A respite of activity

Returning to our place, from the beach, on the second crystal clear day since the rains, we rushed outside to wave to the helicopter, flying along the route of the lagoon out back, bearing our President's arrival to the island. The discussion all day on the sandy beach had been about when the Obamas would finally arrive, with people reading the tea leaves of parked vans, helicoptors, secret service movements, etc - divining his imminent arrival amidst reports of last minute scheduled economic meetings and redundant right wing objections to his vacation. On an island of otherwise nonplussed residents, the frenzy, albeit much calmer, could still be felt. Though some of the enthusiasm has been dampened by decisions made and on-going challenges on the financial and global scene, the support for him and hope for the change he represents still exist, though with a more realistic awareness of what's capable by one man and one branch of government. Universally agreed, however, was the fact that he needed a break for regeneration as much as any other person.

Having dropped off my work to the Cousen Rose Gallery for the show earlier in the day, I was relieved of anymore responsibility regarding it. A sort of floating on freedom sensation took over momentarily. I don't know if it was not having something to do or no longer having my creations around me, who have kept me company for the past year, with their individual demands for attention. With this emptiness in mind we made our way to the opening of Jeanine Primm Jones' portraits at the Featherstone Gallery. Her reception was well attended by her subjects, soon to be subjects and the culturally heeled residents of our community here.

Since arriving five days ago, it has been a nonstop flurry of events that started with Myrna Morris' modern dance themed paintings that opened the day we arrived, and the Faith Ringgold presentation of her famous quilted artworks at the gallery next door, and Carole Simpson signing her new book, News Lady, that same evening, as we spoke of a painting I had started of her. Though the heavy rains dampened outdoor activity for a couple of days, it was back with a vengeance with the Illumination Night celebration in the campgrounds that brought thousands of people out to ogle at the lit lanterns festooned along the bric-a brac detailed Victorian cottages. Starting with a crew from Bill and Brenda Cavette's BBQ we made our way through the festivities to Wesley and Judy's annual party. Everyone seemed to be warmed by the nostalgic impression of a bygone time when summer evenings glowed by candlelit porches and happy greetings from passer-bys. The Disneyland like atmosphere of this experience today, however, only allows for the dimmest idea of what it once was.

Leading up to my show on Saturday has been yoga and beach visits, meeting many friends, like Nancy Boxill and Dennis Thompson from Atlanta, a bid-whist party we threw and going to the Charles Ogletree panel discussion on race and the media that started with a tribute to Berry Gordy at the local high school, along with Amy Goldson, and my partner Joe Steele in tow. Adrienne Childs was astonishing the jewelry loving women on the island with her original creations, among her many talents, at a trunk show she held at Cousen Rose Gallery.

Notwithstanding a few road blocks for the Presidential caravans that are likely to occur, we are venturing out for the many other events that will culminate in my own show on Saturday. Forging ahead with confidence in a future we collectively build one by one, on the wings of ancestoral dreams - today will be even brighter tomorrow.

Today is my birthday (7/29)

Today is my birthday. (7/29) As a child looking forward to that day each year when things were set aside to celebrate ME, I grew to associate those numbers with everything good, and because it wasn’t a national holiday and unlike being a twin, I didn’t have to share the date, either. Since then a countdown begins the week before, with a subtle excitement that builds toward the day, that still hasn’t left me. I rarely have parties any longer but the celebrations continue with wonderful well wishes and greetings from friends and family. The desire to make it special with little kindnesses is deeply ingrained, though the impulse to take the day off, travel to far off destinations or buy absurdly expensive gifts for myself are indulgences I've outgrown.

That one day of the year that we hold special and is ours for no other reason than we were born on it, is an amalgamation of numbers that we unwittingly possess throughout the year, and, consciously or not, we are reminded of on calendars, clocks, room numbers, license plates, promotions, receipts, phone numbers and addresses. Those two to four numeric combinations trigger a response that attaches the time, place or thing to us in a deeply memorable way, as if that thing is part of us too. How often have we committed to memory a cell number or address because it’s composed of our birth dates? A locker combination, password or email address is often infused with that combination that spells out who we are, just as much as our names.

In the study of numerology, the vibrations of numeric compositions cast a fate and quality of life that perpetually repeats itself throughout. Life paths numbers (the adding up of your birth date and reduced to a single digit) and significant figures often correspond with uncanny recurrences in our lives. My own life path is a 6 and it symbolizes things and relationships that increase in value. These symbols are affixed to us in a guiding and protective way that assists us in making choices. Their vibration, like our voice, is unique and stands as a distinguishing element of our individual existence. However, we can all relate to others who share our special dates, like some type of cosmic twin, always with the hope that they exemplify the qualities we like to see in ourselves.

