   * 

 

 

WINTERTIME 

2022-2023

Oil on Canvas 

48 x 48 in 

(SOLD) 

 

 

I don't recall when I first knew . . ..  

 

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These four weeks especially,  You strike at my heart.  

 

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I think she will cross over today, or perhaps tomorrow.   I feel it.. . strange, because I don't even know her.  And yet,  connection  ~  

 

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Ahh . . .. Theodora!  Where are you when I call your name?  The person they see and the person I see are not the same! 

 

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As I walk on this gentle bed of pine needles  . . crunch,  crunchy crunch crunch so soft beneath my gentle bare feet . . .. I am dreaming about my home up ahead . . . ..  I am alone in this upstate blooming wilderness a stone’s throw from our City where we grew up so close so close . . .  This place with its spectacular view, it is warm, incredibly cozy and ahh so inviting;  it says come in come inside come inside here and stay for awhile.  So I entered and now I can hardly believe we are here because we are never far apart!  SO VERrY HAPPY!  Snowflakes drop from the Heavens and my Schutzhund-trained pack - - - well, . . . .. especially King (you know how he got his name!) . . .. always & all ways reliable,  he jumps they jump and catch these little wonders of nature falling from above and into their open comical waiting mouths with jaws that can generate more pounds per square inch than any other but now with lips curled furiously on their soft soft inviting flakes they look positively silly - such silly will he willy guys all!  You can’t help it can you you AWAA make me smile  - - and now they -my pack - glance up at me utterly bewildered both by my smiling at seemingly nothing in particular and also as the tiny gentle white flakes of perfect organization a perfect organization a geometry disappears as quickly as. . . .  my breath,  a passing white cloud kisses hugs kisses in the air in front of my lips, and it holds for a mere moment crystals and then disappears gently into the air and in spite of everything yet I do not feel this bone chilling cold.  

 

(I came back here longing for something other than the cold . . .. every morning when I awaken I want and every evening before I close my eyes I want & AWAA so many times throughout the lingering hours of the forever day I hunger for something only you only you and I wonder how I will make it through another day, and yet somehow somehow will this waiting ever end and on and on and on it goes and the snowflakes fall and spearmint flavored breaths linger visible in the air and I try not to think I will myself not to I will myself to live another day one more hour like this & King jumps up and places his humongous paws on my two shoulders as if he wants to dance with me he loves to too and Cali is so jealous but she no longer talks like when she used to hear your voice and talk to you but King,  he is so very silly that he actually makes me laugh aloud . . .. )

 

. . .. and I know what you would say what expression you would make if you saw me dancing in the wilderness all alone or swaying stepping moving tapping dancing with this big ol' ofelike beast because I love to dance and I can hear the music even when there isn't any and even when no-one else is dancing and they stand there in the street and watch me move and everyone is smiling and everyone feels good and happiness is spreading all around and all it took was for someone to start to dance!  

 

 

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Aaaahhhh… . . .. Yes! I returned to a place I once escaped to before,  do you remember my telling you about it, The Pine Forest?  Here.  The mountains.  Fresh!  Clean!  Pure!  Whooooshhhh, . . ..  a sparkling stream not yet frozen,  it will be a bit longer. . .  It is filled with lives rushing passed lives rushing past the french doors of my cottage.  I can lose myself in this beauty.  

 

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A piece of paper valued above all. I can not. . ..

 

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And an entire community would rally behind to help in ways no man would ever even know about.

I was warned that they were powerful. . .

True 

 

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I felt sad for a boy,  now a man.   Who allowed that to happen to him?  

And the girl?  What things said and unsaid turned her against you?  

And the winter is sometimes bitterly cold . . . 

 

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I never would have allowed that . . .  Never.  

But an avalanche razes everything.  

 

They would both have seen the amazing wondetfull miracle I see.  

Goodness raises everything.

 

. . .  and Christmas is approaching and I remember crying much of last Noël . . .

And the lives rushing past . . .. and the stream coursing over the rocks . . .. 

