Pan American

I went to Pan American Library Branch today. It’s off I-35 just north of SW Military Dr. When I got there it was still closed and a crew was trimming the trees. The building has a midcentury look and was built in the late 60’s. Oddly, it is named after the freeway that it sits next to: Pan American Expressway. I’m hoping I can do more with it when I do a bigger painting of it. Even though the building has a cool midcentury feel to it there’s still not much to it. It’s made of brown brick. I’ll see what I can do.

I’ve been thinking a lot about right and left brain qualities. I think I have a lot of right brain strengths but feel compelled to be more left brain. I’m sure I’m not the only one. I was sharing with someone yesterday that I’m saddened by the fact that when my grandmother was in school kids studied subjects in the arts like philosophy and Latin. By the time my generation was in school we were encouraged to pursue math and science, subjects society felt would lead to economic success. 

I’ve often wondered if the belief that the arts lead to poverty and struggle were created by policy makers in order to defund the arts. Either way, I grew up hearing that making a living as an artist was nearly impossible. Whether you wanted to be a painter, musician, performer, or craftsman, you were usually told that you had to be one of the few elite or you would spend your life struggling. I switched my major in the end to Communication Arts believing this terrifying story. I still regret it.

But now things are different. Yes, my goal is to make a living as an artist, but I’m beginning to see that how I generate an income is less important than my art itself. Hopefully, it leads to sales, but do those sales really matter if I’m just treating my easel as a conveyor belt? If I’m acting like my paintings are just things to get through and on to their new owners? Right now this feels like a hard thing to balance, but I’m getting clarity on my priorities. I won’t be much of an artist if my work is just a means to an end. It has to be more than that.

Which is why I’m thinking a lot about right brain and left brain qualities. When kids studied the arts and humanities in high school were they developing depth of character? Were they finding things to feel passionate about, things that gave their lives meaning? Were they educated to be more than money makers? More than consumers and ‘productive members of society’ (emphasis on productive)?  Was there a time when kids were educated to be free thinkers? People who could listen and come to their own conclusions?

Is it true that senators and policy makers in the 60’s believed that baby boomers became agitators and revolutionaries because they were overeducated? That they decided to defund education to dumb us down in order to restore peace? It seems probable. Even if the rumor isn’t true our educational system has never been as good as it was. Is it because women were able to branch out and get better paying jobs? Did we lose our most capable teachers to the fact that they suddenly had more opportunities?

What if public education isn’t just about making a good living? What if education is also about finding meaning and purpose, about finding things to be passionate about? How do we find more connection to our right brain qualities - creativity, emotions, and intuition? Right now I’m finding it through drawing, through Betty Edward’s great book, Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain. I will keep you posted on how it goes.

Right Brain

I started reading Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards. I checked it out from the library before about twenty years ago but nothing I’m reading now is ringing any bells. I’ve been pretty inspired by chapter 3 where she talks about the right and left sides of the brain as well as being right and left handed. Apparently, when she wrote the book in the 70’s, the knowledge that the right and left hemispheres of the brain correspond to different ways of thinking and perceiving the world was new. The left side of the brain is verbal, analytic, and sequential, while the right side is visual, perceptual, and simultaneous.

Later in the chapter she shares that in several languages the word left has a negative connotation while the word right has a positive connotation. In latin, the word for left is sinister, meaning ‘bad’, ‘ominous’, or ‘treacherous’. The latin word for right is dexter, which comes from the word ‘dexterity’, meaning ‘skill’, or ‘adroitness’. In french left is gauche, meaning ‘awkward’, and right is droit, meaning ‘good’, ‘just’, and ‘proper’. She reminds the reader that the right hand is connected to the left hemisphere - visual, perceptual, and simultaneous - while the left hand is connected to the right hemisphere - verbal, analytic, and sequential.

All this got me thinking about something that has plagued me my entire life. Why do we as a species prefer men over women? Masculine over feminine? Math and science over art and music? Why do we prefer things that are concrete rather than ‘woo-woo’? It’s as if for millennia we have held the beliefs that a) there are two opposite forces in nature, and b) one is good and the other is bad. And it’s not hard to miss. Even today we still seem to feel negative feelings towards women which is most obvious in politics.

Reading this book is helping me get clearer on what’s missing for me in my work. I am not entirely letting go of my left brain, my analytical side, when I’m painting. It’s a struggle. In other areas of my life it’s easier for me to let go. I feel as if I’m much more creative when it comes to my home and creating a comfortable atmosphere to live in. Most people who come over to help with a repair are taken aback by all my artwork and how my house is decorated. I’ve had friends say they want to curl up somewhere and stay, forever.

I want to find that kind of freedom with painting. I want to feel that level of ease. It’s like a care-free feeling. I’m like the adolescents she describes in the book: totally obsessed with creating a ‘likeness’. I’m not letting myself create like a young child does. I’m trying to make something that I think others will understand. I’m more focused on the message than with expressing myself. This is a huge insight. I have no idea how to move forward right now, but seeing this feels like some kind of crossroads.

Should I Follow Politics?

John Igo Branch Library is finished. It’s a neat building and I liked painting it. The light was casting cool shadows which made for a fun painting. I went to the Central Branch Library the other day and left my card and photos of my paintings, followed up with an email, but have not heard back. The library is undergoing a major renovations and the woman I talked to wasn’t sure that the gallery would even be open in April. So I am thinking of alternatives.

I’m still going to paint all the libraries but I may not worry about getting them all done by April. This will give me more time to play and work on other things. I have yet to get back into the habit of drawing every day. Yesterday I managed to sit down and sketch but that’s about the only time I’ve done it since I’ve been back. I put some sketching and painting books on hold at the library which I plan on picking up today. I think I’ll spend some time with those and see what I come up with.

The topic of the day’s podcast was abortion. Van Jones interviewed a woman who calls herself pro-life and conservative at certain points in the interview but then insists that she represents the majority on abortion. I’m not sure I agree with that. I believe abortion should be safe, legal, and rare too but I don’t consider myself pro-life or conservative. 

That aside, I found it to be a good interview. The takeaway was that neither political extreme, the right nor the left, are helping women who are in need of medical care. That I agree with. What protections and support have women be given now that they’re being forced to have these unwanted babies?

They also discussed the impact of the Supreme Court and how this decision will affect America’s perspective of them now. As a liberal I would say that Mitch McConnell’s maneuvers over the years didn’t help. If America is going to respect the Supreme Court that is not the way to do it. 

It saddens me to see the extremes that people will go to to get their way. It seems as if that’s what we’re resorting to. For the past few years liberals have been calling for defunding the police and conservatives have gone nuts over it, claiming we can’t live without the rule of law. But now that the FBI has raided Trump’s home they want it defunded. Go figure.

It’s sometimes nauseating to keep up with social media. I’ve been scrolling Twitter but only stopping to read the posts of people I follow. Twitter will show me what all my followers are ‘liking’ and commenting on as well as things I might like, but those posts are usually immature and tasteless. I follow journalists and I want to read posts that have been confirmed or researched. 

Maybe following politics is a bad idea overall. Maybe I should spend my time focused on other things. I would like to contribute to the world I live in, I would like to give back somehow. Perhaps I’m just like political extremists: looking for a way to feel more energized and alive. Is this a substitute for addiction? Is it just another vice? Bessel van der Kolk, the author of The Body Keeps the Score says that political extremism is a sign of trauma. Addiction is a way to wake up a numb body and spirit. Maybe paying attention to politics is the same for me.

Emotional Sobriety

I worked on the Igo Branch painting this morning. There’s a lot going on in the image but I tried to simplify it the best I could. My main focus was creating the shadow under the overhang so you get a sense of how the walkway works. I think I’ll be able to finish it tomorrow.

While I worked I listened to a podcast about cultural appropriation and being a writer. The host and guests spoke about two books by white people that feature BIPOC characters: American Dirt and The Help. I have not read American Dirt, but have heard a lot of criticism about it, and I have read The Help. I will admit that I liked it. It was a familiar story about a white person who acted heroically during the civil rights movement.

Growing up in the 70’s and 80’s I heard a lot of stories about the civil rights movement and imagined myself being one of those heroic white people. But as I’ve progressed and moved beyond that time period it has become clear that white people have soothed ourselves with stories of our heroism rather than acknowledging our villainy.

