Full Circle

Happy March 1st!  

It's been snowing since last night.  Snow on top of snow.  It feels warmer, though, and the snow is gentle.  I feel hope that Mother Nature is about to turn a corner.  Nonetheless, I don't think She wants us to forget that all seasons are favored, and She isn't about to short shrift the current one.

I thought I had finished this last night, but ended up putting more contrast into it this a.m.  I was listening to Led Zeppelin's, "Rain Song" while doing so--it's gentle, beautiful strings and gradual crescendoing underscored the cyclic nature of the piece (or at least it did in my mind.)

My husband said on his phone, he initially couldn't see the face in the roots.  I darkened it a little below to enhance it.  I used circles because of their symbolism:

The circle is a universal symbol with extensive meaning. It represents the notions of totality, wholeness, original perfection, the Self, the infinite, eternity, timelessness, all cyclic movement... (Hermes Trismegistus)). 

In any event, I'm very happy with this one...took a long time, but I was in a meditative state so it didn't matter.

Here are a few other pictures of what I woke up to this Sunday morning.   Pussy willows wearing a coat of snow.  March, I'm glad you're here.

Led Zeppelin's  "The Rain Song"

RIP Joe Cocker (No Longer Available)

Over the last 2 weeks, I have been listening over and over again to the Black Crowes singing Joe Cocker's "Space Captain" from their 2006 Freak 'n' Roll...Into the Fog: The Black Crowes All Join Hands, The Fillmore, San Francisco.  I kid you not.  As things connect dot after dot, I in turn started watching them on YouTube, and then thought, "why aren't I listening to the original, Joe Cocker version from 1970's Mad Dogs & Englishmen?  And so, I ordered that CD last week, and it still isn't here from Germany or was is PA that I eventually got it?  Anyway, still waiting for this classic when the BBC news of Joe Cocker's death arrived today.  

My heart aches at the passing of all these great, rock 'n' roll singers, players, geniuses.  Joe had the penultimate gravel-filled, whiskey-soaked voice.  I think only Van Morrison, and yes, Chris Robinson, (at times Chris Cornell in heartfelt bluesy mode) hold my soul in their hands when they sing.  The movements of their bodies possessed by what their voices are trying to express and feel.

I am failing miserably, trying to capture with words the emotions their gifts have given me--their willingness to go so deeply with their vocal ability.

RIP in peace, Joe.  You are irreplaceable.

Trying to catch his frenetic energy here.  I don't think it's possible.  

Joe Cocker's "Space Captain"

Black Crowes' "Space Captain"..(OMG--esp. at 2:22 and 3:33!  I could cry!)

Space Captain

Joe Cocker

Once I was traveling across the sky

This lovely planet caught my eye

And being curious I flew close by

And non I'm caught here

Until I die

Until we die

Learning to live together

Learning to live together

Learning to live together

Till we die

I lost my memory of where I've been

We all forgot that we could fly

Someday we'll all change into peaceful man

And we'll return into the sky

Until we die

Until we die

Learning to live together

Learning to live together

Learning to live together

Till we die

Live together, yeah,

Learning to live together

Till we die

Learning to live together

Learning to live together

Learning to live together

Learning to live together

Till we die

Hum...Oh...

Ah... hum...

Until we die

Until we die

Learning to live together

Learning to live together

Learning to live together

Learning to live together

Learning to live together

To live together...

To live together...

To live together

Joan Rivers

Joan Rivers was laid to rest today.

I am usually timely on honoring the passing of artists who have affected me deeply, paying respect to them through a blog post and a painting of them.  It may not be much, but somehow that public proclamation makes me feel that if I draw one person's attention to the accomplishments of a fallen star, I have somehow put a brick in the wall of public consciousness.  Dear Abby, Lou Reed, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Robin Williams, a personal friend.  I honored all of them of the day they died.

Yet somehow I couldn't do that for Joan.  Well, I couldn't immediately.  I was so struck by grief at her passing.  Maybe it was because I was still watching her, every single Friday night of Fashion Police and usually again in a rerun.  She felt a part of my life or at least she was part of my life ritual.   And last week on Tuesday, FP just had that 90-minute Emmy special so, you see, I just had had a fresh visit with her when I heard the news of her throat surgery gone very wrong.  In a strange way, I wasn't overly concerned about her being put into an induced coma.  I have a family relative that underwent that this year, and it seems like a logical, methodical procedure that was temporary until things "could be figured out."

