THANK YOU FOR TEACHING ME TO DREAM

 

 

DREAMS OF A YOUNG ARTIST    

(Studio newsletter – December 19, 2013)

 

Oh to be young and fearless. Actually just being young again would do, but for the sake of this letter fearless has to be part of the mix. Encouraged by commercial success during my early years as an artist, I harbored ambitious dreams for myself. One of them was to see my art on the cover of the New Yorker magazine. I was so confident I could make that happen that I created a series of paintings, composed to fit the cover of the magazine and accommodate the text. Eventually reality intervened and I never queried the magazine with my cover art. (I learned later that they do not accept un-solicited artwork.) I eventually sold several of the paintings, but a few remain, resting quietly in a file drawer in the gallery – a quiet reminder of what once was.

 

I am not haunted by the dreams that never made it, because so many did. (I still think they would have made great covers.) If you don’t allow yourself to dream, you can be sure it will never happen.  If you allow yourself to dream, there is always the chance it may happen. The choice is ours, and I choose to dream, even as an old artist.

 

My daughter Sara responded to the newsletter with this simple line:  “I love these dad.  Thank you for teaching me to dream.”

 

The sentiment expressed in those 7 words – “Thank your for teaching me to dream” - fills me with a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment beyond description. Teaching my children to trust and to nurture their dreams has been a high priority goal for me. The message is a simple one: not everyone can be whatever they want to be, or do whatever they want to do, but everyone can try, and dreams are the foundation and the force that sustain these efforts. These are not mindless, pie in the sky dreams, detached from reality. These are the dreams that determine who we are, and how we choose to live our lives, dreams that call on us to use all of our facilities to achieve our goals, dreams that take us from within ourselves into the world around us.

 

There are no guarantees or promises of success and happiness, and the only reward may be the satisfaction of knowing we made the effort. 

GARLIC, ANCHOVIES, ANXIETY, AND ART

I love garlic – or more accurately – I love cooking with garlic. I don’t like eating it by itself, raw, or cooked. In fact I distinctly dislike it. But when it is added to other ingredients it enhances the flavor and adds a unique and delightful touch to the dish.  When used properly garlic makes everything better. The same applies to anchovies.  The small fillets packed in oil have a pungent odor and a taste that must be “acquired”, something I have yet to fully accomplish. But like garlic, when used in measured amounts with other ingredients they add another dimension to the flavor without imposing their own. Three or four finely chopped fillets added early in the process of making tomato sauce for “Sunday pasta” enriches the sauce without revealing their presence.

Anxiety and worry are a lot like garlic and anchovies. Their value depends on the circumstances and the amount. Anxiety over something we have no control is wasted energy. When it is excessive it can be debilitating and overwhelming, rendering us helpless and unable to function. So much so that it is listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. Anxiety disorders are the most common mental illness in the U.S., affecting almost 20% of adults, according to leading specialists in anxiety treatment. (http://www.webmd.com/anxiety-panic/guide/anxiety-panic-guide-overview-facts)  But in small managable doses, anxiety can behave like garlic and anchovies, and become a useful and helpful tool.

I’m sure I’m not the only artist to hear the comment, “how relaxing it must be to paint”. When asked about this I am quick to point out that painting is definitely not a relaxing exercise for me. In fact it is usually very stressful, especially as the painting progresses, and I invest more and more of myself in the work. I have a tendency – okay, it is more of an unbreakable habit than a tendency – to put off the more difficult parts of the painting for as long as possible. And when I am forced to confront them, I can count on the presence of palpable anxiety. I have learned that this is not only inevitable, but a welcomed part of the creative process. My best work is always accomplished under the duress of varying degrees of anxiety. Its presence tells me that I am moving forward into unfamiliar places where real creative growth is possible.

This is the positive side of anxiety. When we are faced with a need to act, a task at hand, or a decision to be made, it can be helpful rather than incapacitating. It sharpens our minds and increases our awareness of all our options and their potential hazards. It helps us determine whether we should be cautious or aggressive. The right amount of anxiety may urge us to go ahead and push at those boundaries, or it may cause us to pause, and discover previously unknown obstacles lying in wait for us. In its own way, anxiety makes us a little bit wiser. It does not promise success, but encourages the effort. It has taught me to appreciate the difference between stress and distress. In measured and controllable amounts, anxiety is my friend.  There is little question in my mind that my creative efforts need anxiety as much as my cooking needs garlic and an occasional anchovy.

WHAT AM I DOING HERE?

“What am I doing sitting on a pile of trash in an empty city lot behind Fourth Street?”

It was 9 AM on a Thursday morning in the mid 1970s. I should have been attending Medical Grand Rounds, a presentation by the medical residents of interesting cases to the house staff and attending physicians. It was a weekly ritual that I had attended faithfully for the past 6 years.

So why was I sitting on a stack of empty mattresses in the middle of an empty lot? I was drawing the back of a row of dilapidated houses, fascinated by the texture and gritty nature of the composition they created, totally unaware that this would mark the beginning of a 5 year process to reveal an artist tucked away somewhere within me. To say it was pure pleasure would be less than true. Guilt and insecurity were right beside me, asking me “what are you doing out here? You should be at Grand Rounds. It’s ridiculous to think that you’re an artist, or could become one. All you can do is draw small sketches with a Parker fountain pen. Hell, you can’t even paint!” There was no shortage of guilt, doubt and self-recrimination, but not enough to pull me away. Art – pencil and pen and ink drawing – was becoming more than a casual hobby; it was something I felt driven to do. It’s not like I was bored and looking around for something to keep me occupied. This interest in drawing simply crept into my consciousness without any forethought, and once it was established proceeded to grow until it became more of a need than an option or choice. This wasn’t the first time I experienced something like this. In the spring of my first year in college, without my conscious input I suddenly decided I wanted to be a physician and not a pharmacist. Ironically, I was now engaged in a process that, albeit much slower, would take me from medicine to art. But that’s another story. I would end up painting and drawing the backs of buildings throughout my years in Wilmington, and over 25 years later would do the same in Paducah.

The backs of so many urban buildings often stand in stark contrast to their fronts, and are frequently far more interesting because of the nitty gritty texture and disarray. In 1984 the Wilmington News Journal moved their headquarters from downtown Wilmington to a new suburban industrial park, and asked me to do a painting of the old headquarters for a poster to give their friends and employees. Of course I did the back, which was far more interesting to me that the boring façade in front. They loved it, bought it, and then asked be to do the front for the poster. Here are the two paintings – you can decide for yourself.

I originally considered calling this post – By Their Backsides You Will Know Them. But then I wasn’t sure how people would interpret that.

3-24-20 Gemelli with Zucchini and Ricotta cheese

What a delightful surprise

 

What to do for dinner? After a week of sheltering at home the cupboards were a little bare. Poking around in the fridge I found a zźucchini, carrots and celeryyÿ, along with a tub of ricotta that had to be used.

While waiting for the pasta water to boil I cooked some chopped onion, celery, and carrots in olive oil. When the onions softened I added 2 cloves of slice garlic and the zucchini, along with1/3 cup of chicken stock and the dried tarragon. Several minutes later I added some white wine, and still later fresh lemon juice. All of this was done on a whim, so there is nothing fixed regarding the timing. I kept the lid off the pan after the zucchini was cooked to allow some of liquid to cook off.

I mixed in about a cup of ricotta a few minutes before the pasta was ready, tossed the pasta in the pan with the sauce, and sat down to eat with high hopes.

The result was a delightful new way (if there ever is a new way) to enjoy pasta. The  sauce was light, almost sweet, and thanks to the tarragon had a wonderfully unique flavor. I see more of this in our future.