I think I may be a decent white person but I’m not always sure. I admit that I sometimes have to talk myself out of negative feelings towards BIPOC- defensive, critical, dismissive - into an open and accepting one. When I listen to people of color I often want to defend myself and defend other white people. I have to remind myself that I’m privileged and that it’s understandable that people of color are angry. 

I read a Twitter post after Roe was overturned that said: Women, I’ve long wondered why you don’t kill us all [men] in our sleep. If you do, I will understand. When I’m emotionally sober, and I’m prepared to look at the world from a wide point of view, I feel the same about people of color, especially black people. When I can see things from the point of view of a Native American, a descendent of slaves (with European DNA no less), from Asians, immigrants, and hispanics, I wonder how we (white folk) have gotten away with the atrocities we have. 

But I also have moments when I’m not emotionally sober, when I feel as petty and selfish as a child. Is it ok to talk about that? Or is it the equivalent of joining the Trump movement? My goal is to be part of a liberal democracy. I’m grateful to the white people out there who don’t get defensive, who always keep their heads on straight. In fact, I’m also grateful to the people of color who don’t resort to violence. The people keeping a level head probably could be called heroic. I have relied on them to push me along and show me how to be a good person. A good neighbor. A good Christian (Buddhist, whatever). I aspire to be that.

I’m realizing that not all conversations are meant for me. I’m not included in them all. When a group of BIPOC get together to record a podcast about cultural appropriation and being a writer, that’s not a conversation for me to participate in. It’s a conversation for me to listen to, to observe. I didn’t like everything I heard, but pleasing me wasn’t the point.

The takeaway was that it’s ok to write about whoever you want to write about. But, Roxane Gay said, if you do, do it well, or you’ll get panned. By her, at least. People still like The Help. It was made into a movie that was also hugely popular. And American Dirt was chosen by Oprah for her book club where she encouraged readers to ‘lean in’ and ‘embark on a conversation without having to cancel, dismiss, or silence anyone’.

With so many outlets, so many ways for people to speak and be heard, it’s often overwhelming. Who’s right? Who’s wrong? How perfect do we have to be? If you’re white, is it ok to say the wrong thing and apologize and not be cancelled as a Trumper? Do people of color, and writers of color, automatically get a free pass and get permission to say whatever they want towards and about white people? And who calls BIPOC out if they step over the line?

I’m glad I listened to that podcast (The Ezra Klein Show, August 2, 2022). I’m glad I got myself to think and write about difficult subjects. With all the threats of violence going on, all the frenzied, ultra-right conservatives calling for civil war, I’m glad I took the time to get reactionary so I could work my way back to emotional sobriety. 

Giving

I started a new painting today. I am making a reproduction of a painting of my grandmother who passed away in January. So, I worked on John Igo Branch Library and the new painting this morning. 

I went downtown to the Central Branch yesterday and I have to say, things didn’t look too promising for my exhibit in April. The library is going through major renovations and I was unable to even walk through most of the first floor. So I left my information with someone at the information desk and will follow up with an email later.

I was pretty disappointed, but I have another option. I will be exhibiting some work in April at San Antonio College as well, so I can hang my library paintings at their library instead if things don’t work out. Not all will be lost. 

Last Friday I sent a query letter to a literary agent and although I have made the mental commitment to send more letters over the years, I never seem to keep up with it. I finished my first manuscript in December 2019 and would still like to get it published. No one will know about it if I’m just sitting on it. So, more letters will be going out over the next few months.

Last night was pretty entertaining on Twitter. I’m not into ugly politics but it was funny seeing how irate Trump was about getting raided (searched?) by the FBI. I was disappointed to see conservatives further demonizing an American institution and calling for supporters to take action, but I guess that’s their shtick these days. So many people went to mar o lago with their pickups and flags to tell the FBI… what? Were they going to start a riot with them or something? Again?

It’s hard to know what most of America is thinking and feeling these days. Most of the people on Twitter are the same voices who do nothing but post on Twitter, who post whatever will get them attention. I don’t really (usually) care what they have to say. I follow a lot of reporters, but other than tweeting about the raid, they didn’t have much to say last night. But Twitter doesn’t let me scroll through nothing. It finds posts it thinks I’ll like, or it shows me all the posts the reporters I follow ‘liked’. 

The news feels unreliable. Even PBS Newshours, which is less dramatic and less opinionated than CNN and MSNBC, is still catering to a particular audience. And since I’m not a student in school or an employee at a large company I don’t have a lot of social interactions. There’s so much noise out there, so much outrage. Are most Americans that angry?

I have to admit that I got out of bed last night to write in my journal for a while because I was angry. I was too triggered by everything I saw online to fall asleep. I have been mediating at 7pm and then reading from 8 to 9. But last night I felt like scrolling at about 8:30. Bad idea. A lesson I thought I’d already learned many times. Ugh.

What I realized through journaling is that I want to give. I listened to Ten Percent Happier this morning while I worked and, ironically, the episode was about morality and ethics. The guy being interviewed wrote a book called How To Be Perfect. They talked about making ethical decisions, like do I return the grocery cart to the store, or do I leave it in the parking lot for someone else to deal with? While they were talking, the person being interviewed said that the basic human desire is to give. When a child has a cookie and another child is crying because they don’t, in most cultures the child with the cookie will share.

That’s the conclusion I came to last night. I have spent so much time in my life trying to convince the world that I’m good. I have been desperate to be seen as good, smart, capable, right, etc, all because somewhere along the way I decided that I wasn’t enough. Was it something that happened in early childhood? Some experience that left me feeling ashamed and inadequate? Was it the way I was brought up? I don’t have an answer for that, but I do know that when I look back on my life I see a woman who’s bragged, boasted, and bullshitted. A lot. 

But I’ve done it with good intentions. I have been trying to impress, and thus make others happy with me. Like when you’re a kid and you get in trouble you turn around and try to convince your parent that you’re good so they won’t be angry anymore. You try to make up for whatever it was you did wrong so that there can be peace again. I have been trying to prove myself, but I haven’t been giving unconditionally.

My ‘giving’ has had strings attached. I have been looking for affirmation. But, under that behavior is a true desire to just give. To simply give. To give freely. To give because it’s the most natural thing I can come up with. It’s the most natural motivation I can find. I want to express myself, or express something that comes from within me. When I ask myself what I want, ‘what do I want to do with my life?’, that’s the answer I get. 

Last night I sat there with pen in hand thinking about my newest novel. I was thinking of all the inspiring ideas that have been circulating through my head. I’m angry, but honestly, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of how things are changing. I’m afraid of other people’s anger. I can’t control the environment, I can only contribute to it. So my art is my contribution. In uncertain times, I want to give, and the best way for me to do that is through creativity.

Living in Harmony

I started painting the John Igo Library Branch this morning. I’m already happier with it than I was with the study I did Friday. My values were off on the study so I was able to correct that from the start with this one. My plan is to head to the Central Branch Library this afternoon and talk to someone about exhibiting the work I’m doing in April. I want to approach them with enough time before Library Appreciation Day. I’ve got about 10 paintings finished to show them so they’ll know what to expect.

I didn’t listen to a podcast this morning. I got a phone call so I ended up talking while I worked. It’s been hard to acclimate to life after the meditation course. I have been sleeping a lot and feeling really exhausted. This weekend I stayed home and read. A relative suggested a book called Captured. It’s written by a man whose ancestor was kidnapped by Native Americans in the late 1800’s and, although he was released and returned to his family, was never the same. I was intrigued because according to Ancestry.com I am a direct descendent of someone who was also abducted.

She’s my 5th great-grandmother and her name was Hannah Barnett. She was taken at Barnett’s Station in Ohio County, Kentucky. My aunt said that her grandmother, my great-grandmother, told her before she died that we have Native blood, but no one in our family has Native DNA. When I saw this in the family tree it made me think this is what my great-grandmother was referring to.

The book is a tough read. The stories he gathered are brutal and it makes life on the frontier seem hard to fathom. Relations between the natives and white settlers were at times cordial, but at other times they were rife with unspeakable violence. One description has stayed with me, the image of natives living nomadic lives, in-line with the natural world, while the settlers were desperately trying to tame nature, to establish homesteads, farms, and ranches despite the hardship to do so. The captured white children described being able to play and enjoy life for the first time amongst the Natives instead of always having to work and endure hard, manual labor. 