 

 

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Wildlife, . . ..  eagles gliding by overhead floating on the breath of the wind,  bears lumbering by ROKU ROKI  ROKI GRRRR and mountain lions on the hunt (like the one that shared my bed when I lived in the 'Bu);  and wolves traveling in packs they are a community (except for one who travels in the pack but is all alone in knowledge mastery and skill); and hawks nose-diving and owls peering through the night seeing everything and things others cannot see . . ..   I hear the nighttime howls . . .. what beauty God has created and it stands side by side with darkness  . . ..  I see her as she is . . ..I see through the darkness.  And you see it too.  I know you can see.   Then why?  Because you think you failed?   Because you do not want to fail again?   Yes it is complicated.  And you are amazing.  And you are special. And I have not forgotten.  I think you knew all along I would I could not . . .. 

 

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My God!  Get me as far away as is humanly possible.   I ran I ran to be among nature where I can feel safe.  I do not want to be in the same World with people such as this!  Instead, I will stay here among the stars and the bears, and the lions and wolves and the hawks and the sentinel owls that peer through the night . . ..   

 

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I CAN see through the darkness. 

 

What does it mean - difficult,  unpleasant,  intolerable?

              - - - NO!  

 

Too much? NO

Too complicated? NO

Be less than who you are? NO NEVER! 

 

 

 

Easygoing!  Comfortable!  Loving!  Joyful! 

ABSOLUTELY  EXTRAORDINARY!! 

 

She told me things I knew were all untrue.  How can anyone that close to a person not truly see them?  Well I guess you and I both know the answer to this,  don’t we!   There was that!  Anyway, I heard it all before from ‘Burl Ives’ who said i did not know or understand.  I laughed because it’s they who don’t, and how could they… they are not up to it!  Not even BICO! 
I do understand.   Because I see  ~   EXTRAORDINARY!  

 

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They say the windchill is in the double digits today.  Wintertime!  

 

I wonder if she kept it from you or if you knew, but I don't want to I can not believe even now that you could have done something cruel.  I suppose I will never learn what you did and didn't know.  But a part of me still believes in you. You were my closest friend.  We could tell each other anything at all WOW and it was always so easy always AWAA so incredibly easy  . . ..  of course I do miss that ~  

 

I suppose confirmation would be nice -  But I suppose it doesn't really matter.  Ahh. . . well. 

 

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Strange,  I was mesmerized by that one episode in GOT,  and I don't even know why.   I think I watched it a dozen times. I even named a painting Arya.  I suppose it is true then!  

 

'Winter is Coming!" 

 

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Hmm. . ..  there were others to consider,  risking all that was too much . . .  

 

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GOT:   They came disguised as friends.  And just one, a lover.  
Just one.

An incredible lover . . ..

An incredible love . . ..

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You can not live with a selfish self-absorbed individual for decades-  and not be made less than all you are capable of being . . . 

 

Clay is solid,  not like cotton or silk.  It is hard.  It is tough.  But a body made of clay,  porcelain the finest and most beautiful in its qualities,  it's also quite fragile and if you strike at it it may shatter  . . ..

 

 

  

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I slept easily last night here.  And when I awoke it was to the sound of the stream and the sight of a young deer with her fawn drinking quietly just outside my window.  

 

A noticed another small drop of blood on my bed.  

 

It is peaceful here.   I watched from my window for a moment.   I held a tissue, wiped the tears that had fallen on my cheek.  I felt a lump in my throat, and I let out an audible gasp. Breathe.  I tell myself this too shall pass.  Just breathe.  For a moment I am transported back back across decades.  My mother is sitting on the edge of my bed,  and she brushes my long dark hair back from in front of my eyes so I can see.  She tells me not to be afraid.   And then the image disappeared as suddenly as it appeared.  I do not know how much time . . .. 

 

The air is cold,  but a warm fire crackles close by sending embers up through the chimney.  It smells like wonderfull wintertime.  And now I am surrounded. . . ..   trees,  trees,  trees,  birds.  And now I feel it.  Wintertime.  I hear the melodies of the Holidays they make me smile!  (But not you.  You tell me you hate Christmas songs and that is so silly.  Tell me,  why is that?! I mean who doesn't love Christmas songs!)   When we meet again you have only to smile because in that alone it feels like you make love to me a million times and I feel something in your presence that’s impossible to explain and moreso to even describe but it’s real we don’t even need to touch ~  Yes! I am here again in my New York Pine Forest.  YES!  I am home.  

