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INTO THE WOODS 

 (In Memory of Sam) 

Original,  2015-2018,  Oil on Wood Panel,  48 x 24 in. 

 

 

(When I started working on this painting in 2015,  both MollyBrown and Sammy (a.k.a. LeroyBrown)* were still alive,  and the painting was titled Liberté.   It was going to be a red, white and blue floral tribute to American freedom.  But then in 2018, Sam passed away.  Interesting how things change with time . . ..  anyway,  it became one of the eight paintings I would do in Sam's memory -- one for each year he was with me from Christmas 2010 when I rescued him from a life hiding under bushes and behind leafy trees,  from a life on the streets,  until his death in my arms on the evening of my Birthday, in 2018.   It was then that I was finally able to finish it - for my lovable little Sammy!   There wasn't enough room to paint the upper thin edge orange,  but I incorporated that color into the flowers that adorn the tree.)   

 

 

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I worked on this painting both before & after losing my Cattle Dog/Aussie mix rescue,  Sam.  The circumstances surrounding his death were difficult, and for reasons outside of my control, I didn't get to spend as much time with him as I would have liked.   After he was gone,  finishing this piece was very important to me.  There are gradations of color in it much like ombre when working in silk, and to me it became a metaphor for the many shades that were Sam. There is too much to say here about how much he meant to me. How much I learned from him.  What I had to sacrifice to keep him and work through his many issues.  (You know, Dear Reader  -  little issues,  like threatening to eat the neighbors . . .  that sort of thing  . . .  the kind of thing that gets people angry at you and costs you your own joyful peace!!)   How I became a much better person because of him & because of what he taught me.  Suffice it to say,  with Sam's unpredictable outbursts of aggression initially (not something I was fully prepared to handle at the outset and definitely not something every household could have handled), he was far in a way my most difficult rescue. But in many ways our relationship was also the most rewarding experience - perhaps because it required so much patience, so much work, so much tolerance and so much love.  Rescuing an animal is not always easy. But not giving up - trying to show 'unconditional love' as they do - is truly a gift -- not just for the recipient but for the party able to stretch and do that for another living being.  It paid enormous dividends when he finally turned and became the most loving dog,  the most - well - - - everything dog,  in short -  The Best. Dog. Ever!'   (Yeh, yeh,  I know, I know!  You think I say that about ALL of my dogs!  But I don't think that's true!)   

 

Sweet & gentle Sammy,  with my friend and fellow artist,  Bert Collins

At Bert's home in Ojai, California,  October 2016

 

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When I think of Sam now,  the memory that always strikes at my heart is that of him coming into the bedroom in the morning from wherever in my home he chose to sleep once my eyes were closed --  his jumping softly ever so carefully onto my bed (so as not to wake me?) - -- KERPLOP!  (Little secret --  I was awake!) - - - and his standing over me and then slowly lowering himself onto me and burying his bent head onto my chest and resting it there quietly on my left bosom directly over my heart.  OH! How I loved you, my dear sweet Sam!  

 

 

 

 

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(Footnote:  As with all of the "memory pieces" i do following the death of one of my boys or girls, I incorporated the color of his lead into each piece in Sam's memory.  His collar and leash were orange. 

 

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(Footnote:  At no time has my name ever been "Brown," Dear Reader - just in case you were wondering!  So don't ask!  It just started with BusterBrown,  good 'ol lovable Buster - The Best. Dog. Ever!  And it took off from there!) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

REVIENS 

Original (2005-2008),  Oil on Panel Board__ 

(SOLD) 

 

 

Every time I,  Feel a Spirit,  Moving in my Heart,  I will pray. . . . I loved to sing that little melody to each of my boys.  It's a sweet little melody and they love it too.  

