Abstract Art

I have to admit that there was a time when I judged abstract expressionism as unskillful and immature. ‘A child can paint that’, I often remarked at art museums.

When I started taking lessons at art school I swore that I would paint soft and soulful images. I never thought that I would one day harbor this burning desire for abstract expressionism. But I am finding myself strongly drawn towards it on occasions. 

So - why abstraction? Why do I choose this seemingly senseless form of art? Why do I derive great satisfaction from such compositions?

Though I am quiet capable of formulating a strong and respectful argument for this new cause that inspires me, the truth of it is really - pretty simple! My paintings are representative of the state of my mind and the quality of my mood is depicted in the colors. 

I cannot fully explain my moods so I cannot provide concrete reasons for my choices of color. But the quality of my mind at a given moment is usually clear to me.

Over the years I’ve realized that all forms of knowing result in the same findings!

Be it spiritual or scientific - all human findings are subject to relativity. Just as in the scientific world there is no clarity of what is 'real' anymore, similarly in the spiritual world too there is no absolute clarity on the ultimate purpose of life and living. 

Our lives have as much meaning and purpose as we assign to it. Perspective too is different for a given subject depending on the space occupied by the painter. Everything in the real world has a component of being unreal - we will never know who draws the image in the mirror, sounds the echo or guides us from within ourselves. 

This awareness frees up my art as well. The abstractions that I conjure are as representative of the world as the physical objects present within it.

 But of course even my choices are forever changing.

Blowing bubbles

Every now and then, there are subtle shifts and turns. Without me being aware, a door gets closed, an expectation builds us, heartbreak gets hidden and a tiny judgment gets conclusive. Suddenly my world is my world no longer.

 I have been in the doldrums often enough and at my age I know, that when I readily fall into an abyss – there is no ground to be discovered. When a thought gets sticky and repetitive its time to blow it out like bubbles and then again certain opportunities are simply lost.

Summers are hard. The vast and expansive vacation – what should it translate into? These young children who laugh at a hand set, a tape recorder, a CD player – what should I expect from them that would be reasonable?

As if the space of generation does not set us apart already, our home is further entrenched with a cultural diabolical.  I suffer from ‘look at what you have’ syndrome - tennis courts, basketball courts, swimming pools, bikes, access to computers, access to summer camps and most of all a willing-to-help parent.  

My children suffer from, ‘leave me alone’ syndrome. And so I respect that.

Without me being fully aware, irritation was piling over complacent existence, anger was seething through the edges of messy rooms, disappointment was lurking at the sight of unhealthy food choices, frustration was mounting at the sight of opportunities missed out and today I exploded.

They retreated. I stood my ground. They drew in their boundaries tighter. I waited. They waited longer. I invoked parental rights. They insisted on teenage ways. I got tired. They had energy for more. I apologized. They accepted.

My world has shifted again without my knowing.

They are not bad children. They read, they write plays and enact them, they make comic strips on Popeye, they draw and paint, they sculpt, they take pictures, they bake, they fix meals, they give out hugs when requested, they are well behaved when taken out and they are conscientious humans.

Sadly sometimes all that I see is the willfulness of youth, the plate left back on the table, the wrapper stuck between sofa seats, the unused bikes, the empty pool, the patient tennis rackets and I just want to scream out.

Its time for me to blow my thoughts out like bubbles!

After the book!

The rhythmic sound of the expansive ocean extended as far as I could see.

The warm sands, the many seashells, the perfect sunshine and my margarita, incensed me with the desire to paint. To mix in yellow ochre, burnt umber and white, set it against the grey blue of the ocean and the bright blue of the endless sky, to bring in the dunes confined to the corners with an array of pale greens and to sprinkle my canvas with red, orange, yellow bathing suites, beach towels and umbrellas.

Of course I was ill prepared, equipped only with potato chips and canned margarita, so I covered my head with my hat and dipped in and out of a rest filled nap - as I watched my children play in the cold waters of this ancient ocean.

This trip was simple. No fanfare, no preparation, not even much expectation.

 As randomly as a breath of air, we picked this spot simply because it allowed the family dog upon the beach. Popeye was appreciative – he wagged his tail the whole time we were there. The roadside pizza that we had was unusually good – that was a bonus. The perfect day – well – what day is not if we imagine it to be so!

But there was one factor that made this extra special. It was the first weekend in over a year that I permitted myself relaxation.

The book is done, its published and released into the world.  The feeling of accomplishment came and went like all feelings do.

Its time to move on! Its time to be quiet and to spend more time alone – to once again feel open to life so that she can evolve me in the manner she wishes to. To once again permit experiences to sculpt me. To dust my hands, blow a kiss and retreat into life anonymous and undistinguished.

The moment has passed. The author who felt and expressed those many words is already captured inside the book. The truths in it are momentary truths that are relevant forever.

It is time to lie upon the warm sands of the quiet beach and listen to the new story shared by the open ocean!

Flowers

‘There is nothing perfect in this world, except for Jesus!’ she said to me smugly, turning her face away and avoiding my eyes. I was reprimanded for taking my time to pick the ‘perfect flowers’ at her store.

The bouquets of pale pink roses, pink carnations and white daisies, they continued dancing in my arms as I walked away smiling. I was much too happy to allow a grumpy old storekeeper bring me down.

Besides she had turned her back even as I said, “Yes, there is nothing perfect but everything is beautiful!”

My teenage child was delighted when she saw me with all those fresh colors! “I can help you mom!” she said, even as I unwillingly let go of my cheery companions. Her young hands did their best in arranging those flowers in three different vases, and I bit my tongue and held back my advice on flower arrangement. Happiness cannot be a science. Besides nothing is perfect and yet everything is beautiful!

For whatever reason today I find myself thinking back on the harshness in the tone of the storekeeper.

 I too was crusty once upon a time!

 At times there has been too much bitterness to swallow, too many disappointments to overcome, too much pain for one tender heart – it is then that I too have resorted to righteous justification, to anger, to cynicism, to sarcasm and to blind fury.

I was lucky!

On those nasty occasions too, there have been loving ones who have held me, knowing that there was more to me than what I could see.  They knew that there was still goodness and kindness under those layers of prickly cynicism!

I could not see then, but I can see now!

I hope that when I visit her again next week, the lady at the store will be kinder. If not then I’ll pretend that I’m one of her loving ones who will have to hold her until she sees the beauty in her own true nature.

Either way those flowers are coming home!