Here Comes the Sun

Sometimes there is so much pain, every step consumes you. Your dreams become burdens. The term ‘passion’ pisses you off.  And even the angels tell you to Sleep.

Reticence, resignation, surgery. Then Rest. That being, six very uncharacteristic weeks of limited mobility, crocheting, a couple of pints of haagen-dazs and a marathon of Downton Abbey.

Then comes the call, “Would you paint a sun for me?” Free to move, you are glad for reason to learn to walk again.



42" d mural for Sol Yoga Studios, Conshohocken, PA



Then comes another call. “Would you help us build a school in Central America?”  Now there’s no need for walking lessons. You realize that you are dancing, a full circle mandala dance.

Happy Spring. Indeed.

a Mother's Story

 

As a pre-teen, Barbara Burke frequently rode a trolley into the city. She then hopped the train tracks to reach her final destination: classroooms in the basement of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. She enjoyed hours reviewing and sketching the museum's collections. All of the wings of the museum were home to Barbara. "I don't care where you landed me, it was where I belonged."

A few years later, Barb's affinity for the arts was confirmed. She was offered a scholarship to attend the Moore College of Art. Her grandparents were also convinced and promised to handle the balance of her college expenses. Despite such a promising opportunity, Barbara chose a different path. Not unlike most young women during the 1950's, Barbara elected to take an office job out of high school. Marriage and a family soon followed.

About her decision she stated, "I've regretted it and not regretted it all my life."

Kathy ~ my bubble of energy, excitement and stamina

Michele ~ my calm, giving and creativity

Debbie ~ my rock, strength and compassion

10 Gallons Diverted

Artist in Residency week is a true learning experience, for me. Little hands and hearts remind me the subtle motion of painting is not always inherent. Some want to dab. Some will use proper strokes. Some, just scrub. My hope is to instill a taste of art's refuge, a place to return when little else is soothing. Painting can do that. The scrubbers though, they kept scrubbing in earnest.

Probably most satisfying to the students was the material prepping phase. Ten gallons of plastic bottles caps were cleaned and sorted. They were also diverted from the landfill. The sensory experience was grand. Sight, sounds, textures abound. Water play during 90 degree temperatures was certainly welcome too.

Their little personalities impressed me. Actually, some of the personalities weren't so little. Left to their own, roles easily evolved. At 42" high, one young lady filled the bill of delegator, handing out caps and directing younger ones to the proper sorting bins. Another meticulous soul managed quality control, making sure there weren't any misplaced colors.

We bridged many lessons during the week: environmental responsibility, the color spectrum, butterfly anatomy, patterns in nature... Most important, I learned, the scrubbers will be scrubbers, until they are ready to be otherwise. In the meanwhile, I can present an option. And hope.