The Painted Smile

I have a forty-year love affair with dolphins.  I am not sure how it started -- I became enamored when I was about 12, long before they were as hip as they are now.  I had dreams about swimming with them; many of the same dreams over and over; their undulating shapes moving around me, silhouetted in the spangled light from above.

In 1986, National Geographic magazine published an article about dolphins which included a graphic aerial shot of a bloodied cove in Japan, where fishermen where murdering hundreds of them.  This was long before the film, "The Cove" exposed the practice. 

 

I've never seen, "The Cove" and I probably won't.  I'm afraid the images would stay with me, like my dreams have.  I've seen a few photos and that's bad enough.  I don't understand this need to murder, even through tradition.  The killing of dolphins is such a bloody, wet, messy business.  Even if I weren't in love, I think if that were my occupation, I would be looking for some other line of work.

 

It's time now for the annual roundup in Taiji, Japan, and every day, families of dolphins are being herded into the cove where they are trapped and slaughtered.  Their bodies are taken away for meat; and a few remaining ones are kept alive to be sold to marine parks.  The captive dolphins are starved and taught to perform tricks in order to earn the nourishment: Dead fish, which is not natural to them.  They have to learn to eat it.  Many of these dolphins do not survive long in captivity.

 

We are surrounded by greed and the disregard for what should be considered sacred.  I have trouble understanding how anyone can bulldoze an ancient forest or stick a knife into the throat of a dolphin -- or a person, for that matter.  Today a video surfaced of a group of terrorists, all wearing masks, marching 21 Egyptians along a shoreline and cutting their heads off.  The sea runs red again today, in various parts of the world.

 

I think of some lyrics to a John Denver song.

"There are those who would deal in the darkness of life,

There are those who would tear down the sun.

And most men are ruthless, but some will still weep

When the gifts we were given are gone."

 

 

 

It's true -- I believe there really exist "those who would tear down the sun".  People destroy themselves as well as those around them.   And those who, "deal in the darkness of life" are best handled by shedding light on them.  The Taiji fishermen don't want to be found out.  They have been practicing their tradition of butchery for generations.  But now that there's a film, things will change for them.  Dolphins are a vastly sympathetic cause and the protests are rampant.  The marine parks will suffer attendance now that the sad source of the public entertainment is known.

 

The crazies in the Middle East -- well, that's another story.  They share videos so the world can see their acts.  But they wear masks.  Their cowardice is blatant.  But they are making so many worldwide enemies now with their indiscriminate hatred and murder that they are becoming a universal target.

 

Sometimes the sadness of the world can be almost overwhelming.  I have been resurrecting dolphins with my art, celebrating them as they should be; colorful, surrounded by family members, and always smiling.  I think, to that end, each of us can make a difference in the world.  Concentrate on what is beautiful and right.  Shun all those who are greedy, toxic and hurtful.  Put forth positive energy.  We must keep our minds on what is good.  Even one small gesture of beauty, generosity, or gratitude can help to change a life.  Then the rest can follow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Horse and Sleight

I am eagerly anticipating the arrival of more slates!  Just last year I started doing more slate paintings and am going full throttle now.  One of the challenges lies in the inherent grain of the slate. This has been especially interesting when painting on the smaller pieces. I have enjoyed solving each one as it comes. Especially apparent in this group is the elephant, where you will see the chips along the edges, which worked nicely into the top of his head, and in his ear on the left side, and the tusk on the left, which has turned out to be a broken tusk.  Each piece of slate has its own personality, and sometimes I set one aside until inspiration strikes.  Right now, I am slate-less.  Ready for more.

 

Elephant, 6x8"

Bluebird Bath, about 4x4"

Sleigh Slate, about 6x16"

Horses in Snow, about 8x10"

Bunny and Trillium, 6x8"

My Best Cat

MY BEST CAT - a Furry Murder Mystery.  While this book is a departure from my usual work (read: adult humor), it is by far the funniest, and one that I wish had garnered more attention.  Maybe it would have if I put more effort into promoting it.  I'm in the process of making it available on Kindle and so it's gotten something of a facelift, with a new cover and all.  The cover illustration is a watercolor I did called, "The Blue Curtain".  Some people will recognize the breed of cat as a blue Abyssinian, which is featured in the story.

There is something deliciously naughty in writing fiction (adult humor) about people whom you have known.  In MY BEST CAT I have combined some of the most horrendous qualities from a few real-life despicable characters in the deranged hobby known as the cat fancy.  Writing can be a cloak-and-dagger form of personal protection.  Karma is in your hands.