 

 

 

   * * * * * * * * *  *

 

Ahhh. . ..  you ask about Him.   

Who is he you ask?  

 

 * * * * * * * * *  * 

 

Are WE really going to have another 'free association' session! 

What a silly-willy willhe! 

 

   * * * * * * * * *  * 

 

Finally, . . ..  Peace.  He is with me.   And I will create something truly beautiful for him using this gift he gave to me. Like that piece on the strings I had specially made that serves to modulate the sound,  so too this gift he gave to me,

this brush, and  then with these hands this special touch  . . ..   

 

I can't wait to show you what I can REALLY do!  Watch my canvas come alive!   

 

 * * * * * * * * *  * 

 

Harmony . . ..

 

I can hear your music,  you are playing,  and it all is sounding so sweet to me,  perfect really!   It always has been. Your music  fills my heart with such joy!  (But tell me,  think about this,  why here on Earth did it take me for you to be able to see it?)

 

 * * * * * * * * *  *  

 

"Janai,"  (Gift)  "Do not be afraid because of what the ice queen has done.. .. you can not stop the unraveling.  remember only this ,  I gave you a gift."  

 

 * * * * * * * * *  *  

 

Kindness.  

 

Honesty in all things. 

 

Thoughtfullness.

 

Life-affirming.

 

Joy in simple things. 

 

Goodness. 

 

Bringing beauty into the World. 

 

Caring for the animals.

 

Compassion.

 

Integrity.

 

Truth. 

 

Love.

 

Selflessness.  Putting others' needs ahead of your own AWAA

 

Sight.  The most special most remarkable gift of all! 

 

 

 

Do you recall the moment when you were sitting on your couch, SiBu at your side?  It was early 2004. You were staring at your easel and the painting.   Suddenly you realized what was missing. Where do these thoughts come from?  Do you remember writing each of those words onto that canvas, quickly and with bare hands so as not to forget?  It was 2 decades ago.  You painted with an injured arm through pain and throughout the night until it was complete. And then the name,  ONCE UPON A TIME.  It came so easily!  And when you needed help to save Sim, OUAT sold . . ..  Trust what you see."     

 

   * * * * * * * * *  *

 

yes it is cold here but I do not feel it when I think of you and a calmness washes over me, and I begin to paint . . ..   

     

   * * * * * * * * *  *

 

 

ACARONAR

Original_  2021__  Mixed Media/Enamel __ 20 in. x 16 in.

Sturt Haaga Gallery, Descanso Gardens,  Canãda Flintridge, California

 

The painting, ACARONAR,  is part of my post-pandemic 'playing phase' - in this case with oil, mixed media and enamel.  Using these different mediums was a joy, and so the painting speaks to having fun and joy in life.  Red is the color of passion which is how I feel about the creative process!!  With that in mind, the title that came to mind was ACARONAR which comes from Catalan and which translated into English means 'to embrace and to caress.'  And THAT is a beautiful thing!  

 

PROVENANCE: 

October 28,  2023-January 28, 2024:

Opening:  October 27th  

SHAPE AND FORM 

Sturt Haaga Gallery at Descanso Gardens,  

La Canãda Flintridge, California  USA

 

August 2023:  

LELA International 44th Annual Peace Exhibition,  

A BRIDGE FOR PEACE

The Makery Gallery

Downtown Los Angeles, California USA 

THE SHAPE OF WATER MOST LIKE LOVE

 

"THE SHAPE OF WATER MOST LIKE LOVE" is based on a beautiful contemporary poem by the same title from the 2020 Collection of poems by author David J. Rothman (with permission of the author).   In my painting,  I attempted to metaphorically connect the author's words with my flowers,  linking these two vital forces. . . .. ahh Excelsior!  

 

 

 

Published in 2013 by White Violet Press,  "THE SHAPE OF WATER MOST LIKE LOVE" was written from the author's home in Colorado.