 

Music has always been an important part of my life.  It's a part of me.  I studied piano under Rosamund when I was a little girl. For several years.  She taught at a music school in New York City called Juilliard.   At one point when asked by my parents what I wanted to be when I grew up,  I emphatically stated that I was going to be a concert pianist.  I almost majored in music at Harvard.  But my parents would have none of it -- that's not the life for a young lady they insisted as they laid down the law -  a J.D.,  an M.D. or an M.B.A.  Those were my choices.   When I dated the trombone player in high school,  my father quickly intervened to break that up.  He wasn't having any of it.  So I abandoned my dream of being a musician (and the musician boyfriends), and I stopped playing the piano entirely.  I tried to never look back.  At least not right away.  It's easy to look in the rear view mirror and wonder what might have been if we'd done things differently.  What kind of life would it have been as a musician?  But in the end,  everything winds up where it is supposed to be. 

*   *   *    *    *   

 

Before my cross country drive,  my closest girl friend threw a little going away party at her home in California for me.  My friend is a real life Angel.  She plays the harp!   (If you've ever watched the Academy Awards,  likely you've seen her!)  We met one day as I was leaving a framer with a little piece I was sending off to a show in Texas at the Red River Valley Museum.  Flash Forward,  2004:  She invited girlfriends of mine from different parts of my life - none of whom knew each other before that night.  So it was a strangely funny thing that all of their small parting gifts had one thing in common - Angels.  An angel pin.  An angel Christmas tree ornament (my trip was in November,  not December).  A book about angels. (For the record,  I'm not one of those people with an "angel collection" or a "Cow Collection" or any other "collection."  So this was very bizarre.  None of the women knew each other).  And I'd be making the trip with my dog Sim,  who I often referred to as "My Angel-Shmangel."   Even the painting that the L.A.-Area movers, America's Best,  took in lieu of their $8,000-$10,000 moving fee.  It was called "Angels Pass."  Alex (the owner of America's Best) fell in love with it.  I had to think about letting it go.  But I finally agreed.  So "Angels Pass" moved me x-country.  The painting depicts a mountain pass rising up to the Heavens,  the kind of huge obstacle you might have to cross while driving from the West to the East Coast of the United States.  

 

*   *   *    *    *   

 

I called my friend who plays the harp.  I was zipping down the highway several days out of Los Angeles,  City of Angels.  Headed to my new home back East.   The road was wide and to my right was a wide open field.  And suddenly out of nowhere a small black labrador retriever puppy appeared out of nowhere.  Nearly the spitting image of Sim eight years earlier!   I was going about 75 mph at the time. So I would have had to brake hard,  and put it in reverse down a highway,  in order to go back and to pick him up.  And I made a split decision not to do that.  It was a puppy.  I was worried.  I saw no owner anywhere in my rear view mirror.  He wasn't in the highway,  he was in the grass.  But I worried if God forbid he would be injured out there all alone. And under any other circumstances I would definitely have gotten him. But Sim had just had surgery.  He was recuperating.  And I didn't think a puppy jumping all over him would have been a good thing.  So I never went back.   I called my friend who plays the harp to tell her about the small black labrador puppy running in the high grass next to the highway,  and she agreed that with Sim having just had surgery,  it would not have been a good idea.  But I felt very sad anyway.  The puppy was headed in the opposite direction from the one I was headed in.  He was headed back in the direction of the City of Angels. 

 

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REVIENS.  This painting too was done in memory of Sim,  as part of the healing process.  It was painted while living in Malibu (2005-2008) north of Busch Drive and inland from Pacific Coast Highway and the Beach.  I had not lived in Malibu before, though Sim and Buster and I had spent many a day here.   I had come back to a place with many memories.  The air was crisp and clean.   (This time, Casey and Curly and I would spend many a day down at the Beach.  I enjoyed taking photos of them.  They had lost their family of nine years and I imagined that that was traumatic for them.  I had lost mine.)  