Everyone’s birthday is a cause for celebration, whether they want to admit it or not, and we honor them and ourselves when we do so.

Rose Dawn 36" x 36" oil on canvas

Dabs of turquoise...

Five in the morning finds me dabbing strokes of turquoise across a large canvas of a woman at peace with the sea. The early morning of quiet reflection is induced by the songs of birds awakening to a new day and the early light filtering in through a window over my shoulder. The woman breathes before me in tandem with the swirl of aquatic movement that suggest summer on the Vineyard. More and more my mind turns toward the moment I will be there among nature, friends and family sharing new memories to come.

As I look about at the paintings that have been created this year I see moments shared in each, like notes of time marking what we have been through together, and like friends I want to hold them closer. The strokes that work and didn't work, the colors that fit and didn't fit, conspire in the unknowable dance of opportunity within each dab of color. Like everything in life, it is not knowing that gives it the spark of excitement, that spurs us on to another day.

As this early morning brightens into this day I look forward to what I don't know about the next dab of turquoise.

Below is a mention of the show in the latest issue of Art Collector magazine.

Giving and Receiving

The cooler mornings that give way to warmer afternoons followed by cool evenings are a welcome relief this week as I spend it in the Hudson Valley away from my classes in the city. The summer session was one of the most exciting times I ever had. The energy from working with such eager students has infused my own painting projects for my show. The desire to be better is all an instructor needs, to have them give the world to a student, and it is all I needed to take my efforts to the next level. The next few days are filled with painting watercolors, oils and gardening before I begin a new summer session next Monday.

As I prepare for the show opening on August 20th at Cousen Rose Gallery, I am mindful of the many friends I have that has helped me get here today. I am currently writing a book that bring many of you who are reading this into my heartfelt memories. Some of you have turned the wheels of my life into the direction I now flow. A word or gesture is all it takes sometimes to aid a person's journey. Sometimes much more, like letting someone move in with you, paying for a college course or liking their love interest, which may seem small to the person giving it, but can make the difference in whether someone chooses to survive or not. We have all given and we have all received. Take a moment to remember those that gave and asked for nothing in return.

As my students from all over the world departed this past week, I was thankful for the rich cultural experience they gave me without even knowing it. In a classroom setting, who is the teacher and who is the student, is always the question of the moment.

There are those people...

There are those people who will come out and support you because of who they are to you and more importantly, who you are to them. Those cheerleaders that have your back whenever you need it because they realize that whatever success you have is their own, as well. There are those whose own dreams include the hopes they have for you, knowing they are one and the same. Your happiness is something they share with you, just as surely as they share your pain. When possible they act to further the former and soothe the later.

There are those whose way of showing their love is to be there when you call, whether they can be there physically or not, but are there, in such a spiritually supportive way, that you can feel their presence as if they were. Many of these people came out last night to support not only me but all the other artists in the African Modern Art Show. That included Mago, PJ Cobbs and the Bangally African Expo. We gathered last night at the Casa Frela Gallery for the annual fundraiser for Project Enterprise, the Harlem based funding source for under-resourced communities throughout the five boroughs.

The supportive crowd enjoyed the company of the artists and one another over drinks and refreshments to the melodious strings of the Kora played beautifully all evening as pictured below. The showing will be up until May 22nd at Casa Frela Gallery at 47 West 119th St. Please stop by when possible to see the exhibition.

The relativity of Spring

Last night a breeze from the open window poured over us like a cool drink of water, stirring the blades of the overhead fan and washing away the musty air out of our room, long closed up from the winter chill that pressed against it for months. In a night long embrace we re-synchronized our breaths to the sweet taste of the welcomed spring air - after Joe's week away working in Nairobi. The relatively warmer temperatures have opened the first of the yellow daffodils, acting as harbingers of nicer days ahead, as they dotted a still barren landscape, scarred by winter storms and heavy snows. Like gardeners, with the thaw, we turn our attention to the opportunities that the upcoming season offers, clearing away the dead and worn out and replacing it with the fresh and new.

The relative warmth of this nascent spring reminds me of how cold its been this winter, and yet these same temperatures seemed so chilly to me at the end of last summer, when the leaves turned colors too soon and the days shortened too early. But as every cycle completes and restarts we learn the lessons well and take them to higher levels with each successive spiral. For many of us, the natural cycle of a wintry downturn caused some flow of assets to freeze up, and reduced others to a trickle, forcing us to find new incoming streams that could soon turn into rivers of opportunity, in the promise of an economic thaw ahead. With each new blossom that opens, it carries with it a new day of hope, bright with the unfolding dreams we work so hard to achieve.

