Although I have recently posted about two of my dear furry, family members leaving this earthly plane, I have not said much here for a long while. There was a mention around last Christmas, always wanting to say something about lights. Seems I cannot get enough of those sparkly reminders of what I believe we all need more of… light. And yes, my makeshift, Xmas tree is still on my wall, now on it’s 3rd year.

Beyond the growing need to help supplement our food resources as so many food items seemed a bit more scarce these past two years, gardening has been a kind of meditation. similar to what painting has almost always been for me. Now the deeper question is, why did I find it so easy to become distracted from this form of beloved creating in my life?

The pandemic had a massive influence on all our lives for as many different reasons as there are of us. I went through multiple phases; shock, fear, frustration and grief, to a new kind of awareness that even embraces uncertainty, allowing myself to go through whatever emotions arise along the way.

Not so long ago I saw an impressive interview on Rich Roll youtube podcast with Johann Hari. It’s long, but worth the watch/listen. I was left with the strong desire to pick up his book on Amazon, Stolen Focus: Why You Can’t Pay Attention and How To Think Deeply Again. As I pondered this title, it was like remembering that uncomfortable feeling of not being able to quite grasp a really good dream, or a clear idea that I once coveted to fulfill. Something seemed to slip through these unwanted cracks, something that I had held so close to my heart since I was a small child.

I often clean and prepare my studio, maybe do a few sketches, put together a few new wood panels and gesso them, organize my paints and brushes, readying them for the energy to somehow change and for my artist’s heart to awaken. They say so many things, but one that I know to be true is that an artist will lose the magic of their gift if they do not practice. I tell myself I am just processing life, and I am, but this goes beyond what is simply refereed to as a “block”.

It seemed worth mentioning, because I think I am not alone. I do know other artists who have really leaned into their work, creating like there is no tomorrow. I get an energetic buzz, not just seeing their work, but listening to them talk about their process. Perhaps their deeper self knows something I am not quite grasping. Perhaps my deeper self knows something I am really needing to fulfill, but somehow, I do know that the painting will come back, and it will be with the utmost honesty and unwavering love that its long wait has absorbed, nothing less.

Meanwhile, keeping the faith, and wishing all you creatives the joy of creating whatever completes you in each and every, precious moment.

Like an elderly couple you may read about, one passes on and the other soon follows. My Louie left us yesterday, just two weeks after my sweet Sophie. Living as long as I have allows me the  familiarity of grief, but I did not think I would have to visit this sadness again, so soon.

Nearly 19 years ago, I was walking in my neighborhood as I often do now, and noticed a stocky, brown puppy trying to keep up with an older women, who was moving as if she was trying to lose him. I asked her if he was her puppy, and in Spanish along with some body language, it was clear to me that he was not. I walked toward him as he ran to me, me scooping him up into my arms. His tired head dropped onto my shoulder, and just like that he fell asleep. After some funny greetings with my then-dogs, I dispersed signs throughout the neighborhood, but no one came forward. Of course, we were quickly falling in love, and he was already a member of our family.

I cannot really begin to sum up Louie in a few sentences, but I will make a an attempt. He had a rather comical, yet serious personality. Do dogs know they are funny? We humans seem to think so. He often smelled like corn tortillas. He loved going for walks, sleeping in “his” favorite chair, eating almost anything and being the first one to finish, and barking at the dogs on the other side of the fence. My favorite was how he loved cleaning Sophie’s ears – a behavior that I believe to be an affectionate and tender moment between them that lasted till the very end. He was a devoted studio dog, always sleeping near me when I was painting. My partner found him to be a good office dog as well, usually there with him every evening. He did become a bit grumpy in his older age, no sense of humor left, probably due to aches and pains he could not tell us about. The house is oddly quiet, even with one dog now living here. My dear boy, Louie, we miss you so.