It was a weekend to remember. To celebrate. To dance. To cherish. A weekend like no other, but then, this weekend never happened before, and will never happen again, because like today, it was unique, different, one of a kind. Special.
The art show was fabulous. It was more than just the fact I sold 5 paintings. It was all about joy and experience and sharing and being part of something I never before imagined, and now wonder why not! But that’s the thing about what we ‘cannot imagine’. We have to let go of our belief we don’t know. We have to move above the line of telling ourselves that not experiencing what we don’t know keeps us safe. We have to breathe into the purified air of falling into the wonder and awe and joy of living beyond our comfort zone to find what it is we don’t know that we have yet to experience. We have to cast our ‘knowing’ into the wind to free ourselves to fly out there where we are living it up, living large, living beyond our wildest dreams in the rapture of now.
I had lots of affirmation of my artistic abilities on the weekend. Lots of feedback on what and how I was doing which was lovely and affirming and gave me a sense of wonder — it is nice to know the beauty I paint is seen as beauty in the eyes of others. And, in the process, lots of opportunity to share with other artists the joys, and perils, of putting yourself out there, onto the canvas. One man, he came to see the show and bought one of my paintings, is an artist who makes his living through his painting. When I asked him if he teaches (I want to paint horses and he showed me some photographs of his horse paintings, and they are stunning), his reply got me thinking. “I don’t teach because I don’t know what I’m doing. I just paint what I see.”
Paint what I see.
When I heard him say that, the voice inside my heart whispered, I paint what I feel.
It surprised me that voice, but it felt so true, so right, so real. I paint what I feel.
What a lovely thing to know and be immersed in.
And then, yesterday, I spent the late morning, early afternoon with my mother. I took her to the market. We had one of Phil and Sebastians to die for coffees, wandered the aisles (did I mention she’s a speedo with her walker? Crazzzy fast!), checked out the wares and bought each other flowers. And then, I took her to one of my favourite little restaurants in Inglewood, Jacquelin Susan’s. It was a delightful time to spend Mother’s Day and to celebrate the woman who gave me birth.
Later, my youngest daughter along with my step-daughter, took me for dinner at our favourite restaurant. Lele brought me flowers, and together we celebrated, life and living and loving and being part of this amazing thing called family. C.C. came to join us for dessert and we spent another hour laughing and sharing in the joy of our connections.
It was late when we got home so I waited to read my eldest daughter, Alexis’, blog.
I’m glad I waited. My heart needed time to breathe so it could savour the beauty and spirit of her words.
When Alexis was a little girl she used to write torrents of poetry she called, The Mommy Poems. Usually, these poems were written in the angst-filled moments after an incident where she felt particularly unheard, unseen, unknown by me. They were always dramatic, heart-driven, deep emotional poems filled with the honesty only a 5 or 8 or 12 year old young girl can create when she is so connected to her heart her lungs do not have room to breathe. They were also very raw. And, did I mention, emotional?
After whatever the altercation, Alexis would stomp off to her room, scribble away and then, after an appropriate period of time to allow me to stew in the wrongness of whatever I’d done or said, she would appear and promptly inform me she had a Mommy Poem to share. Often her sister would be there too and Lele and I would desperately try to keep straight faces as Alexis performed her poem for us. It’s not that they were funny or that we were making fun of her. It’s just that they truly were creative and deep and so over the top in drama-filled angst that it was hard to believe they really were her thoughts and feelings — and they were. All her.
Unfortunately, many years later, Alexis discarded her Mommy Poems. I always thought they warranted keeping and possibly pulling together into a book.
I am blessed. I am touched. I am speechless. My heart cries for joy, my body yearns to wrap my arms around her slender form and whisper the most powerful prayer in the world – Thank you.
Thank you my darling daughters for being you. Thank you for the gift of your light, your love, your being. Thank you both for sharing your beauty and your grace.
Love you more than all the words that will ever be spoken.