 

 

 

 

ON THE NARROW ROAD TO SAGAWA

ORIGINAL _  2023 _  Oil on Canvas _  30 in x 40 in  

(Custom frame)

 

Shortly before the June 2023 International Japan Art Exhibition at the Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum,  I travelled to Lake Biwa, close to Kyoto.  There I visited the amazing botanical gardens and an Art Museum unlike any other.  The work - sculptures, paintings, ceramics, drawings - were exquisite,  but so too was the Museum itself in which they were displayed.  All of the elements worked together -  both natural and artificial lighting, the exhibition spaces, the sounds of nature,  the incorporation of water elements, building materials, design and colors and textures,  the manner in which the art on display was handled & arranged,  "allowed it to breathe," . . .  all worked together in an indescribable way.  And I imagined at that moment what my best work might look like in such a setting,  cared for and exhibited in such a thoughtful manner by the Japanese Museum staff.  Only the best work of the best artists might eventually find their way here. And would an American artist even be exhibited in this venue or was it solely for the work of Japanese artists? (I didn’t know the answer to that question).  But one can dream,  right?  The road to Sagawa would not be easy, and there would be no guarantees no matter how beautiful the work, and I knew at that moment I'd have to work extremely hard to get there -- it would be a long (“and narrow”) road to Sagawa!!  I started to dream . . .    

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

ABOUT THE TITLE: 

My classmate is from the States, and he married a beautiful Japanese woman and lives in Tokyo now. He is intelligent and well-versed in the language, history and culture of Japan. 
                         - - - - - - - - - - - - 

I think I’m gonna call my painting,

 “ON THE ROAD  TO SAGAWA,”  I replied, explaining the thinking  behind my choice of title. 

He was quiet for a moment and then offered this, 

“I think you oughta add the word “NARROW” to the title.” 

I was perplexed.  Why?  

“Well, . . . that is a take on the title of a memoir written by Basho, a very famous Japanese poet who travelled throughout the countryside. Every Japanese schoolchild will immediately understand the reference.  And you want your painting to travel to Japan.  So . . . . … it’s a perfect title!” 

 

”Do you really think anyone will tie Basho’s  memoir to the title of my painting?  Seems a bit obscure to me (as an American).” 

“Take my word.” 

Well, I didn’t.  Next time I spoke with another  (even more brilliant friend), I told him of my dream for this particular painting - to show at the Sagawa Art Museum -  and then I told him I was calling the piece,  “ON THE NARROW ROAD TO SAGAWA” and waited for any response . . . ...  

 

“What do you think of the title?” I asked.

 

”Perfect.  Brilliant idea to reference Basho in the title!” 

 

“Our mutual friend thought of it,” I responded, taken aback by his quick spot-on reply. “Your former roommate.” 

“Smart guy!” he replied with a wink. 
~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

(Custom 24k frame)

ABOUT WINTER IN HUBEI   ~  by Janai-Ami 

Copyright 2021 Janai-Ami.  All Rights Reserved.

     * (Artshow Link is available at the end of this entry)

 

E.O. Wilson & Human Nature 

I was a Biology major first, working with E.O. Wilson.  We talked about human nature in our one-on-one meetings, and I watched the ants crawling all over.  Fascinating!  As interesting as that was,  & I still do find bugs 'interesting', I decided to switch majors before my sophomore year  (Well maybe, just maybe,  Dear Reader,  it had something to do with the ants!)  

 

(The topic of 'bugs' will emerge yet again in 2021,  as I work to complete The Gift and also Saoirse's Garradh,  both using my new techniques but ramping them up just a notch!!  The latter was inspired by a speech given on July 3rd a summer ago)

 

  *    *    *    *    *     

 

Mentors & Giants and "May The Force Be With You"

