The Beauty in Chance Events

Life is full of cycles. 

You can get in a rhythm and you end up in a re-run of habits, hobbies, and activities. Lately, I have been finding myself just watching YouTube on my bed until I was exhausted enough to stop fighting sleep. The old days of my prodigious reading habits faded into an inconsistent bedtime routine. After I finished taking graduate classes in the fall of 2020, my reading fell to almost non-existent. I read a bit but I have struggled to get motivated to read anything in particular. Sure, I would read a few comic books and I did manage to finish an actual book or two but I just wasn't feeling it. 

For the last few years, my creative energy was geared towards writing but art has always been in the background, waiting for me, ever so patiently to come back home. Of course, I have done a few birthday posters for the kids but nothing on my own for years beyond some fun doodling with watercolor markers. With the encouragement of a friend, I started painting again last week. As I painted I realized how much I missed it and how much fun I had been missing out on. I also had forgotten what a gift there is in embracing chance events. 

April, acrylic & paper - April 2022

The above photo was my first effort and I have to admit, I like it. 

I had started fiddling with my watercolor paint pens, drawing branches or roots (a common motif of mine) but it just felt drab and boring. Then I changed my plan and began to paint in an abstract style. Pushing and stretching the paint with my little paint tool.  I purposely didn't put much thought into it. I let my mind and tool unconsciously find their way together, weaving this way, then the other. I selected bright, primary colors (as those make me feel warm and fuzzy).  I added countless layers of paint to give the piece texture and needed depth.  Finally, on the second to last layer, I tore out random bits of paper from old books to add a bit more depth and otherworldliness to the piece. 

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A few days later I decided to paint again. This time, I painted two pieces at once but only one is good enough to share. The more "experimental" piece (well, trash piece) is kinda a hot mess bordering on disaster overload. 

However, the "good" piece was a much more successful experiment.  I started by building an acrylic base of texture but I also integrated a little bit of the pour technique that's so popular on YouTube with more overt use of collage. Thankfully over the years of art-making, I have collected old books, comic books, and other ephemera like some of my dad's old college papers. I also have a random assortment of things already cut out that weren't used at the time or just plain forgotten about.

I had brought in a huge stack of random stuff and just started grabbing whatever my grubby little hands could find, by chance. I would grab a page, tear it out and drop it anywhere on the canvas or impulsively find a place for it and go with my gut instinct.  I tried to keep in sync with my primal, spontaneous mind so it could find connections and patterns that my conscious mind could never find on its own. I even managed to escape my over-analyzing, over-thinking consciousness for a while and that's always a nice vacation too.  

After about a half-hour I stopped. I didn't like what I was seeing so I decided to come back to later that evening.  When I returned to the piece I added a bit more but still....something was off but I didn't know what. However, it was getting late, so I started putting my art supplies away and cleaning up. As I picked up my huge stack of old books, notebooks, and junk, a perfectly cut-out photo of a baby ostrich fell out of the stack and onto the floor. I instantly picked it up and plopped it right on the wet green blob in the center of the canvas and I and went back to cleaning up. 

After I finished cleaning up, I looked down at the piece and it seemed the baby ostrich made me look at the piece in a whole different light. It now seemed complete and confident. It gave the viewer's eyes a shared starting place to the canvas. Also, baby birds are cute, so there's that too. 

This random baby ostrich, falling from my stack of junk changed everything. I didn't like the painting before but I didn't know what it was missing. This small chance event changed everything. Now, I can't imagine this piece being any other way.  How many random events have happened like this to you and now you can't imagine your life any other way? Some of my most favorite people, events and ideas stem from the extraordinary origin of chance.  

Missed An Issue???, acrylic and paper, April 2022.

I had forgotten the wisdom of creating art. Of course, it's fun and it's an escape for the soul but more importantly, there are lessons to be had if we open to the opportunities presented by the beauty of chance events. 

