I recently listened to a YouTube video stating that we inadvertently install a negative narrative in our child’s mind by using phrases like “we can’t afford it”, or “it costs too much” causing children to grow up with a lack mentality. It’s subtle and we don’t really think about it. I know I didn’t. That was the narrative I grew up with and still deal with.
I have so many items, mostly kitchen gadgets, I’ve owned for years and continue to use even though I’m not really happy with them. I find that there are much better versions of many of these items, but I’ve never upgraded because I didn’t think I should spend the money. I should just “make do.” This “lack mentality” stems from the environment I grew up in. A side effect of having parents who grew up during the depression.
Children don’t need to know the family’s financial status. Next time, when they ask for something, perhaps just say “No, not this time.”
Click on the link to see my video about finding your creative side by just playing with paint. Please forgive the clunky edit. I’m just getting started and testing the waters.
Mosaic I made several years ago. Homage to my love of color.
I feel a bit foolish when I’m painting and I can’t bring myself to leave a color out. Like there’s some unwritten rule that says it’s childish to include all of the colors. That a true artist would only use a limited palette. But when I’m scrolling through Facebook or Instagram, looking at other people’s art, the ones that I stop for, every single time, are those that include all the colors and some sense of excitement. They jump off the page to me. Looking at all the colors, in fascinating designs lights me up. Although it may not be for everyone, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who responds in that way.
As a relatively new artist, I often question whether or not I have a style. While looking around my studio at all of the different paintings I’ve created, I recently came to the realization that including all of the colors is my style. So I’m not going to feel childish for using all the colors. I’m going to embrace that about my art and make art that truly represents me and what I love.
Art is another language. Using all of the colors is MY art’s language. Language needs to be colorful sometimes. Just like when we speak.
Life is like a jigsaw puzzle. Sometimes you spend way too much time searching for that one piece. You get frustrated and turn your attention to looking for a different piece. After a couple of minutes, that’s when you find the one you had temporarily given up on. You pick it up and place it in its correct spot only to find it doesn’t look at all like what you expected it to look like.
There’s a saying I read years ago that goes something like this, “Happiness is like a butterfly, the more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but when you turn your attention to other things you find it comes and sits softly on your shoulder.”
I find myself procrastinating about picking up a pen, or in this case, my phone, and attempting to write something. I also experience this with my painting. I don’t want to risk ruining a painting until I’m in the mood to possibly trash it. I love writing and painting, but many times I have a hard time getting started. The muse is hiding and needs to be lured out.
I’ve discovered during these droughts, that writing, or any other art form, is stimulated by the act of doing it. Sometimes I try to “sneak up on it” and tell myself I’m only going to write or paint a little bit then find myself sticking with it for hours. The act of taking that first step opens the floodgates and lets the ideas come in.
Once you pick up your pen or paintbrush, or whatever, and just decide to do something, it starts to fuel itself. That’s where the joy of the art form lives. That space, where you are fully alive and in the moment.
It’s a rainy, dreary afternoon. I’m sitting here playing Solitaire on my iPad which is something I usually feel guilty for doing, but that’s for another post at another time. I play Solitaire often. It’s the kind of game that allows me to play semi-mindlessly.
As I was playing, I noticed that every time I reveal an ace I get excited. I get a little thrill. While playing Solitaire I use the time to contemplate things. I began to wonder why I get that little thrill. What was the origin of that emotion.
When I was a kid I was a real loner. Actually, I still am. One of the things that stands out in my childhood is that I played
lots of Solitaire. My mom taught me many types of solitaire games. I had a sense of pride knowing that I knew so many different games. Being a shy, reclusive child, it was a rare thing for me to feel proud of myself about anything.
I remember one time we went to the beach for our annual weeklong vacation. My parents would get together to play games with their friends who were also vacationing at the beach. All of my parents friends’ children were older than I was, so I would generally be by myself. I was probably eight or nine years old. While they all went off to hang out, I would hunt for a deck of cards and proceed to play Solitaire for hours. In one particular session, I recall my mom walking by and commenting about my card playing. It was not in my mom’s nature to dish out compliments, but she said something to the effect of being impressed with my ability to play cards at my age. That moment has been frozen in my mind for 60 years. And, honestly, I’ve always wondered why every time I play cards, I recall that scene. I can remember the room, the table I was playing on, the relatively dim lighting in the room, but I don’t recall as much of what she actually said as much as I do the feeling I felt. The feeling of being recognized and seen. Complemented about my ability to play at my age. It’s obvious that moment really touched me deeply.