From that point forward,  I was a Chemistry major at Harvard, and that impacts my thinking about art and the medium of oil paints as well as my 3-dimensional approach that is constantly and slowly evolving.  Viscosity.  Rheology.  It all so fascinates me.  The 3-dimensionality of things 2-dimensional has interested me for quite some time.  I trace it back to the hours I spent with Professor Bloch in his office standing at the blackboard looking at the 2-D equations in front of us pondering WHY DOES THIS SYNTHESIS NOT WORK?  That was the question Konrad was posing aloud in his thick accent and serious tone, now asking me for my thoughts.   We were standing there bantering around the WHY.  Neither of us had the answer, so it was merely a brainstorming session.  It definitely works on paper so something else is going on.  The question is -  What?  Something beautiful and magical I imagined, my mind drifting off into visual landscapes of whirling atoms  - something microscopic  - something beyond our ability to see in 2-dimensions on paper . . . .  something mysterious. . . . . something human.  I looked at some of the bonds on each of the reactants and imagined a whirl or dust storm of electrons flying around like little shining clouds of flickering lights,  generating a force that pushed back on approaching charged areas on the adjacent and  - hopefully  - reacting molecule.  Which part of the two reacting large chemical structures actually interacted, and what "dust clouds" of electrons on them got within striking distance of the approaching molecule -- charged clouds that would push back and force them away?  We needed to build a three-dimensional model,  but likely, in layman's terms,  it has something to do with those electrons setting up a sort of "force field."  Konrad looked at me and laughed at my descriptions of what the individual atoms were doing.  I wasn't an "intellectual" in the way I spoke about these things - not even remotely - so hearing suggestions from me replete with references to "force fields" and off-handed comments I'd make while pointing to a certain double bond on one of the molecules, comments instructing them to "approach this way and let the force be with you!" - were likely initially jarring but ultimately quite humorous to him.  I loved working with him, and though this is just a guess, I think he sort of saw me as a breath of fresh air compared with the other nerds in my Class!  One thing I do know and that is that academically and intellectually,  he took me quite seriously.  But we still had fun playing with those molecules.  Yes, Dear Reader, I'm an actual nerd!   It was a wonderful and affirming experience working one-on-one with my Senior Thesis Advisor and mentor, Konrad Emil Bloch, Harvard Nobel Laureate, in the Department of Biochemistry.  It was Professor Bloch, but I just called him "Professor," and since he was Old School he liked that, because it signified respect.  Konrad wasn't however just a friend and my personal mentor.  He unravelled the mysteries of Cholesterol and Fatty Acids and in so doing,  he is the man responsible for having laid the foundational knowledge necessary and provided the tools that medicine would then use to the great benefit of mankind. 

 

  *    *    *    *    *        

 

The Programme for Research & Training & Other Worldwide Centers 

Konrad occasionally talked about research going on in other parts of the World, where the large academic facilities were located and what research they engaged in.  I think he was trying to get a feel for where my academic interests might lie moving forward. One such facility today is located in Asia.  It's called the WIV, or Institute of Virology.  One day Konrad looked at me and said,  "I want you to go study with my friend Liana.  The way you think will be helpful to her in her research."  It turned out that Liana was working not in Asia but in Europe at the World Health Organization in Geneva, Switzerland.  I'd have to apply for funding through the Fulbright Scholarship program.  Konrad said the process was highly political, and he wasn't sure whether dollars would be allocated to research in Europe or if the Committee's focus was elsewhere that year, such as in South America, but that that would affect whether or not I'd get the grant.  He threw his full weight behind it, and had me sign up for research updates coming in from the Special Programme in Research & Training in Tropical Diseases.  I started receiving updates and never stopped.   And so, even though it didn't become my line of work, it was an area I maintained a healthy intellectual curiosity in and continued to read about regularly.  

 

  *    *    *    *    *    

 

Was hast du gesagt? 

The Fulbright required that you speak the languages (plural) of the host country you were applying to study in -- - in this case,  French and German.  So I studied both -  French for an h.s. refresher and German for the first time.  But there wasn't enough time to write it fluently and accurately enough so that the Fulbright Scholarship application could be submitted as required, with copies in both these languages as well as in English.  So I headed down to Harvard's Department of Germanic Languages, hoping to find someone who could translate my application into Deutsch.  There, I met a really nice young woman named Jill Horner.  She offered to translate the Fulbright for me into German. She told me to give her a day or two then stop by her place at Leverett House to pick it up.   A few days later I was heading over to Leverett. 

 

*    *    *     

 

Kindness of A Tall Handsome Chinese Man & A German Translator 

A tall handsome Chinese man opened the door to his "dorm room" in Leverett House at Harvard University.   He was expecting me.  He was on the phone, but ushered me inside and offered me a place to sit.  I waited quietly for him to finish, and glanced nonchalantly around the room.  The room was sparsely furnished.  In fact, there was almost no furniture to speak of at that time -- or perhaps there was and I don't remember any of it -- any of it, that is,  except for this absolutely beautiful cello sitting center stage in the living room.  Adjacent was a music stand with some sheets of music on it, and a single chair.   When the call ended, he spoke.  It was Jill's husband. He was a soft spoken and humble man and an aura of joy and good cheer surrounded him. You immediately felt at ease in his presence, as if you were talking with a kind old friend you'd known forever. 

