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.
* * * * *
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.
* * * * *
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!)
* * * * *
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.
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.
* * * * *
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.
* * * * *
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!)
* * * * *
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 *