So, my conclusion is that my love for Solitaire stems from the attention my mom gave me because of it. She taught me several Solitaire games, but more importantly, she acknowledged my ability to play. This made a lasting impression on me because most of the time I felt invisible in my family. I wasn’t mistreated. I had everything I ever needed. But that seems to be about all there was. There weren’t many hugs or much recognition.
This memory causes me to think about parenting and how much of the time we as parents just say things “off the cuff” without realizing the impression it could be making on our children. The comments that you think nothing of may be one of the most impactful things your child hears or feels from you. Sometimes it’s merely our tone of voice, which speaks volumes more than the words we utter.
My adult children have mentioned things I said that meant so much to them, that I don’t even remember saying. Sadly, I can only imagine how many things I said casually that hurt them.
I’m reminded by my phone that it’s time for a new post to my blog. I’m never really sure what to write. I want to share my thoughts, and hopefully cause some kind of change, inspiration or improvement in the lives of others. I decide to try to find something I’ve written in the past. Sifting through papers, trying to find something appropriate, I stumble upon poems and lyrics to songs I wrote when my son died, which is appropriate since tomorrow is the 18 year anniversary of his passing. The songs and poems were written to cleanse my aching heart. I’m always surprised by some of the writings. I don’t recall writing most of them. I was in a fog, but they are a window into my soul at that unbelievably difficult time. Writing was a cathartic process that helped me cope.
Not a day goes by where I don’t think of him. As I created a short tribute to him, I was saddened by the reality that the majority of pictures I have are from when he was little; and the reminder that there will never be pictures of him past the age of 24.
The picture above is a crazy piece of art I created. It’s busy and chaotic, but I love it anyway. This got me thinking about a conversation I had with someone about abstract art. They spoke about a painting in a gallery that was “okay”, but looked as if a kid could have painted it. This is true of many pieces of abstract art. I find little appeal with many but connect with many others.
Before I started actually creating abstract art myself I didn’t truly understand it. I now understand that even the simplistic painting she was referring to could not be done by anyone else. Only that person could create it because abstract painting is a picture of the artist’s heart. It’s coming through that person. No one else would be able to do the exact same thing, in the same way that no two snowflakes are alike.
When we look at abstract art we are responding to the emotion that was present in the artist’s heart at the time it was painted. Looking at the painting evokes an emotional response. Abstract art is truly subjective. What may speak to me, may look absolutely ridiculous to someone else.
In my opinion, there is no right or wrong way to create art. Beauty lives in the eye and heart of the viewer. So love it or hate it, it’s still art and a reflection of the artist’s mood at the time it was created.
I recently recorded a video showcasing some of my Mark making tools for my acrylic painting. Many of them were destined for the garbage can but when I took a second look, I realized they could be used to make some interesting marks. Here’s a link to my YouTube channel where you can watch the video.
I wrote this 4 years ago. I had been contemplating my seemingly boring routine.
Gracefully aging, gliding through daily routines. In bed by eleven each evening, up every morning by seven. Executing each routine with the smooth grace of a ballet dancer. Routines have gradually been adjusted each year to refine the dance.
In my 20s, I was just beginning to learn all the steps. Defining routines for work and play. After an occasional reckless night, the night and day overlapped sending me back to the beginning for more rehearsal.
The 30s brought children into the dance, causing many missteps. Tripping due to lack of sleep and disrupted routines. After a few tries, the new routine developed with smaller dancers adding color and motion to the dance.
The 40s brought divorce and change requiring new choreography for a new dance. Members of the troupe had changed leaving holes in the routine.
The 50s brought a change of venue. A much brighter theater and stage. One with hope and new beginnings allowing me to dance freely with abandon.
Now in my 60s, the dance has become a comfortable routine. Simple flowing choreography with need to learn few new steps. Mostly polishing the steps I know, adding a new one now and then, but enjoying the movement and freedom of the dance.
Judy Kaplan Art & Musings 