 

"Jill's not home yet, but she told me to tell you if you came by that she's still working on the Fulbright translation for you."  

 

"Oh, okay, thank you," I replied.  Then added,  "Hey!  Who plays the cello?  That's a nice one!"

 

"I do."

 

" 'You any good?"

 

For a moment he seemed startled by my question. Then a huge grin.  

"Not bad," he replied. 

 

"Keep practicing.  You'll get there eventually!  I used to play violin,  in high school.  I wasn't very good."

 

"Do you still play?"

 

"Not really.  I gave up.  But honestly I enjoyed it anyway."

 

He smiled,  "that's what's most important." 

 

And with that I left and returned to my dorm where my boyfriend, UPPER CLASSMAN BOB, was waiting with his roommates for me to show up and join them for dinner. 

 

"Where have you been?  Why are you so late?" asked UPPER CLASSMAN BOB, clearly irritated.

 

"I was over at Leverett to pick up the German translation of my Fulbright."

 

"So you have it?"

 

"Not exactly.  Jill -- the nice lady from Germanic Languages Department - wasn't home."

 

"Then what took you so long? That should have taken all of 3 minutes."

 

"I was talking to her husband." And in answer to any follow-up questions, "he plays the cello, so we were talking about that." And with that,  I related the conversation - pretty much word for word -  that had taken place.  

 

Suddenly every guy at the dinner table at Eliot House turned towards me.  They were all staring dumbstruck at me, and the place erupted in laughter.  YOU ASKED HIM WHAT?!

UPPER CLASSMAN BOB looked at his roommates and they looked back at me. Their jaws were hanging and there were smiles, grins and laughter. It seems I never cease to amuse. . . .  

 

"In Leverett House,  a cellist?"

 

"Yeah.  Why?  Is there a problem?"

"No.  No problem.  But you know, don't you, that you were talking to Yo-Yo Ma!"

 

"OH MY GOD.  I didn't know Yo-Yo Ma was at Harvard." Apparently I was the only one who didn't know that. "OH MY GOD!"

 

"Yehhhh,"  UPPER CLASSMAN BOB smirked.   "And you asked him if he knew how to play the cello!" 

 

And with that,  laughter erupted throughout the Eliot House Dining Hall. And UPPER CLASSMAN BOB never let me live that one down! 

 

*    *    *    *    *    

 

My Unusual Palette 

I like to paint without a palette.  I place the oil paints and thinning oils on the back of my hand.  This way I can really get a good feel for the viscosity of the paint and whether it needs more or less medium and/or more or less oil.  That helps me when I sculpt with it. For this reason, I wear gloves while painting -- surgical gloves.  Not only does that make clean up easy-peasy,  but it protects my hands from the more toxic paints.  Every few months I order several boxes of surgical gloves delivered to my home for exactly this purpose.  I order them from Amazon and they appear -  as if by magic -  often shortly after I log out of the Amazon website.  That didn't happen in early January 2020.  That order never got filled.  First one week went by, then another . . .  

 

I was excited to get back to creating.  Going to a spectacular show like the one in Japan at the NACT in November/December 2019 had that effect on me - and likely on attending artists from everywhere.  It was that good a show!  (I had been working on my Australia Gem Series as wildfires raged across the Australian continent and more and more stories aired about the loss of wildlife there.  I was anxious to get back to it.  This story might help explain the very few pieces in the Australia Gem Series - only 3 - - -  The number I was planning for Australia Gem was far greater given how I feel about animals, but the Pandemic of 2020 intervened at exactly this moment and changed all of that)

 

Amazon told me there was a hold up with the surgical glove distributor.  I thought I'd give them a call.  Surgical gloves aren't just for painting, they're critical PPE.  So it's not like they'd ever run out, right?  I thought maybe they were in New Jersey -- or some other part of the country -- and I could get a feel for what was causing the delay and offer to pay extra postage to hurry the process along.  But they weren't in New Jersey.  And that order of gloves from early January?  It never came  . . . . . . . . and that worried me. . . . a lot. 

