The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.
Child-like, but I Like It
A few nights ago, I was speaking with a friend of mine, who's a visual artist. She spoke of finally committing to her work through the use, lately, of extra-thick paint and sculptural brush-strokes.
I responded, "I'm not a visual artist, but I did take a lot of art lessons as a kid, and I enjoy drawing and painting. My hand has always pressed super-hard. I guess I've always been committed!"
She smiled generously.
It's true, though. I'm looking at a painting I did in water-colors a number of years ago that looks like the paint is practically acrylic -- only a slight exaggeration. It's called "Heavenly Hash," and it's of my dad, sitting in a shroud, bellying up to a hospital gurney, which is filled with junk-food.
When my dad died, I was sure it was from his poor eating habits. The painting was a cautionary tale to myself not to be like him. Suspended over his head is a pair of golden, priestly hands, hanging from a gold chain. It was a copy of a necklace that my father made for my mother for their anniversary one year. The actual necklace was sterling silver, but that was less dramatic for the painting, so I made it gold instead.
Death Explained By a TV Character
Now, I know that people's reasons for dying are a mystery, i.e., why he had common bile-duct cancer is anyone's guess. I learned that from watching the most recent episode of "Army Wives."
God, appearing as a hunched-over, older, black man, told the commander's wife that it was simply their daughter's time. I was feeling a bit manipulated, but Pat reminded me how much we used to enjoy the TV program, "Touched By an Angel," which had a similar plot-line, every week. As I sat down to watch the program, I asked myself how much more art of any sort I'd produce if I stopped watching TV.
Cheating Death Through Art
To my left is a drawing I did of an open, metal, Caran D'ache crayon box, containing 18 crayons. Instead of being labeled with their colors, each one is labeled with something I enjoyed as a child, e.g., nature classes; swimming-pool games; disco....
When I look at art I've drawn or painted, even if the subject is not happy, e.g., "Spring in Uptown -- Chicago," where I've drawn myself as a shadow in my apartment window, in the middle of a blooming tree, I feel calm and reflective; it's so relaxing and pleasurable to see what my left hand and right brain have created.
Creativity is the fountain of youth.