Vote for Obi Wan, He's Our Only Hope....

I don't often get to hear someone say their agenda for tomorrow includes taking photographs of a dominatrix tying up her girlfriend. Somehow that just isn't conversation that comes up in my circle of friends. Not often, anyway. In Steve's circle of friends, however, I have heard that comment. Granted it was only once. At an art show opening. And, admittedly, it didn't exactly thrust me into the plot line to Fifty Shades of Grey, but I must say, it delighted and amused me nevertheless. Were I not married to a visual artist, I'd probably never be in on this type of conversation.

There are other advantages to hanging out with the visual artist community. Perhaps my favorite, even more than evesdropping on conversations about snapping photos of sadomasochism in action, is watching people appreciate Steve's art. His impressionist paintings are highly evocative and seem to have fairly broad appeal. Unless, of course, you're my mother. She frequently asks if he ever considers putting faces on the people he paints. Having never been much of a deep thinker, she prefers to have things spelled out for her. I've suggested he keep a ready supply of happy face stickers around for when she asks to see his paintings.

My mother notwithstanding, when Steve first started showing his paintings publicly it was interesting to watch people respond to them.  I've actually seen people brought to tears because of the intense feelings evoked by a painting. Often viewers connect with a specific location they believe is depicted in the watery, ethereal mix of color.

Once he was asked if a painting was created on a certain street corner in Paris. Another time a person was sure they were looking at a painting of Venice. At first people would ask and Steve would tell them it was painted in downtown Denver, or maybe it was simply something that came from his head.*  But this response would disappoint those who really wanted the painting to be of Paris, or Venice, or Rome. For some reason they had a significant investment in knowing that the painting was from the place they wanted it to be from. One man actually told Steve he was wrong, and that he knew the exact street corner in Paris where it had been painted. That would be fine if Steve had ever been to Paris. But he hasn't.

It quickly became obvious that some people who were viewing Steve's art had reasons why it was important for the painting to be of something specific and personal to them. I have admired the graceful way Steve has altered his response. Now when people say, "Where is this?" Steve gently responds with, "Where would you like for it to be?"

Sure, he is the artist and he could demand that he knows location of the painting (I painted it, I should know what it is about, damnit!), but he doesn't do that. He lets it be about the viewer, not about the artist. There is something so lovely in his response and in the way he uses his talent to make people feel happy. Or peaceful. Or romantic. Or whatever emotion they need to feel. He sets aside his pride. If someone looking at a painting needs for it to be of Venice, then it should be of Venice.

So many things in life are like that. Sometime we really need something to be what we want it to be, regardless of what it really is.

The current political climate feels that way to me. With such deep and emotional divisions, each camp seems to feel certain that 'their' candidate is the only hope for America. Except neither candidate is the only hope for America. There never has been only one hope for America in the form of a president. And there never will be. Simplistically put, one candidate addresses one set of issues. The other another set of issues. It all depends on what you want the hope for America to be.

Sometimes I listen to people argue and think that what they really want is to put a happy face sticker on the candidate of their choice without ever having to think deeply about the issues or understand the validity of the opposite position. We seem to forget that in the United States we have a system of checks and balances, not a dictatorship. Whomever is elected president has only so much influence.

When discussing the upcomming election, maybe we should move our egos out of the way and simply ask, "What would you like the hope for America to be?" 

Listen generously. Exercise your right to vote. And leave your whips and chains in the art studios where they belong.

*This comment reminds me of a passage in Jane Eyre where Mr. Rochester is examining Jane's drawings.
R: "Where did you get your copies?"
J:"Out of my head."
R:"That head I see now on your shoulders?"
J:"Yes, sir."
R:"Has it other furniture of the same kind within?"
J:"I should think it may have: I should hope — better."

Pomp and the Real Circumstances....

A while back I came across this vintage photograph of myself as a five-year old, rockin' the Mary Janes, and graduating from kindergarten. It feels a little weird to think of myself as vintage but this photo leaves no question about the era of my childhood.

It is sort of interesting, and a little unsettling, to look at a picture of my five-year old self. I don't remember participating in a kindergarten graduation ceremony. In fact, I don't actually remember being five-years old, although I'm sure I was. I have this photo to prove it. Contrary to what those who know me might believe, the one thing I do recall is that I was a rather shy and timid child. Hence the small and reserved smile. Sadly, no one knows exactly know where that child went.

Fast forward a few decades to the day I received my doctoral degree. My siblings and I worked diligently to recreate the kindergarten photo as closely as possible, just for the fun of it. Admittedly, the hardest part to match was the shy little grin. I'm not exactly known for having a subtle smile.

And that diploma I'm holding, it is the real deal. In exchange for an absurd amout of work and a ridiculous number of years, they handed me my very own diploma with my very own name on it. Spelled right and everything.

And it feels oh-so-good to have earned it.

Except, if I'm being honest, there are a lot of other names that should have been added to that diploma. Names of family and friends, the people who love me and helped me earn that degree, their names should be included as well. It would make for a very large diploma, to be sure, but it would be more accurate.

Yes, I'm the one who took all the classes, and I'm the one who fumbled around for a long time trying to design and conduct meaningful research. Yes, I'm the one who painstakingly wrote every word of the dissertation and then rewrote them all about 12,000 times. Yes, I'm the one who did that part.

But, I didn't earn the degree entirely by myself, because I didn't live in isolation. I lived among people and our messy, awkward, turbulent lives entwined in that earthy way humans have, that creates relationships, and makes life worth living. Throughout the process of writing a dissertation, I rarely cried alone because other people cared to cry with me. I didn't have to rejoice alone because my cheering squad was always at the ready. And never, never ever, did someone say to me, "Yeah, you're right. This is too hard. You should quit." Never.

And, I didn't quit.

I didn't quit because the people who love me were alongside me the entire time. From start to finish. They encouraged and supported me. They put up with me and listened when I whined. Sometimes they gave me food. They celebrated the victories and bouyed me up during the disappointments. When I needed space they kept their distance and when I needed to be held closely, they were always nearby.

We all like to receive accolades when we accomplish something big but the idea that any one of us does anything of value singlehandedly is not only a little crazy but a whole lot arrogant. We don't do things entirely on our own because we not supposed to do things entirely on our own. We are meant to be in the messy engagement of relationships. We are meant to be in communities. Our lives are meant to be braided into the lives of others. Sometimes loosly. Sometimes tightly. But always intersecting and connecting in meaningful ways. No one lives in a vacuum and no accomplishment, big or small, is done without the love, support, and encouragement of others.

The joy of the accomplishment is not that I did it alone, but that I did it. And as cliche as it may sound, it is because others believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself.

On that bright, sunny, graduation morning when my name was called and I walked across the stage to receive my diploma, there was a small outburst of cheers and hoots and, "Go Mom." But that kerfuffle wasn't just for me, it was for everyone who had helped me get to that point. It was the beautiful sound of relationship. And at that moment, life seemed almost perfect.

If only I'd been rockin' the Mary Janes.