 

Malibu. 2007.   It's where I met the multiple Emmy Award-winning Writer/Producer/Director who was going to tell Sim's story. (According to the Writers Guild of America,  he was the real deal)   So I went to a stranger's home (accompanied by a girl friend,  just in case), on Zumirez,  on Christmas Day.  A stone's throw from Streisand's palatial estate.   An Academy Award wining cinematographer (so I was told),  filmed me telling what happened.  He wasn't prepared to keep filming and yelled cut just before the climax of the story.  As if i was an actress and could just pick up where I left off.  I couldn't.  Some fancy shmancy lawyers, caterers and hair and makeup people were there.  It's in the can.  He told me that he bought the car and that he punched out the roof (for a camera).  He told me he was going to tell Sim's story and that there would be justice after all.  And then another 'Hollywood gig' came along and - crickets.   I'm still waiting. . . .   

 

*   *   *    *    * 

 

Many of the works during this period were done in a meditative state.  I can't really recall how or exactly when I painted this one  -- just that I was in Malibu at the time.  I don't often work in green,  so this was an unusual piece in that regard. (It's not that I do not like the color.  I do.  It's just that I love other colors way more!)   The title - - -  to return. 

 

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All three of us used to sleep in the bed - me and my two 80-pound boys!  It was crowded in there!   I used to laugh and call it a "Buster-Mommy-Simba sandwich."  Silly!  (If you've never had or loved a dog,  you likely think this is nuts.  Maybe it is. . . but I don't think so.  Love is love.  And if you've never experienced unconditional love,  then maybe you've never truly experienced what love is supposed to feel like)

 

*   *   *    *    *   

 

(Gloria Allred is not a dog person!)

 

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The title:   In the immediate aftermath of Sim's death,  I was alone in a hotel room in Nashville.  

 

*   *   *    *    *   

 

I used to chide him on the beach up in Malibu when we were done playing catch and swimming, and it was time to go -- he wouldn't budge and stood there by water's edge with his favorite Centinela Pet & Feed red ball staring back at me as (Buster and) I packed up and prepared to go.  Finally,  I'd say -- "I'm leaving without you Sim!" Still no movement.  He didn't think I meant it.  He was standing his ground.  Perhaps by some good stroke of luck she will change her mind.  Let's see.  So I'd start walking towards the path near Pierce Brosnan's home and Danny DeVito's -- a narrow strip that led back up to the street where we had parked.  And I'd glance back nonchalantly to see if Sim was paying attention.  He'd stand there for a moment.  Staring at the two of us.  And then,  realizing that he might be left behind,  he'd come running headlong towards me to join me and Buster on the path. 

 

*   *   *    *    *   

 

The veterinarian's office in Tennessee told me that they could mail Sim's remains to me after he was cremated.  It was over the Thanksgiving Holiday and there would be a delay.  So it would be several days and maybe into next week.  No point in my staying in Nashville just waiting and incurring the cost of a hotel,  the vet told me.   "No,"  I said staring past her into yesterday.  "I'm not leaving here without him."

 

So I waited.  Alone in the hotel room.  I think it was a nice hotel.  I don't recall much about it except perhaps the word "music" in its name.  I think there may have been a spa but if there was,  I never saw it.  In my room,  The Bourne Identity was playing on the T.V. (I paid for it.  But I never watched it)  And a waiter from the hotel restaurant with a thick Indian accent knocked on the door to my hotel room.  Room Service.  He had come to pick up the tray from dinner and wanted to know if everything was alright.  Was there something wrong with the food?  Was I feeling okay?  The tray was outside the door of the room.  I hadn't eaten a thing.  My face was streaked with tears.  I told him about Sim.  I told him how he had saved my life.  On more than one occasion.  I told him how I had let him down (& I didn't yet know the half of it).   - - -  Compassion.  It's one of the words I had scribbled into the background of ONCE UPON A TIME.  And yet,  this elderly gentleman knew this word well.   And he told me about Reincarnation.  Did I believe in this? And he told me a lot about the After Life.  Then he took the uneaten food away and left.  