I was in Nashville last week, but daily, I still would check online to see how Joan was doing--holding strong--that sounded good.  But then, "had suffered a cardiac arrest."  What?!  Yet next I read that she was stable, and then that she had been moved out of intensive care.  I was so relieved!  How could there be a world without caustic-tongued Joan?  As I had said about Robin Williams, she has been around for my whole life.  Joan, in some twisted Tim Burton-esque/Twilight Zone way, felt like my grandma.  Why, I had JUST written about her in a blog post here on August 16th, praising all that she has done, including co-writing the script for "The Girl Most Likely To."

I will still remember when my husband said to me (I feel like there have been too many times of late, when I can "remember" where I was when I heard bad news.), "Joan Rivers died."  I couldn't believe it!  She was doing better... I had thought.  The tears didn't come at first, even they shocked into inaction.  Then they started to flow and didn't stop as I watched every news program on E! and read every article online, and the thought of drawing Joan was completely impossible.  It was as if I just couldn't process that someone that indefatigable, that dogged, that FILLED with life, could be not in this life.

My brain needed convincing over and over again.  Today I watched CBS Sunday Morning and clips of her funeral, and days have passed, and I can start thinking of a fitting portrait for grand, spicier than a "ghost chile pepper", Joan.  I know what I will do, but not yet.

I know how saturated the world is with news.  And I know that after a week and a half of respect and clips, the world will start to move forward, onward, to the next piece of celebrity gossip, George Clooney's upcoming nuptials, (I saw it today), etc.  For that very fact, I feel bad that perhaps if there were 4 people who might have read these words here, now only one person may delve into this, so tired they are already of hearing about her.  Alas, it is human nature, and I do understand.  I'm sorry though, Joan.  I couldn't bare to type a word until now...that's how sorrowful I was, and still am, that you are gone.

"My heart is torn in half.  She wasn't done."  Sarah Silverman on Twitter

Death of a Friendship - Part 1

Death of a Friendship - Part 1

Annie Lenox - "Why"

RIP Philip Seymour Hoffman SOLD

I was watching some preliminary Super Bowl shows and was getting a little bored by some chic singing in leather so I did a little channel surfing and ended up on the E Channel which was doing a "Sex in the City" marathon.  My excitement fell off immediately as I saw a banner running at the bottom of the screen.  "...found dead in his NYC apartment."  And I didn't know who it was.  I kept reading, but there was no name yet, and eventually the message ran in a loop, and I saw it..."Philip Seymour Hoffman."  I couldn't believe it...and then I felt immediate devastation.  He was one of my very favorite, favorite actors.  I remember seeing him in "Scent of A Woman" and being impressed.  However, I think the movie where I became thunderstruck by his talent was, "The Talented Mr. Ripley." I thought, wow, this guy is incredible.  Nuanced beyond belief.  And that did it.  I followed him from that moment on, and he never disappointed.  He became my modern day, Al Pacino.  Not in looks, of course, but in his ability to swing from any movie role and off onto a Broadway stage as well, just as Al does.  He could sink deeply into a sinister role, but just as brilliantly be funny, arrogant, and tender in something like, "Along Came Polly."

I said to my husband, I just can't believe it!  This guy was so phenomenal...he had the admiration of his peers, an academy award, so many nominations.  But I know that means nothing if you are haunted by inner demons.  And he was so good that one has to think that there had to be so much pressure on him to be continually phenomenal with every role.  That expectation had to take a toll.

I remember last year when there were news reports that he had went into rehab...that he had snorted heroin 3 or 4 times, and he realized he had better go into rehab before it got worse.  I had been surprised by that news, but was so glad he gotten help.  At that time, I don't remember there having been reports of his former struggle (up until his early 20's) with addiction.

I have been reading articles on him all night, and their reader comments.  Articles quote this one and that one with our modern day form of condolence--the Twitter tweet of sorrow.  No article that I've seen, however, has quoted Jim Carrey's tweet, which I think is probably the most accurate one of them all:

"Dear Philip, a beautiful beautiful soul. 

For the most sensitive among us the noise can be too much. 

Bless your heart."