The author, Scott Zesch, is fair in his assessment of white settlers. His research showed that a lot of them understood that they were taking native land and destroying their culture. It makes me think about people who are at our borders today, feeling desperate and not having anywhere else to go. They’re fleeing unbearable conditions, wanting only to find opportunities for a new life. Most white settlers didn’t come here to destroy Native American culture, but once here, they understood what their presence was doing. Many of them lacked the resources to return to where they came from, and even if they could return, there was nothing sustainable to return to.

On the other hand, according to many abducted white children, the only reason there were “bad Indians was because there were bad white men”. Many captured children remained loyal to their Native tribes until their deaths. They would not tolerate any bigotry towards Native Americans and were almost as crushed by the destruction of Native hunting lands and Native culture as Native Americans. They understood the depth and breath of destruction that was taking place and the helplessness that Natives experienced.

Native Americans were misunderstood. Their way of life was so markedly different from Europeans that living in harmony was impossible. Natives didn’t fight nature, they moved, hunted, and lived in harmony with her. But Europeans wanted settled, stable lives. They wanted to put roots down and claim ownership of land and homes in order to find inner peace. Natives found inner peace by not fighting nature, by letting the natural world dictate their choices. It’s what it means to live a spiritual life.

Book Banning

I made my way out to John Igo Branch Library this morning. It’s in the northwest part of the city by UTSA. In fact, I could hear a marching band rehearsing in the distance that I assumed was the UTSA band. When I was leaving I saw what looked like a stadium in the distance. You may be able to hear it in the video. I’ll post it soon on my YouTube channel.

I saw an article the other day about a Michigan library that was defunded. Apparently the librarians refused to take LGBTQA+ books off the shelf and leave LGBTQA+ books out of the displays, so the town voted to defund it. Wouldn’t you think that librarians know what their patrons are interested in? Wouldn’t you think that they’re putting things out that people are regularly coming there looking for? A group of conservatives accused the librarians of “trying to groom our children” just by putting LGBTQA+ content on the shelves. So now no one can read a library book, whether it’s LGBTQA+ or not.

I guess this isn’t the first time in history book banning has been used as a political fight. You’d think that if it didn’t work in the past they wouldn’t bother using it again. My heart goes out to librarians, especially high school and middle school. I would imagine, if you’re a librarian for kids and you know what your kids are excited about and interested in, you’d want to provide that for them. Not only does book banning keep librarians from keeping books on the shelves but it keeps them from encouraging kids to read and be engaged with life.

Yesterday I read that Gov Greg Abbott pulled The Handmaids Tale from all libraries in the state but did not pull Mein Kampf. I’m not sure where I read this so take it with a grain of salt, but it wouldn’t surprise me. A few days ago I watched a Frontline documentary about Ruby Ridge, which I remember hearing about in the news in the 90’s. A young couple, who were religious fanatics, went to live in the Idaho panhandle to get away from it all. They befriended a local Nazi/white supremacist group and got swept up in an FBI sting.

The FBI was watching the white supremacists and caught this religious extremist making sawed off shotguns for them. The FBI tried to manipulate him into going undercover. He refused and there was a standoff that ended with two people killed, including a 14 year old boy, and two people wounded. It was all pretty crazy but what’s even crazier is that these are the Republican base now: the Christian zealots, the Nazi skinheads, and the white supremacists. So we can all read Mein Kamf in Texas but not The Handmaids Tale. More reason to support your local library.

Liberal Democratic Society

After 30 days of no devices, no talking, no painting or writing or reading, I’m home. I returned Sunday, but have spent the past few days trying to readjust and feel normal again. There are two things Goenka says that are always takeaways from the course for me: 1. We are releasing negative impurities of the mind at the level of the body and 2. We are gaining experiential knowledge of the self. I would interpret those two nuggets as: 1. We are strengthening our awareness such that we can feel where our habit patterns and reactions begin in our bodies, and 2. We are going beyond character, likes, and dislikes, to feeling who we are. The I AM.

I drove home Sunday and stopped at the grocery store. For most of the previous month the only things I’d listened to were birds, cicadas, the wind, my breath, some Pali chanting and some short Vipassana discourses, so being in a grocery store was pretty overwhelming. I also came back exhausted. I’ve slept 10 hours every night I’ve been home.

I think of ‘releasing negative impurities of the mind at the level of the body’ as therapy without having to talk or figure anything out. During the course I thought a lot about things that happened 20 years ago and I had terrific dreams about letting go and moving on. There’s no way of knowing what impurities I was letting go of but the insights and the dreams were pretty cool. I hope I can make it back next year.

Today was the first day I had a chance to paint. I’ve been making to-do lists, returning voicemails, and grocery shopping, so I was happy to get back to the easel. I had left a painting of Bazan Branch Library when I left so today I added the finishing touches. Some of the perspective is off but I can live with it. 

Yesterday I printed out a collage of pictures of my library paintings. I will take it to the Central Branch when I ask if I can exhibit my work there. I still have a lot of paintings before I’m done, but April 2023 will be here before you know it. I also found out while I was away that I got the opportunity to hang some work at the San Antonio Art League Members Gallery. It will go up in September and be there until December. 

Today, as I painted I listened to The Ezra Klein Show. He had a guy on who’s written a book about the media, specifically about how the media has shaped us and our politics over the past 50 years. “Media continually evolve faster than politics, resulting in recurring patterns of democratic instability.” It made me feel a little better knowing that things like the telegraph also affected society and created political instability. I still wonder where we’re headed and where social media will take us as a society, but I have a little more hope.

I think it’s hard to participate in a democracy. It’s hard to contribute and then let it go, knowing that there are other people with other needs that differ from mine. It’s also scary to think that people with ill will and power can influence society in negative ways, just because they have a destructive need for power, or significance, or attention. But I always have to go back to the understanding that my contribution matters, that I matter. I think we need a certain level of self-esteem to allow a democracy to work as it should without trying to interfere, overpower, dominate, or control. 

I watched the last January 6th Committee Hearing yesterday. I’m still appreciative that they’re going through all they’re going through in order to let us know exactly what happened. It makes me realize that there are some good leaders. People with integrity and professionalism. I know there are a lot of people in this country who are so angry they don’t care about the government or whether it collapses or changes regimes. But I think they’d be disappointed if those things happened. We’ve been pretty lucky. I heard somewhere that the world has experienced less conflict since WWII than any other time in history. If that’s true, then the entirety of us have no idea what we’re taking for granted.

What was shared today in the podcast was that democracy is a society that has free and open communication. But that freedom doesn’t always produce a liberal society. So what produces a liberal society? A society of people who are willing to respect or accept behavior or opinions different from one’s own, a society open to new ideas, a society that values individual rights, civil liberties, and free enterprise?

My guess is that a society of individuals who can esteem themselves, who live inner-directed lives, who understand their worth, can produce a liberal, democratic society. But a society of individuals who get their self-esteem from the group, who follow others, and who feel inadequate, will most likely be a society of agitators, arguers, and isolationists, outraged over everything they don’t agree with. I would like to do my part to add to a liberal, democratic society, if it’s not too late.

My Contribution

I want to leave things on a more positive note. Earlier today I was feeling so overwhelmed with everything going on: Roe v Wade (and other SCOTUS bullshit), January 6th Hearings, 53 trafficked humans dead a few miles from my house, fourth graders mowed down by a troubled kid with an AR-15. A friend of mine shared that she and her wife are moving to a safer state. A republican today said he’s banking on liberals moving to blue states, that they will inadvertently help increase Republican power. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

It’s hard to find anything positive to focus on, but I want to. Tonight I saw a news story about the increase in mental illness among the young and I realized I really want to. How can we older folks fixate on all the tragedies around us when our young people need us to show them how to stay healthy? They need us. We need them too. We need each other and we need to demonstrate mental health. 

The world is changing. It’s as if a volcano is erupting beneath us and we’re all wondering if we’re going to make it through. But you know what? Humanity has gone through plenty of upheavals throughout history and here we are. We are survivors. We have the ability to adjust and keep on going. And we can do that now. I’m not being a Pollyanna. I’m being a person of faith. A person of trust in this mysterious and magnificent Universe.