In many ways, the challenges we face are a better choice than those of other nations who have been ravaged to a greater degree throughout their troubling winters, and the relativity of it needs to be kept in mind, as we burrow out of our own. The possibility of an easier and quicker recovery seems to elude us, in many cases, because of political machinations seemingly designed to thwart growth for the benefit of the few over the many. The question of what type of government we want is bandied about, with the general intent of prescribing little or none at all. For those with resources, that may work, but for the relative masses that need support, it will not. As this spring unfolds, we must be vigilant of the crops that are unfurled before us to ponder, and work to clear the weeds that distract us from the clarity of vision we need as individuals and as a nation. The relative options may not be evident...with all of the growing misinformation creeping into our mindsets - but it is. And it is up to us to sort it out for one another and to take a stand for our beliefs.

On a positive spring note, please remember the annual benefit for Live Out Loud, the great organziation that provides so much assistance to LGBT teens in America. Their Young Trailblazers 10th Anniversary Gala takes place on Monday, April 25th, 2011, from 6:00 to 9:30 pm at the TheTimesCenter, located on 8th Ave at 40th Street. If you can attend, please do. If you can purchase an auction item, please do. If you can contribute, please do. If you can tell a friend, please do.

Aging Gracefully

I called my Aunt Lil, my father's sister, this week to wish her Happy Birthday on her ninetieth birthday. Many of us have relatives and friends in this age category if not older, but she is an astounding specimen in my opinion. First of all, she has never worn glasses, used a cane, had hearing or speech problems, neither has she suffered from hereditary diseases, loss of mental faculties or degenerative illnesses. In fact, she has never taken medication. She is certainly as lucid as anyone I know and maybe even more so than myself. She takes care of herself and her home in Atlanta, where two of her daughters share the house with her. She is as feisty as ever and still amazingly beautiful for a woman of any age.

When we spoke she said to me, “I went to see my doctor recently for a physical, and he told me he had to speak with me. And I thought to myself, ‘What’s wrong with me now?’ ” In her slight twang from Kentucky, that she hadn’t quite lost even after living in Japan and in the northeastern US for years, she continued, “Well Gleenn…he told me to come into his office and sit down. Then he said, ‘Mrs. Tackett…as you know I have been a doctor for many years…and so I have had many patients that are in your age group. However…I have NEVER had one that did not have at least something wrong with them that I had to attend to.’ She chuckled, "He then said, 'I can’t even offer you any medication because there’s nothing wrong with you.’“ Then she burst out laughing, me right along with her, about as happy and proud as I could be.

This kind of dovetails with what she said when I saw her about five years ago. She had told me about how once a doctor had given her some medication to take. After her return visit to him, she told him “’I don’ like takin' medicine.” The doctor asked her ‘Why?’ and she said, “I don' like how they make me feel…and then you run out and have to refill them all the time.” To which he said, ’Well, here is a larger prescription so that you don’t have to refill them that frequently.” She went on, “So I took the prescription, and when I got outside, I tore it up, threw it away and never went back. That was over twenty years ago.” Though I hope I have her genes, she is one of the few of her siblings that are still alive, so my goal is to take on the attitude that it is at least a possibility to live healthily into my nineties.

Our relationships with our doctors are partnerships where, if everyone does their part, to the best of their abilities, the results can be stellar. I often think of my doctor as a mechanic diagnosing the vehicle I call my body. He does the tests and inspections and shares with me what our options are. If I’m lucky, the recommendations will be mainly dietary or physical exercise, and in some cases, he may suggest medicines that maintain its ongoing balance and operation. There have been times in my life when the fuel and motor oil I've imbibed were less than useful nutritionally or times when additives I consumed were actually harmful. Over time I became aware of the general decline that comes with age and made corrective changes, like tuning up my chassis with yoga. Some of us are driving vehicles, like Aunt Lil’s, that just seem to hum along in relative ease, no matter what we do or how long they run. Others might feel like they have gotten lemons, that require patching, from time to time, getting a few more hundred miles out of it before the next time a tune up is needed.

In any regard, it is our spirit the drives the body, and gives it a reason to get to where it has to go. And like our mobile conveyance, so too, the spirit itself requires maintenance…like peace and quiet, rest and relaxation, love, affection and creative stimulation… in order to be a vital power source. In these pursuits we must be our own doctors and know when to give these things priority.