I'm so sad tonight and still really, in a state of absolute shock.  And I'm so sorry for the loss of you, Philip...unbelievably talented, shooting star of depth and heart-rending emotion.

Article link below from the New York Times:

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/02/03/movies/philip-seymour-hoffman-actor-dies-at-46.html?hpw&rref=arts

and another great one from "The New Yorker":

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/movies/2014/02/philip-seymour-hoffmans-genius.html

Day 347. Nelson Mandela

Rest in peace, Nelson Mandela. 

 The world has seen few of the likes of you, and your wisdom, achievements, and fight gained through a hard life will never be forgotten.

1918-2013

Day 167. Death Comes in Threes (No Longer Available)

There have been deaths in our neighborhood in the last few months, and the air just doesn't feel the same.

The first was Mrs. Samolitis, or "Sam," as everyone called her.  She was just 4 months shy of her 95th birthday, but don't let that number fool you.  She mowed her own lawn, walked her 2 dogs, swept her sidewalk, and was always out trimming her bushes in the alley.  You spotted her almost every day, and when the mail lady saw that the delivery from the day before hadn't been removed from the mailbox, she called the police immediately.  Sam, always got her mail, something had to be wrong.  Turns out she had taken a shower in her basement, slipped and fell coming up the steps, hit her head on the way down, and that was that.  She was not adverse to throwing a little spicy language out, and my husband and I can just hear her saying, "Son-em-bitchin' steps," as she took her last breath.  Who knows how long she would have continued on without this unfortunate mishap.  She knew all the gossip in the neighborhood and would lean forward to give it to you in a loud whisper.  The neighborhood just doesn't seem the same without her.  Door closed to her house, dogs not barking--too many "non" things happening as I walk past her address.

Next door to us was Betty.  She is gone at only 45 years of age.  I'm not sure what in the universe or destiny gives you this many years while someone else gets double that.  Why one person is able to go in a poof, like Sam, while others have to suffer over years before they can leave.  I once read that sometimes you are given a longer route out if you need to make amends or if your sudden departure would be too painful to those around you.  I'm sure that the latter reason held true for Betty.  She had a home-based daycare and took care of a quite a cadre of kids over the years.  I still can hear their little voices calling out, "Betty," and it seems unimaginable that I won't hear that anymore. )-:

And finally, do you remember my post on Day 97, "Fish Scale Skies and an Ostrich Tree" (http://livedrawpaint.blogspot.com/2013/04/day-97-fish-scale-skies-and-ostrich-tree.html)? Just last week, I was walking by that tree and it was covered in green leaves.  I thought, can I still see its face?  I checked and I could!  It was still standing guard over the neighborhood, only now it had put on its clothes of green foliage.  But yesterday, I stopped dead in my tracks.  I...looked, and was confused.  I slowly walked over to it's location, and stood there staring.  It was gone.  I mean, completely gone.  There were only a few pieces of mulch laying on the ground where it had once stood.  I, kid you not, I looked around me.  Was I standing in the wrong spot?  Am I in the twilight zone?  They...cut it down?!  This beautiful tree with so much personality? 

My co-workers make fun of me at work, because I imbue inanimate objects with feelings.  I guess my personification goes too far for them.  I think, poor little paperclip on the floor--I will pick you up and make sure you're used.  I feel bad when people take paper from a new ream and put it on top of the old paper in the printer.  What the heck?  That old paper was excited about being used...it was on the brink of fulfilling its destiny and now it has to wait again?  (I know this sounds crazy, but whatev'.)

So, you can imagine how sad I felt for this actual living tree.  I wonder, am I part American-Indian? The loss of that tree spirit—our leafy guardian!  I remember taking a history class on American Indians in college. Their spirits so proud and respectful of nature--something so much a part of themselves that they called it "Mother."

I saw the homeowner today. I said to her wistfully, “You cut down your tree!” She said, yes it had been growing into her garage. (But she doesn't use the garage, her car is always parked outside. The garage is 7' x 7'--max!) I told her how much I loved it and how it looked like it was watching over us. She told me how much the squirrels loved it, too, but it had to go.  Really? Sob. 

I don't know. I guess I just want to say goodbye Sam and Betty and Ostrich tree, and a dead squirrel in the road. All of you were special, never to be repeated, and it hurts and matters to me that you're gone.