There’s no way to control the environment in which I live. Whether it’s a crazy household I live in or a crazy society. There’s just no way to control it. When I try to, I make myself crazy. When I worry about someone else gaining control over it I make myself crazy. The only thing I can do is contribute to it. I can relinquish control and focus on my contribution. I can express to the world what matters to me by choosing what I say, what I do, and what I focus on. 

If I don’t believe that my contribution matters, that my contribution can make a difference, then I don’t think I make a difference. So, as a declaration of my significance, I will contribute to my environment. I will express to the world what matters to me. I will speak words of hope. I will honor the beauty of this human experience by appreciating it, even when it doesn’t seem to be appreciating me.

I have an inner world. I have a space within me that no one can touch. I need to spend time there to know this, to really get it, but it’s there. I can take a few minutes out of every day to be quiet, to listen to my breath, my beating heart, and in time I will grasp the depth and breath of my human soul. It’s mine for the taking and no SCOTUS a-hole has any say over it.

This inner world contains the full spectrum of human emotion, the entirety of feeling, and when I start to visit it, I may be overwhelmed. But soon I will begin to understand that my feelings can’t kill me. My thoughts have power, and often my feelings are expressions of distorted thoughts I had in the past, about things that don’t even exist anymore. And when I realize this I can choose new thoughts: the world is not ending and there is nothing happening that I can’t face. This is only the experience of being human, an experience that did not start with me. Everything I can feel and think has been felt and thought by someone before me. I am not alone.

This isn’t about a revolution. This is about transcendence. The laws of man are aggression, dominance, control, oppression, and all of their opposites. But the laws of nature are magnetism and attraction. Be the change you want to see in the world. Be the respect you want to see in the world. Be the acceptance and compassion you want to see in the world. Be the love, the patience, the hope, the optimism, the effort, the tenderness, the humility. 

When I saw that news story about the young I saw my younger self. To all those out there struggling with mental health: I love you. I love you because I’ve been there and with help and support I learned how to love myself. I feel your pain and I know your struggle. Throughout the ages the human experience has been fraught with tragedies. But it has also been the source of our greatest inspirations and expressions of beauty. We can live through this upheaval and chose our future. All is not lost. 

I believe, and I want to be a stand for hope, for all the good life has to offer. I understand that there will be times when I’m alone, when most people won’t want to hear my positive bullshit. That’s ok. I’m going to keep sitting each day, listening to my breath, my beating heart, and I will report back what I find.

Romper Room

I worked on Bazan Library again today but It’s still not finished. It’s coming along though and will probably be done with another sitting. There is a large wall that is not getting any direct sunlight nor is it in shadow, but the value shifts as it gets closer to a perpendicular wall. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to pull off the subtlety but I think it’s going to work. When I work on it again I’ll make some minor adjustments and then add the foliage, which is usually the last thing I add. 

This is number nine in the series which leaves twenty more library branches to paint. I’ll have to finish 2.5 paintings to meet my April deadline. So far I’ve averaged 3 a month so I should be ok. One thing I do not like are deadlines. I like to be prepared, on time, with my ‘i’s’ dotted and my ’t’s’ crossed and deadlines are too stressful. I start cutting corners. Hopefully I won’t have to worry. 

Yesterday I sat down at noon for a riveting two hours of Hearings. I kept thinking of my grandmother, who died earlier this year at the age of 97. She was a life-long republican, until Trump. She read the newspaper every single day of the week and she always knew what was going on in the world. I wonder what she would think of her country now. 

I can remember growing up having to watch a political debate for school and being impressed by how knowledgable and articulate the candidates were. I thought it was only our best and brightest who could rise to the top and either be elected to office or be part of an administration. What I heard yesterday made me ashamed and disappointed beyond words. 

Donald Trump knew the crowd was armed and insisted they be allowed past the metal detectors. He wanted it to look like his rally was well attended. “They’re not going to hurt me,” he screamed. “Let my people in!” Secret Service scanned the crowed and spotted numerous people with glocks and AR-15’s and still no back-up was deemed necessary. They weren’t scared of that crowed.

The young woman who testified, who apparently was being threatened, described a scene, not only on January 6th, but regularly at the White House, as volatile - an environment where people walk on egg shells. According to her, Donald Trump occasionally ripped the table cloth off tables, sending plates, and dishes flying, when he was angry, or when he didn’t get his way. On January 6th he threw a plate, and ketchup landed on a TV, and he casually left his mess for a valet to clean up.

He tried to grab the steering wheel of The Beast when the Secret Service agent wouldn’t take him to the Capital (on orders from his staff so he didn’t break ‘every law in the book’) and then, when that didn’t work, he lunged for another Secret Service member’s throat. All day Donald Trump refused to call off the insurrectionists, despite all the people in his immediate orbit advising him to. When he did release a video, he ensured the rioters, ‘We love you.’

And the worst part is that in order to stay in power Republicans have covered up his behavior. The entire republican party has either joined him in acting like spoiled, violent toddlers, or they pretend it’s not happening so they can get reelected. 

So yeah, I’ve been thinking about my grandmother, wondering what she would think, wondering what it was like for her to watch her government turn into a dark and crooked version of Romper Room. I know cheating and lying have always been part of politics. I know there have always been people who care more about having power than doing the right thing, but this has gone beyond that. This is the majority of people. A fraction of republicans have left the party over the past six years in protest, but most have stayed and played to new, uglier game of politics/warfare.

And where have all these people been since the January 6th insurrection? All these people who have testified in the past few weeks have only done so because of the investigation. It’s like an abusive household: everyone suffers in silence and anyone who speaks out gets blackballed and discredited. The atmosphere our elected leaders work in, most likely in the States as well, has turned into a toxic dump.

Freedom or Security?

I had one of those mornings where I started painting and lost myself. After about an hour I remembered I’m leaving in two days, Roe v. Wade was overturned, and there’s a new Jan 6 Hearing today. I love that. It will be nice to get out of town, to turn my phone off, to be free of the internet for 30 days. As much as I enjoy paying attention to all the drama, I need break. 

I lost myself in my painting of Bazan. I was painting the detail around the front door, the subtle shading that turns a flat wall into a 3 dimensional structure. I also added dappled light to the ground leading up to the entry way, where two large shade trees tower over the building. I’ll work on it again tomorrow but I’m not sure it will be done before I leave.

I listened to The Ezra Klein Show as I worked. He talked with Bhaskar Sunkara about Socialism and the Left. What I got out of the interview is that the movement of the left is about race, gender, and class, but rather than the working class, as it was in the past, the current left movement is comprised of middle and upper-middle class folks. People with educations and professional careers. 

Where are we going? It just seems like these political ideologies from the past just don’t hold up anymore. People don’t even seem that concerned with the fall of democracy. Or, as  a Trump sign I saw outside Boerne the other day read: “Socialism or Democracy? You decide. Vote Trump for democracy.” Maybe we just don’t understand what democracy or socialism means anymore. 

One thing they talked about in the interview that I’m totally on board with is that governing in a democracy is not very satisfying. It’s hard to get things done. No one is in control, and that was the whole point. But people can’t be satisfied with not being in control, so now our elected officials are con-men and bullies and we expect nothing less of them. “Get in there and get my shit done. Any way you need to get it done. Or I won’t vote for you again!” The problem isn’t the media or congress. The problem is us.

We want politics to be a football game. We want to know, clearly, that we won (‘cause we don’t lose) and we want to go out in the street afterwards with our chests puffed out, daring the other side to mess with us. That’s what we’ve turned politics into. It’s a sporting event, and we’re stark raving mad over it.

They talked about what would have happened if Bernie Sanders had become president in either 2016 or 2020. I’m glad Ezra Klein disagreed with his guest, pointing out that Bernie Sanders probably would have faced just as much opposition to getting things passed as Joe Biden has and Donald Trump did. We can’t expect our candidates to make the country ours. We share it with 330 million other people. We have to learn to let things go and walk away.