 

*    *    *    *    *    

   

Times Change 

Mid-January 2020:  I had just arrived home from an art showing at the National Art Center in Tokyo a few weeks earlier.   NACT is an absolutely exquisite Museum in Japan at which I was honored to show my contemporary floral oil painting,  Belonging (In Memory of Sam).  I was just settling back in to the time change when the evening news mentioned a novel coronavirus in Wuhan.  The hair on the back of my neck stood up.   

 

                                                                                                     *    *    *    *    *    

 

About  WINTER IN HUBEI 

Then he carved all the walls of the house round about with carved engravings of cherubim, palm trees, and open flowers, inner and outer sanctuaries.  As for man, his days are like grass;  As a flower of the field, so he flourishes. When the wind has passed over it, it is no more, And its place acknowledges it no longer. 

Images coming in from Wuhan flash across the screen from every media outlet, CNN and others as well, from a set sitting off to one corner beyond my easel.  A woman is being dragged by police out of her apartment screaming. Her children inside are screaming for their mother.  The door closes, and she is hauled away. This was the backdrop to when I first began this oil painting.

 

It's winter so the canvas is blue, but what happens next is definitely not my "usual" life-affirming palette.  Red flowers represent compassion, life and longevity in China.  So I choose red.  It was an obvious choice.  It seems most appropriate. But I realize that I must go for a dark red flower. Why? Because, people, we are told by the news, are being put on respirators and dying.  Your heart goes out to them. Compassion.  Again, the red works. It's horrifying.  I move to approximate the color of deoxygenated blood as best I can.  When there's no more oxygen the cells will die.  People will die.  In this case the flowers represent that moment of struggle as one lies between life and death.  I'm standing over the painting and I start to cry.  Tears mix with linseed oil and fall on my canvas.  They ruin the even blue of the upper left of the canvas.  The TV blasts in the background and I hear that woman again as the news plays the images of her struggle to stay with her children -- again,  and again -- and again.  I decide not to "fix" the white drips in the upper left.  I can't fix everything, so I let it go.  Tears belong here.  I introduce circles to my floral work for the first time. They will become the hallmark of this, my Pandemic Series.  I am thinking of the viral capsules.  They are in the environment -- floating all over the place -- but really nobody is yet aware of them.  Life goes on normally.  My boxes of gloves -- they still have not arrived. (What is going on with that, I wonder?)  Inside the circles where we can't see them yet are "crowns" -- the word "Corona" means "crown."  I decide to hold off showing the crowns to you because although I know they're there,  everyone else seems to be focused instead on other things and not the common threat to all of us of a potentially deadly virus.  We need to know more? Who's at risk? But our leaders aren't asking the right questions. In fact, nobody on either side of the political debate is asking ANY questions.  It's worrisome.  So for now, for this painting,  there will just be those round capsules.  Those crowns will first appear later, in February, when I paint L'Histoire Cache.  But not yet. (& even when they do appear in L'Histoire Cache,  they are merely there in bas-relief.  They are camouflages like the actual virus. And if you do not look -- and no-one did -- then you do not see them). Now there are just colorful capsules floating all around.  And nobody knows or even cares that they're there. Nobody notices.  Nobody asks why.  And THAT is frightening. Finally, I use a technique that's peripheral in many earlier works, because it's a good metaphor here.  In lieu of painting the flowers on top of the canvas,  I etch them into the canvas instead.  In, on, above -- Past, present, future.  Flowers become mere ghosts. Where they once represented life, those lives have been extinguished by a lethal virus and are mysteriously disappeared off of the canvas. But they are not forgotten.  Winter In Hubei  is my  tribute to the memory of the wonderful Chinese people of Wuhan City (in Hubei Province) who suffered the most of all during the early days of this Pandemic.  To those who lost their lives.  When the wind has passed over the flower, it is no more, And its place acknowledges it no longer.  I acknowledge them.  Their lives had meaning.  They left behind loved ones.  Their suffering due to the Pandemic did not go unnoticed.  And we must not forget them.   That is what this painting is about. 

 

*    *    *    *    * 

 

 

Link to Chiba City Art Museum, JAPAN:  

20th International Japan Art Exhibition 

https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/lHcgti_fMjZmzTKa_ISJ8Q

 

Copyright 2021 Janai-Ami.  All Rights Reserved.