My Mother Stephany Garfield
2'9" by 3', oil on canvas cloth
The main thing is, writers write, artists paint or sculpt or scream into the void with the work they do, whatever it is. If creatives don't create, if all they do is marinate, think about their creations-to-be, then what are they?
To be true to yourself and live a meaningful life, you really do have to make certain choices. I choose to use my voice in any way I can, to say whatever it is I’m trying to say, and I don't always know what that is. Nothing is out of bounds for the artist. All of us speak from somewhere inside and we don't always know what we're saying, until after we said it, and often not even then.
Stephany at Winnipeg Beach
3' by 5', oil on canvas
But it's not important that we know on a conscious level. It's important only that we say it, and then move on to the next unformed or perfectly formed thought, because art is confusing and complicated, even if it looks simple. Art is a mirror of the soul, and I don't know what a soul really is. Art is neither good or bad, but if it's art, it's honest.
Everything Falls Away
In life, people we love are faced with mortality in a public sort of way. It's inevitable. When my mother grew old, she often reminded me of a withering flower. Every time I looked at her, I saw a flower growing older and older and older, more fragile, thinner, but no less beautiful.
She lived with me and my family for the last 19 years of her life, and little things began to go. First her hearing, which I realized when she accused me of speaking softer on purpose so that Icould more easily aggravate her. Then her eyes, when she could no longer read the books she enjoyed. Her sense of direction deserted her. She began having minor car accidents. She got lost driving home from the grocery store. We had to separate her from her car keys. At last, when she discovered that the computer class she had signed up for was beyond her, some hope in her mind quietly folded up for good..
That one was painful for both of us. It was the moment that I realized a corner had been turned. It was the first really tangible proof that mortality was stalking her and would catch her one day.
The complexity of accepting mortality is universal to humans, of course. We all know what the future holds and we approach it in our individual ways, and for most of our lives, these ways are private.
But at the end, many of us go to hospitals, where we are subjected to the loss of the rest of us, except for what's left of our used-up bodies and too often, our dignity. When we enter a hospital for the last time, the last thing that falls away from us, is ourselves.
As I walked my mother to the car for what would turn out to be her final trip to the hospital, she must have had a sense that she wasn't coming home. She turned to me and said, "Don't worry darling. I'm not scared to die: it's nature." As the significance of the generosity in this statement hit me hard enough to make my head spin, she added, "You can spend the interest. But don't spend the principal."
Visit the
Golden Light Art Gallery
In life, people we love are faced with mortality in a public sort of way. It's inevitable. When my mother grew old, she often reminded me of a withering flower. Every time I looked at her, I saw a flower growing older and older and older, more fragile, thinner, but no less beautiful.
She lived with me and my family for the last 19 years of her life, and little things began to go. First her hearing, which I realized when she accused me of speaking softer on purpose so that Icould more easily aggravate her. Then her eyes, when she could no longer read the books she enjoyed. Her sense of direction deserted her. She began having minor car accidents. She got lost driving home from the grocery store. We had to separate her from her car keys. At last, when she discovered that the computer class she had signed up for was beyond her, some hope in her mind quietly folded up for good..
That one was painful for both of us. It was the moment that I realized a corner had been turned. It was the first really tangible proof that mortality was stalking her and would catch her one day.
The complexity of accepting mortality is universal to humans, of course. We all know what the future holds and we approach it in our individual ways, and for most of our lives, these ways are private.
But at the end, many of us go to hospitals, where we are subjected to the loss of the rest of us, except for what's left of our used-up bodies and too often, our dignity. When we enter a hospital for the last time, the last thing that falls away from us, is ourselves.
As I walked my mother to the car for what would turn out to be her final trip to the hospital, she must have had a sense that she wasn't coming home. She turned to me and said, "Don't worry darling. I'm not scared to die: it's nature." As the significance of the generosity in this statement hit me hard enough to make my head spin, she added, "You can spend the interest. But don't spend the principal."
Visit the
Golden Light Art Gallery
2 comments:
Well said. I can't think of a thing to add.
The painting of your mom at the beach has wonderful colors and a mellow feel I really like!
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