The characters shall remain fictitious, but here is a short teaser passage from an early chapter, just to give you a taste.  Oh, and did I mention there is some adult humor?

“Hold still!” Roxanne barked.  She stood with her butt sticking way out while she groomed my Somali.  She would bend over while she combed Kenya’s britches, then grab the tip of his tail and shake, shake, shake the hair so it fell down backwards.  It made his tail real fluffy, and made her butt shake at the same time.  Kenya’s back feet would be lifted off the carpeted grooming table, but he didn’t care.  He just kept right on purring and smiling that kitty smile.  He was that dumb.

The real goal in Roxanne’s grooming yoga was to get Jack, the guy down the row, to look at her ass.  Jack was married to a giddy, heavy-set blonde named Tracy.  But he and Roxanne had been carrying on for a few weeks, and were fresh in the throes of new lust.  Jack pretended to be oblivious to Roxanne’s grooming efforts, but it was only pretend.  He rattled the newspaper he was reading, but I saw his eyes roll briefly toward the target area as he turned the page.  It made me want to gag.  Nothing more nauseating than being witness to someone else’s foreplay.

I didn’t think Jack was all that attractive.  He had pasty skin, a fading mustache, and overall he looked sort of used and dull.  But he was one of the only straight guys in the cat crowd who was over eight and under sixty.  And he was great with the cats, handling them gently and with adulation.  As a result, he was object of perpetual crushes of various cat fanciers.  While other husbands scorned the cat shows, Jack came weekend after weekend, trundling the grooming carts, fetching litter and water, and pinning up lacy cage curtains.  I could understand why.  In the real world, Jack was a dork.  In the cat world, he was a god.

Owl Totem

The owl is the universal symbol of wisdom and insight. Perhaps that is what I am seeking since I have been painting owls all weekend. Today's subject is a barred owl. He sits amid branches that are orchestrated to repeat the arches and angles of his wide-eyed orb.

I envy some of his qualities, most of all his focus. I am scattered in a thousand directions and my body is manifesting the emotional disarray. Mom's illness was just the beginning. When she died on the New Year's Eve that ushered in 2011, Dad not surprisingly went downhill. The first year after her death, he required emotional support and attention. Then last year in 2012, his health began to fail.

All summer, I was plagued with a persistent cough as I delivered him to one doctor after another, in a vain attempt to find the source of his back pain. It was a rough year. I had very little time with my horses, as they were boarded a half hour away. We didn't get to go to Drummond. Dad became more and more crippled with his pain and my frustration levels rose. It was so hard to watch him suffer, while dealing with the never-ending bureaucratic red tape of the medical community.  He had a new pacemaker installed, surgery for bone spurs in his neck, and pain injections in his shoulder. The pain would not quit.

Though I have a huge family with seven siblings, the others were of minimal help, choosing to immerse themselves in the details of their own lives. As seems to the be the wont of many families, they were quick to criticize everything I did. My cough hung on as Dad finally began to have trouble breathing. He was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. I knew this was wrong, and I made an appointment with his cardiologist. Dad became very angry with me when I insisted on having him admitted, but then under the care of a pulmonologist, we finally found the source of the pain. There was a tumor capping the upper left lobe of his lung. It had been hiding behind the pacemaker, so didn't show up in the many x rays we had ordered over the months he had suffered with it.

Dad couldn't stay up in the far north and have treatment for lung cancer. A brother stepped forward to take him in. My dogs were not welcome in the brother's home, so Dad's care shifted to him.  When Dad started radiation treatments, my cough immediately stopped. I was convinced that it was psychosomatic, connected to Dad as I was. After all, my bond with him was the closest of all people I had known.

But the cough was replaced with terrible pain in my right shoulder. I realized that somehow I had torn my rotary cuff.  I couldn't remember doing it, and it brought home the fact that I had not been caring for myself.  At this point, after two years of being consumed by worry and care for a sick parent and disabled younger sister, I realized that I had to find my own life again, spiritually, physically, economically and in every way imaginable.

My faith had been shaken, not only by the experiences of the past couple of years, but by the religious zealotry of siblings who didn't help. I realized that life would never be the same. I could use some of Owl's wisdom and insight now.

A good friend let me stay in her house while she went away for a few days. I knew I had to recover. I decided to begin with the outside. I started lifting weights again and took walks in the snow. I drank lots of water. I sat in the tub for a long time tonight, letting the heat soak into my shoulder, clearing my mind. I noticed the shower curtain nearby had some text on it. It was a Bible verse:  

The LORD will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. -Isaiah 58:11

Printed on the shower curtain was a picture of an owl.