 

*   *   *    *    *   

 

At some point I must have fallen asleep.  I hadn't slept in quite some time.  When I awoke I didn't know right away where I was.  I forgot that I was in a hotel.   Something woke me out of a deep sleep.   I felt something small pushing up against my back as I lay on my right side.  It felt so familiar.  I opened my eyes and turned.  And for a fleeting one to two seconds I saw Sim there next to me.  His little black body pushing up against my back,  his silky coat,  his red collar,  his face nuzzled up against me.  One half of the Buster-Mommy-Simba Sandwich.  I reached for him, but before my hand could touch him,  he was gone.  I called out his name.  

 

 

I stayed in that Hotel room in Tennessee until they delivered Sim's remains to me.  I looked down at the box.  The group that had made the arrangements to return Sim to me -- the name Angel. 

 

*   *   *    *    *   

Months later on a call with my friend back in the City of Angels.  I was commenting to her about all of the 'angels."  Yes.  She had thought of that too.  I told her about waking up with Sim lying next to me.  I asked her what she thought that was all about.  And then I asked her something I really wanted to know but was afraid to ask,  

"Did I ever mention to you about a small black lab puppy running across a field alongside a road as Sim and I were driving x-country?  Or is that just something I'm imagining now?  I can't remember if it really happened and I told you about it,  or if I dreamed about it -  or something?"   Was my mind playing tricks on me? 

"You called me right after you saw the puppy, " she reassured me. "You were thinking of going back for him. We discussed it.  Yes.  You definitely saw something because you called and spoke with me about it."  

"I did?  Strange,"  I said.  "I've been wondering if that was real - or not. I vaguely remember calling you,  but then after Sim passed,  I wasn't sure anymore. I needed to know if I spoke to you about it."  There was a pause.  "I've been wondering if he was real - or not. I'm glad I told you about him.  But do you think -- (I hesitated) - - - do you think it might have been something else?"  

"You mean like an Angel?  If it was, then it was a sign to let you know he's coming home.  That he's going to be fine now.  And that he's no longer in pain."  

"Thank you."  

I choked back hard on the tears.  

"I failed him."

"No.  You didn't.  And now his body is free of any disease. He knows how much you loved him.  You didn't fail him." 

And the two of us sat there quietly on the phone on two different coasts three thousand miles apart, and for several minutes neither one of us said a word.  

 

*   *   *    *    *   

 

I'm happy the piece found a good home. With another musician.   Santa Barbara Symphony Orchestra.  REVIENS has good spirits associated with it.   REVIENS means to return. 

 

 

*   Archival Prints Available   * 

 

BUSTER & SIMBA ON BROAD BEACH (Malibu)

Original Natural Dyes on Silk__ 

 

It would be hard to overstate the impact that Simba had on my life and on my art.  There is something of him in some aspect of nearly every painting in the years leading up to and following his passing.   The story about my relationship with Sim is a story about love. My paintings tell that story. 

 

Sim was my black labrador retriever.   It's not an overstatement to say that if it wasn't for Sim,  I wouldn't be alive today.  It's just a fact.  After this particular brush with death,  I spent a lot of time up the coast north of Los Angeles,  in Malibu,  with Sim and my ol' Buster Brown - recovering from the diagnosis,  healing from the surgery, dealing with the physical sequelae of the surgery, and not unimportantly, facing the emotional toll from the accompanying losses.  What happened to Sim four years later is an important post-script. But in this moment on the beach in 'the 'Bu,'  I had a great deal of joy just watching my boys running up and down chasing birds and balls.  We were all just chasing the sun.  The silk pieces I eventually did up in Topanga Canyon - years after they were both gone - reflects those simple divinely happy moments with My Boys. 

 

For more information about this silk painting & about my relationship with Sim and Buster Brown,  see the BLOG entry:  ". . . Pies  & Pearls . . .  & The Clinical Acumen of Sim!" 