It seems terrifying to do, but I think it’s the only way. What if they, the bad guys, do something that puts me in jail or makes me a menace to society just because I’m different? Then what? Are you suggesting I just take it lying down? No, of course not. But there has to be another way to feel respected, to feel respectable, to feel respectful, other than what we’re doing. There has to be another way to feel safe. There has to be another way to find a sense of security in an insecure world; while living this unpredictable life. Freedom is great, but it’s also free of structure, the thing that often gives us a sense of security. Which do we want?

The Times Are A Changin'

I decided to paint today and spend tomorrow running errands. It’s a hot but quiet Sunday morning. It looks like it may rain this week and cool things off. When you’re relieved that the high is supposed to be 93 you know you’re in the middle of a heat wave. It’s been brutal. Yesterday I actually went for a jog for the first time in weeks and it was 102. I figured it was ok since I’d been drinking so much water. Just swigging that stuff down these days.

I started working on Bazan Branch Library. It’s always nice to start a new painting. My easel is in my living room so I sit in front of my work the rest of the day and look at what I’ve done and what I want to do next. It’s hard too though because I want to fix things I don’t like and it kills me to sit here looking at it. I already want to make changes to Bazan. 

This library is on the west side of San Antonio, on W. Commerce. It’s really nice inside. I’m always touched and impressed by how well librarians take care of the spaces they oversee and operate. It’s nice to walk into a space that’s been arranged with furniture and books so that you feel welcome. Displays with themes so you can get inspired and read all about it. 

Last night I had fitful dreams about everything that’s been going on politically. It’s really hard for me to imagine that people are happy about Roe being overturned, but they are. I am trying to put myself in their shoes and see things from their point of view. If polls are correct, most Americans believe that abortion should be legal, so it’s also hard to deal with the fact that majority doesn’t rule in this case (or with guns or healthcare for that matter). Yesterday I saw a video of a painter I follow on Instagram painting a fetus and I immediately unfollowed him. I didn’t even look to see what his name was (except that he was male, ie, sans uterus). All this magical thinking about the unborn is a little nauseating. 

I follow Dan Rather on Facebook and the other day he said sometimes it feels like we’re experiencing major setbacks just before a transformation. Not the words he used, but same gist: the darkest hour is before dawn. Then I started listening to The Times They Are A Changin’ by Fort Nowhere. There’s got to be a way to live in this world - society, civil war - and feel inspired and alive. There’s got to be. When so many of us believe in acceptance, tolerance, understanding, freedom, peace, forgiveness, and love. When so many of us want what’s best for ourselves and our loved ones. Can’t we find a tool for living together that’s not righteous indignation? Can’t we do something other that be violent victims? 

Last night my dreams were about the lost hours of January 6 when there’s no call log or record of what Donald Trump was doing or who he was talking to. I can’t remember now if they ever tracked down those call logs or not, but that’s what I was stressed about in my dreams. Something’s missing. Something’s just not sitting right. I don’t want to live in despair. I don’t want to feel paranoid. 

After I sat my first mediation course I was telling my therapist about a woman I’d met. This woman did not enjoy her experience at the course and was convinced - convinced - the AT’s (assistant teachers) were untrustworthy and possibly worshipping something unsavory in the pagoda. I couldn’t see her point of view and my therapist mentioned something that sticks with me to this day. She told me that when she has a client who is particularly paranoid she makes a mental note that they’re displaying a mild form of schizophrenia. Just as a person can experience days of despair and depression and not be depressed, ie not have a diagnosis, so too can people be paranoid and not be schizophrenic. But, it can be helpful to make a mental note of what you’re observing in case things take a turn for the worse in the future.

I remind myself of that when I think about the motivations of others. It seems like conservatives are on a war path to undermine all the social justice achievements we’ve made in this county over the past sixty years (except of course interracial marriage since Clarence Thomas’s wife is white). And they may be fired up to do so. But their negativity is no match for love. Love wins, remember?

That’s where I want to live. I want to look at the world from a positive perspective. I want to live in service of something benevolent and good. I believe in that and I’m hopeful of where we’re headed.

I Want To Come Alive

It took about 24 hours but I finally cried today. I was at the laundry mat earlier and I kept wondering why I was so agitated. I had thoughts about telling someone to fuck off when they didn’t even say anything to me. I guess it started in the car on the way home. I decided to play some music and as I listened, that’s when the tears started to flow. 

“Is this all I’m worth?”

If you ask the 14-year-old me, that’s what’s she’s wondering today. Am I supposed to serve men, Christian men? Am I supposed to serve the unborn? Shouldn’t personhood be granted once one is born? Not part of its mother’s body anymore? When is a woman autonomous? When does she get her personhood? When she’s done being of service to other humans?

Shouldn’t freedom of religion also mean freedom from religion? My ancestors came to America to escape the Anglican church, to not only be free to practice their religion (Quakerism), but to be free of the King’s religion. I should be free of Alito’s religion. Whatever he calls it. I don’t think it’s Christianity. He may be a Davidian, or a Lavitican, but I don’t think he’s a Christian. Christians aspire to be Christ-like. Give Christianity back to the Christians and get the twisted religious shit you’re into out of here.

I can’t control society, I can only contribute to it, and if I think that’s not enough then I think I’m not enough. If I believe I can control it, if I exert that force and convince myself and others I have it, I no longer live in a free society. I no longer have the peace and serenity that comes from trusting the natural world or trusting in a higher power. These people who are trying to control society, who have gone to extremes to fulfill their righteous indignation, are not free people . They cannot let go now. They’re trapped. They have lost their freedom, and so has society. Now they need to remain ‘in control’, and depending on the intensity of their righteousness, they will go to great lengths to do so. 

So how do I contribute? How do I believe that what I have to offer matters? That it has power? 

I have a great quote that hangs in my office: “Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive” -Dr. Howard Thurman. 

I want to come alive! 

What makes me come alive is living an inner-directed life. You know those moments when you get a great idea and you can’t wait to act on it? That’s how I feel about painting libraries. I don’t know where the idea came from, just that it came from inside me. It was like a eureka moment.

Another thing that makes me come alive is being in nature. I live in the city so I need to be intentional about it, but being in the natural world makes me come alive. Sometimes I’ll sit outside and listen to the birds, just notice them. Normally, they’re background noise, but when I really pay attention I realize there’s a whole world happening that flies below my normal radar. And you know what they’re not doing? Controlling each other. You know what they’re not doing? Scaring themselves over thoughts of deprivation and scarcity.

I think there are things that make me come alive in the moment, like music,  or writing in my journal, and then there are things that make me come alive over time. Living a creative life makes me come alive. Not evvvvery time I create something, but over time, living a creative life, making it part of my daily routine, making it my career, makes me come alive. My art is my way of telling stories, of sharing, of taking the risk to connect with others. That makes me come alive.

It may not solve the issue of abortion, or do anything to ease the pain and fear of having an unwanted pregnancy, but it acknowledges the fact that my only real power in the world is the contribution I make. I do not want to express righteous anger. I do not want to make demands of people who are blinded by their pride and selfishness. I only want to believe in the power of my contribution, and I want that contribution to be pacifism, love, appreciation, acceptance, peace, and joy.

To my 14-year-old self I say: this is not all you’re worth. You are worth the freedom of choice, the freedom to come alive. You are worth freedom from religion and the control of others. I want to get along, and there are many agreements I will make to do so, but I will not make myself subordinate. I will not play the game of control and dominance, and I will not be shamed by your magical thinking about the unborn.

I Don't Want To Fight Anymore

I finished painting the Henry A. Guerra, Jr Branch Library this morning. I think there are parts of it that may be some of my best work. Painting it back-lit turned out to be my favorite aspect of it. It’s a really cool building and I wish it was close enough to where I live to be my local branch. I still have a week before I leave for my meditation course so I may get another painting finished before I leave. In terms of my April deadline that would be a plus.

Henry A. Guerra Jr. Branch Library

I got a call from my brother as I was cleaning up my palette and the first thing he said was today is a dark day. I didn’t know what he was talking about but did a quick google search and discovered that Roe v. Wade has been overturned. What a sad day in America. I am crushed, more so for the young women and girls out there who’s lives will be negatively affected by this ruling. 