 

Buster & Simba on Broad Beach

 

From Buster:  

I ran along the sand one day

in Malibu,  on Broad Beach way.

The sky was clear,  the ocean blue, 

at six a.m. on August two.

 

"What do you feed that dog? " he said.

He looked at me then shook his head.

"They're string beans,  and he loves them,  too!

They're good for him and me and you!"

my mom explained to Leben Fils. 

"And veggies,  if they're less than fresh...

Buster's nose will sniff about.

He'll taste them then he'll spit them out!"

 

Then Leben looked down at my eyes.

"Really!," he answered quite surprised. 

And so I came to know this man 

who feeds me with a more knowing hand.

 

But not just kibble,  if you please --

asparagus spears with Hollandaise...

smoked salmon paired with Boursin cheese -

"I'll have  a second helping please!"

 

Toast points with Triple cream cheese spread...

I thumped my tail and cocked my head. 

Now don't mistake me,  mom can cook.

But what she does is by the book.

 

But Leben -- he's a master chef.

He knows what 'dogs like me'  like best!

At twenty years I've earned the right

to eat gourmet,  just one more bite!

 

Veal chops the final coup de grace...

with Bearnaise sauce --  ahhhh!  What a sin!

And with his steak au poivre,  oooh la la!

Ol' Buster's heart did this man win!

 

From Simba:

"Hey you!"  I said,  "who's standing there...

You know you're standing in my lair?

I don't remember saying okay.

Who the heck told you that you could stay?"

 

I growl and snarl and warn you nightly --

in mom's place it's I who reign almighty.

And don't you think to sit on my bed. 

That's where King Simba lays his head!

 

You laid your head back on MY couch?

Give me some credit!  I'm no dog slouch!

I jumped right up between you and she--

You want my mom -  you gotta' get past me!

 

Don't put your head there!  Don't dare lie down!

I'll warn you once ! I'm not kidding around!

I'll show my teeth all pearly white. 

I'm ready now to win a fight!

For I am mom's 'dear number one' 

Her "furry love bunny," her only son!

 

I expect my belly rubs by seven.

I'm not really thinking of sharing this heaven.

And I like my ears massaged at eight

with both your hands would be first rate.

 

You rub my derriere by nine-

I think that would be mighty fine!

And if I get my treats by ten, 

I'm willing to think this over again!

 

I lay on top of you,  ALL eighty-six pounds

With both my paws I pin you down.

And lick your face,  your neck and ears... 

Have I got your attention yet my dear?

 

I drop my red ball on your head.

"YOU'RE S'POSED TO THROW IT!" That's what I said.

And after a good ninety throws, 

I'm willing to let your lapses go.

 

And if you play ball with me all night long...

I think we might just get along 

And so my head beside you lay.

And say to Leben, 

"O.K!   

You may stay!"

 

So Buster,  so loving and easily won,

and Simba just wanting to have some fun  ~

took a liking to Leben on one fine day

when they met him in Malibu,  

'round Broad Beach way.

[Copyright 2000 Janai-Ami]

 

 

*   Archival Prints Available   *

*   Original Silk Painting Not For Sale at this Time (Artist's Private Collection) * 

 

Sim was my black labrador retriever.   It's not an overstatement to say that if it wasn't for Sim,  I wouldn't be alive today.  It's just a fact. After this particular brush with death,  I spent a lot of time up the coast north of Los Angeles,  in Malibu,  with Sim and my ol' Buster Brown - recovering from the diagnosis,  healing from the surgery, dealing with the physical sequelae of the surgery, and not unimportantly, facing the emotional toll from the accompanying losses.  Sadly what happened four years later is an important post-script to this story. 

 

For more information about this silk painting & about my relationship with Sim,  see the following entry in my BLOG:  

"--- PIES & PEARLS," CROSSWORDS OR KOMMODORES?, PORTUGESE & ROMANIAN MENTORS & THE CLINICAL ACUMEN OF SIM!