Before Roe, the Church believed that life begins with the first breath, life begins outside the womb, but then they changed their definition to suit the new law. It’s hard to believe that control and sexism weren’t part of that decision. Part of me would like to go on a rant today, to express all my frustration and heartbreak, but I realize that there’s a tragedy bigger than the overturning of Roe v. Wade: It seems like righteous indignation is the only tool we use to live together. 

Every time a law is passed that people don’t like the other side declares ‘war’ and spends time, energy, and resources fighting back. Fighting to defeat the ‘bad’ guys and their ‘bad’ agenda. We will never agree. I haven’t heard a single pro-life argument that I can respect. There’s no need to go over them. I, personally, don’t respect any of them. I understand people feel passionate about them, but that doesn’t  mean they’re right. 

And it doesn’t mean I’m right either.

Since I’m a 49 year-old woman, going through menopause as I write this, this doesn’t change much for me. I will not have to worry about needing an abortion. But I do worry about the women who will, the girls who will, the women and girls who will go to extremes to avoid being a mother against her will. A black market will develop for a service that has been provided for fifty years, a service that has proven to be needed by many, the reasons for which we have never cared to discover.

In all these years no one has had an interest in women who seek abortions. No one has tried to figure out how to eradicate the need in the first place. All they’ve done is fight - fight women, fight Planned Parenthood, fight the sinners. Now we will have an entire generation of unwanted, unplanned for children. Who will they grow up to be? Do we even care? Will we help them since we’re now forcing them to exist?

We don’t provide childcare. We don’t provide healthcare. We don’t provide maternity or paternity leave. We are a heartless society claiming to be moral. We punish each other for not being like us, for not thinking like us, for not making our lives easier. We are full of righteous indignation, full of pride and contempt. It’s exhausting living through this civil war.

I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to fight for the right to abortion. Soon we will disregard laws. Things like this ruling will create lawlessness because people are so tired of the crazed need for control over a society that’s too diverse to agree on anything. Something’s got to give. I hope we can stop this insanity. I hope we can learn to trust each other. I hope we can agree to live in a world we can’t control. I hope we can find some serenity and some inner peace. I hope we can stop looking ‘out there’ and fixating on all the things that offend us and outrage us.

The Inevitable Fall

I worked on my painting of Guerra Branch Library today. It’s a cool contemporary building, so I’m having a lot of fun painting it. While I worked I listened to The Ezra Klein Show podcast as he spoke with The Financial Times columnist Rana Foroohar. Man, it just seems like we are in the midst of a global transformation. I keep thinking of the 1700’s with both the French and the American Revolutions. Did Loyalist Americans believe that separating from England and the King equaled doom? Considering that, considering what they went through during the the conflict, is the only thing that’s getting me through this. Not that I wish we’d remained tethered to Britain, but I feel as if I’m them, fearing the possible fall of democracy. And right now, that fall it seems inevitable.

Tories and Loyalists were loyal to Great Britain and turns out, their fears were unfounded. Are mine? Democracy proved, at least for 250 years, to be a great idea. But now it seems as if we’re on a precipice and we’re all wondering what will happen when we go over the edge. 

I’m not going to pretend to know anything about economics, but perhaps I understand enough to follow two well educated people discuss it. We have created a global economy based on investments and assets rather than on labor. When we were living in years of surplus we did nothing with it. It’s only in the past year that we passed legislation that will invest in American infrastructure. We could have been doing this for years, investing all that capital in ourselves. It seems like everyone just wanted to hoard. Even schools like Harvard are now institutions that invest capital more than they educate citizens.

It raises so many questions about who we are and where we’re going. What will life be like in 20, 30, even 50 years? Will we have jobs? Will we have a basic monthly income from the government? If labor doesn’t matter, if cheap, foreign labor replaced American labor, and now artificial intelligence is replacing cheap, foreign labor, what’s next? What will we do to support ourselves? What will we come up with when we ask, What’s the meaning of life?

Watching the January 6th Commission Hearings is eye opening. It’s comforting to think that people were loyal to their oath of public service, that people chose to stay loyal to the constitution rather than buckle under the enormous pressure Donald Trump and his allies put on them. But what happens when people stop being loyal to American Democracy? What happens when the majority of Americans stop believing in our institutions? 

And what changed? Was it the money? Was it the ability to amass enormous wealth that changed American democracy? What saved it, for now, was integrity. What saved democracy were principles, people committed to principles. People with character and values that go beyond power, domination, and control over others. Addicts are driven by fear, self-centeredness, and a need for ego-gratification. They are restless, irritable, and discontent, and their pursuit of life equals a drive to overcompensate for their emotional and spiritual emptiness. They are destructive. 

Recovery, on the other hand, is the willingness to let go, to trust in a power greater than oneself. Recovery is remembering what it means to love - to remember being loved and being loving. These can seem like empty words to people who are cut off from their hearts, their bodies and emotions, people who no longer have insight into their thoughts, beliefs, and motivations. Addiction is living so far outside oneself that you feel lost and alone in a hostile world. And addicts make that world more hostile. And suddenly, we’re all living in that world.

So what now? Where can we find love again? Where can we find safety, security, and comfort? In recovery we rebuild it. We start, one day at a time, and we ask for guidance. We turn our will and our life over to the care of God, as we understand God. We consider our higher power’s will rather than our self-centered fears. We consider different ways of perceiving our circumstances. We consider that we are loved beyond measure by a benevolent Universe that wanted us here. And that still wants us here.

Yes, it’s a narrative. But it beats the narrative that led us into self-destruction and despair. It’s a rebuilding, a process, a path that we choose. Recovery is an intention rather than a reaction. It’s a decision that things matter, things like principles and values. If we sit back and wait for the government, for those with the most money and the most influence, to instill some sort of meaning in our lives, we will be waiting for a long time. We will be waiting for the addicted to love us.

Emotional Intelligence/Maturity

I finished another library painting. That makes seven San Antonio public libraries and one Lockhart, Texas library. I started panting Guerra today, which is one of my favorite library buildings so far. I put a lot of clouds in my painting of Pruitt because I wasn’t crazy about the building, but as you can see, I don’t have a lot of experience painting clouds so they didn’t turn out that great. Hopefully I’m my biggest critic. I do believe that the photos of the painting are not great representations of the painting itself. That’s been a big frustration of mine lately: no matter how I take the photo it just doesn’t seem to do the painting justice. I guess you really need to go out and look at art in order to really ‘see’ it.

Molly Pruitt Library at Roosevelt

As I painted this morning I listened to two Ten Percent Happier podcasts. One was an interview of Esther Perel where they talk about friendships and the importance of investing in them as much as we invest in other relationships. The other episode was an old interview of Daniel Goldman where they talked about emotional intelligence.

According to Esther Perel, friendships are also love relationships and we don’t invest in them enough. At one point in the interview she said, When was the last time you asked a friend, ‘How’s our friendship going?’. That made me laugh. Not sure I’ve ever asked a friend that. Esther also ruminated over how much pressure we put on romantic relationships to fulfill all our relationship needs. We once lived in larger groups. We lived in the same house with extended family members and in tighter social communities. Now we’re all isolated, expecting partners (and kids if we have them) to fulfill all our needs. Probably no wonder there’s so much dysfunction these days.

I liked listening to Daniel Goldman talk about emotional intelligence. I kept wondering, can we just call Emotional Intelligence 'maturity’? It seems like the same thing to me, but perhaps it’s easier to tell an employee or coworker they lack emotional intelligence than tell them they’re immature. Probably wouldn’t go well. Daniel Goldman says that emotional intelligence requires listening and paying attention to ourselves and what we’re feeling. We need awareness in order to be emotionally intelligent. And we need to know why we’re feeling what we’re feeling.

I was thinking today how I often want to focus on someone else’s bad behavior or on something someone else said or did. It’s an old pattern of mine: analyze everyone else and figure them out. I learned to do that growing up and it has stuck with me. But in my obsessing about others I lost sight of myself. I stopped noticing my own feelings and motivations. Changing that has taken a lot of work. It still takes a lot of work. I noticed something the other day about a family member and I immediately thought to myself, What about you? Ugh. I did not want to answer that question. But I knew if I wanted the truth, if I wanted something I could actually make use of, I needed to.

What is it about me that has my life go the way it does? Am I needy in relationships? Do I hog the limelight? What about me? I am terrified to think (or discover?) that I am like child in a swimming pool yelling, “Mom! Look at me!!” at all the people in my life. I know better than to dismiss the possibility.

I remember listening to Daniel Goldman’s book on tape many years ago. It was way over my head. Today I learned that at the time he published it he was a science writer for the New York Times. That makes a lot of sense. Back then I devoured self-help books and they tended not to be very sciencey. I need the dumbed-down version of Emotional Intelligence which is what I kind of got listening to the interview. So, awareness, insight, and empathy are the keys to emotional intelligence. I have to say, it is one goal in life I don’t think I’ll ever give up on or assume I’ve got in the bag.

I watched the entire January 6ht Committee Hearing yesterday. It was more intense than it’s been so far. Donald Trump did a lot of personal damage to a lot of people. It’s amazing how many people, including many republicans, have been devastated by his campaign to overturn the election. Talk about emotional intelligence. Or, more accurately, a total lack of emotional intelligence. 

It’s hard not to think of Donald Trump without thinking about his brother that died of alcoholism. In the program, they refer to something called the ‘family disease of addiction’. If a loved one goes to treatment for alcohol, drugs, food, sex addiction, they refer the family members to an ‘anaon’ program: Alanon for the family and friends of alcoholics, Nar-anon for the family and friends of drug addicts, O-anon for the family and friends of overeaters, and S-anon for the family and friends of sex addicts. In the anon programs they address the ‘family disease’, meaning they address their own compulsive behavior(s) and how it contributes to the family disfunction. Donald Trump is not only a great example of someone prone to ignoring feelings and reacting to life instead, but a great example of someone driven by compulsive behavior: ego gratification, power, and dominance. It’s amazing how destructive we can be when we lack emotional intelligence, when we don’t grow up.

I’m using Donald Trump as inspiration to grow up. I want to be someone who can accept loss and feel embarrassed without destroying the world around me. Without lashing out and living in denial. I think it’s important to remind myself that just because I’ve never been President of the United States that my immaturity can’t be destructive. He’s like a mirror, a mirror I’d like to see go to jail.

Censorship

I’m happy to share that the plumbers did a great job yesterday with the gas lines. They finished around 4:00 in the afternoon and when I looked into the trench before they filled it I thought their work looked impressive. I was happy. I paid them what they quoted me and they delivered on the agreement. Today I have felt at ease.

I’ve been listening to music this morning while I painted. I needed something relaxing and chose Lord Huron channel on Pandora. I worked on Molly Pruitt Library and I think I’m done. I painted clouds and I’m not quite sure how I feel about them. I haven’t painted clouds much and it was’t as easy as I thought it would be. I didn’t actually think it would be easy, but I thought I could capture the essence by looking at the photo. I need some more practice. I’m going to sit with it tonight and see how I feel. I don’t think there’s more I can do at this point, so I may go with it even though I’m not that crazy about it.

I’ve heard a few people talk about libraries as ground zero for politics these days. At first i thought I must have heard wrong but I went back and listened again and sure enough people in the news, on podcasts, are referring to bookbinding and how difficult it is these days for librarians. I guess I hadn’t thought much about the book banning that’s been going on over the past few months. Apparently, conservatives want LGBTQ+ books banned from school libraries and a lot of librarians are fighting back. 

I was bummed to hear this because choosing to paint libraries was not political for me. In fact, part of me thought libraries would be a great subject because they’re apolitical. So now I’m not sure where this is going to take me. I wanted to show appreciation for the fact that I can go to the library and look for books that are informative and/or entertaining. I was a self-help junkie. I remember going to a New Age bookstore in 1993 to find a self-help book I was interested in. It wasn’t a mainstream genre. 

But then I found the library and realized that they had plenty of self-help books - John Bradshaw, Judith Orloff, Harriett Lerner were some of my favorites. I even got Marianne Williamson’s A Return To Love from the library. I heard a librarian on a podcast saying there is a particular student who hangs out in the library, who’s a reader, who’s searching for their identity, their selfhood through books and that she’s an advocate for those students. She was involved in a pretty high profile battle between the school board and the library and was successful. I was so proud of her when I heard that.

That’s the purpose of libraries. They are where we go to ask and answer big questions about ourselves, about life, about why we’re here. It sounds like a lot of librarians understand that, who understand what happens to someone when they find answers, when they discover worlds they feel safe in and excited about. I too believe that’s important. Books are a lifeline for some, for people who are curious, for seekers. If you’re curious, books can be essential. But if people with power over you take those books away they take away your ability to seek and learn and eventually know. 

But what school boards and conservatives don’t understand is that it won’t end with one book. Eventually there will be another LGBTQ+ book that flies under their radar. People will become inspired by censorship to write about their own LGBTQ+ experience. 

I can see a connection between kids reading about LGBTQ+ issues and kids reading about hate and white supremacy. Information can’t be controlled or censored. I’m biased because I think sexual identity is part of self-discovery, part of maturing and growing up. I can’t see bigotry and hatred as part of becoming a whole human being. But I guess if you’ve been raised to feel ashamed about your sexuality then LGBTQ+ issues can feel threatening, just like racism and white supremacy feel threatening to others.

People do violent things in the name of racism and white supremacy. But people also go to extremes in the name of sexual orientation and gender identity. To me, one is violent and the other extreme, but I guess that’s just one person’s opinion. I’ve heard it said that there’s a difference between being driven and being called. One is inspired by a higher power, the other is fueled by fear and lack. I’d like to think that Tans kids are being called and that white supremacists are driven. But again, I’m biased. 

Trust

I'm having one of those days. I’ve got plumbers in the back yard, a trench has been dug, and I’m wondering when they’ll be done, or even if they’ll get done without a hiccup. I was able to paint though, so that’s good. I worked on Molly Pruitt Branch Library. It’s not a very exciting building but I decided to add a big sky to the painting with some nice clouds and I’m thinking it might turn out to be one of my best ones thus far.

I lost my garage a few years ago. We had a storm with high winds and it caused it to collapse. I was in the process of getting both the house and the garage roof redone, but then a storm hit and a few days later the roofer, claims adjuster, and I noticed that the ceiling joists were about two inches off the support beams. I couldn’t figure out how it was still standing. The roofer sent several framers over to look at it but none of them would touch it. They said it was too unstable. So I left it, not really knowing what to do, and several months later I came home and saw the roof had collapsed. It hurt.

So I found someone to haul off the garage and as they did we found that the gas lines went from the gas meter, up into the roof of the garage and then down into the ground and into the house. Once all the debris from the garage was gone I had exposed gas lines running six feet up in the air. I have a penchant for walking past 5 alarm fires without even noticing. It’s one of my more serious character defects. But I lived with those exposed gas lines for several years before doing anything about them.

Now I’ve got plumbers in the back yard with an eight foot trench. Or, more accurately, I’ve got a trench but the plumbers left to get the new pipes and, most likely lunch. So here I am in limbo, hoping they come back, fix the pipes, and fill the trench without telling me all hell has broken loose. I went out and looked at it after they left and it looks sensible. I mean, I have no idea what sensible looks like seeing as I’m not a plumber, but there are pipes down there in the trench. There are more than I thought there’d be, but hopefully it makes sense to the plumbers.

I always want to watch what people do around the house, whether it’s a plumber, electrician, or roofer, but I feel like I’m looking over their shoulder making sure they’re doing everything right. I understand it’s my prerogative  to watch, but I have to come inside or go in the other room and sit on my hands. Trust doesn’t come easily for me. It’s lack of trust but it’s also curiosity. I’d like to be able to do it all myself so I don’t have to ask for help, but that’s another one of my character defects. Sometimes you need help, and sometimes you need to trust that they know what they’re doing. That’s the hardest part of homeownership. At least it is for me. Will they do what they say? Are they good people? Are they honest? I never know the answers to these questions. They say they can fix it for X number of dollars and you just wait to see if it pans out. Totally out of your hands. YOUR house.

I’m not too good with these situations but I think over the years I’ve gotten better. These plumbers have done a lot of work for me. They’re good, they’re professional, and they charge reasonable rates. I like them because they show up and get to work. There’s no, Hello, good morning, how are you? How have you been? What’s new with you? No. They show up and they’re all business. Where’s the problem? I don’t even know their names and they’ve been to my house several times over the past fifteen years or so. This morning I heard them outside working and they never rang the doorbell to say they were here. Just showed up and got to work.

Everything is relationships, huh? Owning a home is relationships. Selling paintings is relationships. Watching the news and thinking about politics is relationships. Everything we do in life involves the same skills. Do I feel safe? Do I feel uncertain? Do I feel calm, anxious, excited? Do I feel trusting? Am I trustworthy? I always thought I was an insightful person but at some point in my life I realized I was actually analytical and observant of others, but perhaps not, in fact, insightful. It’s one thing to worry about someone else’s trustworthiness, but it’s another thing to know whether I’m trustworthy or not. 

Do plumbers show up and wonder if I’m going to pay? Do they wonder, if they make mistake, or find something no one could have predicted, if I’ll blow a gasket or try and screw them over? I’m sure they’re going through the same things I’m going through. Dealing with relationships, finding out that sometimes they work and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they feel trusting and giving, and sometimes they don’t. 

I guess I can do one of two things. I can either worry about them or I can worry about myself. I have the money to pay them, and nothing would make me happier than to have them show me the finished job and tell me Everything’s done, here’s the invoice. But I can’t control them. I can’t control anyone or anything else. All I can do is make sure I’m paying attention to myself. All I can do Is be insightful, be aware, notice when things feel right or not. 

Perhaps if things don’t go well it’s not about them. Perhaps if things don’t go well I’ll look back and realize I had a funny feeling about it from the beginning and didn’t listen (didn’t trust myself). Or perhaps I’ll realize that I never wanted to do it in the first place. The reason I left the exposed pipes all these years wasn’t because I thought they looked good. It’s because I couldn’t bring myself to take care of it yet. Is that a character defect? Perhaps, but it’s the best I could do, and I needed to listen to myself. I get overwhelmed taking care of this house. I’m not proud of that, but it’s it’s the truth. 

I am going to make lunch and trust that they will return. Later this afternoon I’m going to deliver a painting to a buyer so they can hang their new artwork in their house. I’m going to trust that everything is going to work out. I’m going to trust that there’s something going on out in the ether that is way smarter than I am, something that’s benevolent and good. I’m going to trust that there’s a good reason to trust.

Thank You

This morning I painted Bazan Library over on W. Commerce. The last time I went over there it was getting some renovations so I was excited to go check out the work that’s been done. The front looked newly landscaped and freshened up. It’s a pretty building with mature trees out front and nice places to sit and read. It’s a hot day, and although I love a good breeze on a hot day, my umbrella kept getting swept up and my easel got some air a few times. The elements are always the hardest part of painting outside (en plein air). So I wrestled with my umbrella a bit and, in the end, felt a little underwhelmed with my painting.

The good news is that several employees came out to see what I was doing and were very supportive and encouraging. That’s always a plus. I immediately forgot about the umbrella and counted my blessings. While I was reading a biography about Andrew Wyeth recently, I realized he was always surrounded by art lovers. He grew up with a father who was a successful and famous artist and most of his siblings were artists. But for me, it’s almost a surprise when I meet people who appreciate art. I’m taken aback. I have to remind myself that there are people out there who love art.

One of my biggest struggles as an artist is visibility. I’m an introvert and I’m really happy being alone. I love painting because it’s just me and the canvas. It’s been fifteen or twenty years since I was regularly involved in filmmaking, and although I loved collaborating with other creative people, whether actors or crew, I found it difficult to ask people to participate in my projects. I was too shy, or I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. It sounds silly when I think back on it. Why let that kind of inhibition get in the way of your creation? But that’s where I was back then.

Now I’m facing similar struggles. Putting paint on canvas isn’t the only part of being a painter. Getting your work out into the community is the other part. Being part of the community is part of being a painter. Talking and sharing with people about art, about yours and theirs, is part of being a painter. There’s only so much one can do isolated and alone. Even Andrew Wyeth, who never liked the limelight, had his family. His wife was his business partner. It didn’t sound like he always appreciated that, but it doesn’t sound like he would have been as successful if his wife Betsy hadn’t archived and organized his work the way she did. 

It can seem like a burden, the business and social side of being an artist. It’s not what I’m cut out for. But learning to be more outgoing, learning to archive and organize, learning to market and promote, is a small price to pay for being able to make art full-time. I may not do all those things perfectly, in fact, I feel like a make huge mistakes all the time, but I’m working on it. That’s the best I can do. Progress not perfection. It’s a cliche, but it’s also the truth.

One of the Bazan librarians, Summer, suggested I talk to the branch director before I leave. So after I packed up my easel and gear I headed inside to the library and tracked down Hope, the director. She suggested I go to Central Library and talk to someone in marketing about my project. Take a portfolio and ask to speak with someone in the marketing department about exhibiting your series. I was excited when she made this suggestion because it made me realize I’m on the right track. That’s my plan. When I get home from my meditation course in August, I’ll head downtown and present my idea. 

It all started in April during Library Appreciation Week (which I think should be Library Appreciation Month). I want to paint the libraries as a token of my appreciation. Thank you to all the libraries, and librarians, who are out there in the community, being of service. Thank you for providing us with materials, resources, and information about how to get things done, how to make things happen, and how to figure things out. It is a beautiful institution and I’m so grateful to have it.

A Dream Come True

I went and painted the Henry A. Guerra Branch Library today. I had been there before but it’s been a while and it’s in a part of town I’m not familiar with. I hardly recognized it. It was built in 2004 and I think I was there shorty after it opened. Back then it was a striking, contemporary building with low-lying plants. Now there are overgrown trees out front. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to paint it. I’m sure the trees help a lot with the heat, but the original landscaping made the architecture stand out more. 

I set up my easel by the road and was able to get a good view of the building. I always seem to be apprehensive when I’m at a library I’m unfamiliar with. And being in an unfamiliar part of town doesn’t help either. When I first started plein air painting I had no idea what I was doing. I thought I was a decent painter and had been studying painting for quite a while, but painting outside was so new, and so much more difficult. At the beginning I was happy if I could capture a likeness of the subject. I’ve got a lot of paintings that are hard to decipher. But I’m glad I kept at it. Sometimes it only takes me a bout an hour to paint an 11x14 painting and it feels so satisfying.

When I paint outdoors I’m not worrying about detail. Instead I just want to get a likeness. I try and focus on lines and value. If I can get those things right then I’m happy. The building was back lit, which wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but I made it work. It’s a pretty cool building and it will be fun to paint it bigger. 

I think I’ll plein air paint again Saturday and then spend next week working in the studio. I’ve got six paintings finished and I’d like to get at least two more done before I leave fro my meditation course. If I could have ten finished paintings before I leave that would put me at ease. I’d have nineteen left to do before April. A woman who works at the library came out to look at what I was doing. She said that if the Central Branch won’t, or can’t, give me an exhibit that I should check with the individual branches and see what they can do. That was good to hear.

It’s always nice to meet other artist when I’m out painting. The library aid, Lupe, said she’s also an artist. A woman brought her grandson up to see what I was doing and he told me all about the car he had drawn that morning. A lot of people approach me and share with me that they too are artists or that they love art. A man came up to me outside San Pedro and told me his mom had gotten him into art when he was a kid but he’d lost touch with it along the way. Maybe getting outside and making art inspires people to make art also, or rekindles an old passion they had for it. 

My passion was rekindled at the Musee d’Orsay in Paris in 2004. I was looking at something, and now I don’t even remember what it was, and I remembered painting in middle school. I wanted to learn how to draw as a little girl and in middle school I was introduced to acrylics. I loved it, and I loved doing something that I felt good at, but over the years I got interested in other things. I played sports and in high school I started hanging out with friends on the weekends.

When I got home from Paris I decided I would take some kind of class at San Antonio Community College (SAC) each semester to get me excited about being creative again. I also signed up for a weekend painting class at the Southwest School of Art and Craft. I spent years taking classes - drawing, painting, creative writing, photography - and eventually found that, yeah, I wanted to paint. I took classes with an artist who taught out of a studio on South Flores and another artist who taught in Beacon Hill. I spent a total of ten years studying before I felt like I was good enough to branch out on my own. I still take the occasional class, because I want to continue to improve, but now I’m a full-time artist and it’s a dream come true.