Art Post: Toucan Sam & Fragments on Cereal

Sometimes art imitates life and sometimes I imitate cartoons.

Inspired by picking up some Froot Loops from the hotel lobby this morning, I drew Toucan Sam. My mom would never let us get sugar cereal so it was a little cathartic for me to draw Sam. I loved cartoons. I loved sugar. So, why couldn't she just buy me Froot Loops once, just once!?!?

I loved staring at the colorful boxes at the store. Each cereal had it's own cool cartoon character.  I was a cartoon manic so I would just look up in wonder.  Also, how could any kid resist the little toy inside the box.  Wow, what a temptation. Whoever invented that was a genius!  So mysterious, so cool and yet most kids would be likely to lose all interest in it by the end of the day -  if you ever got your little grubby hands on it to begin with!

I loved the special offers and contests too!  I would read the back of  a cereal box like it was a map to a hidden treasure. It just made you feel like you were losing out on life if you didn't get that particular box.

Ok, so my Mom caved a few times. One time I ordered a magnet set of the Monster Characters (ya know like Boo Berry and Count Chocula). That was epic. I had those forever and I might still have Boo Berry somewhere.

One time when my Grandma was in town visiting, I went to the grocery store with her and begged her for Ghostbusters cereal. It worked! I couldn't believe it!  My mom was perturbed when she saw it sitting on the counter.

Update from the next week: 

Death, Birds, Hope

My grandmother has pancreatic cancer and so I've been thinking about death a lot more lately. Death and oddly enough, birds.  

My grandma is on hospice care at home and we went to visit her last Saturday. Sure, she has looked better before but she was still herself; except she stayed in bed. She couldn't host us as she typically would have. She couldn't serve me her watery ice tea (I could never tell her I didn't like her tea) or cook her famous pot roast but all in all, given the circumstances, it felt pretty normal. It was a nice visit. 

As she lives a little over an hour away, the soonest we could come back was the following Friday.  In six measly days, she had changed completely. 

I was taken aback when I first walked into her room.  She looked as though she had lost 15 pounds from her 108-pound frame. The weight loss affected her face and her eyes were sunken in. I hate to say it but she looked .... well, bird-like. It was like being around a different person. Even her demeanor was different; less interaction, more of a blank stare, and more...silence. She hasn't eaten much and having a conversation takes more energy than she has in her reserve tank.

I found myself watching the "Dr. Oz" show with my grandma in silence alone.  The whole thing was surreal. My grandma is dying and we're watching Dr. Oz with our remaining time together. The thought occurred that I should take advantage of my time with her and chat.  I prepped her with questions about her courtship with my grandfather (who passed seven years ago). She struggled a little bit and I didn't catch every word but it went on for a few minutes and then....she got sick.

I felt awful. I know intellectually that maybe it wasn't my fault that she became ill but I still blamed myself.

Waiting for someone to die is a strange thing. I know it's not a unique situation but it's still new to me.

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My grandmother's mother washed the dead in her small Texas town for wakes or funerals. Her mother would bring the body into the house and wash them on the table. Yes, she would wash bodies on their own kitchen table. When my grandma was five or six, her father died and his body was brought into the house to be prepared. She saw his body and hid in the back of the house for a long time.
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My mother is frustrated that my grandmother doesn't want to talk much about it.  "It" of course, means talking about dying.  My grandmother is from the "Greatest Generation" and traditionally they aren't as open as Baby Boomers. She's always been no-nonsense and dying from cancer has made her a bit "stoic" as my mom sees it. But is she afraid? She's been a faithful Christian her entire life but what does she think, what is she feeling? 

I told her how much I loved her cherry pies and this barely got a half-smile. I counted that as my victory for the day. 

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My parents have been taking care of my grandmother often, which means I have to take care of my parent's pets and house when they are gone.  Their house backs up to a large wooded area and they have taken in three cats from "the wild" as their own.  In two of the last three days, one of the cats has killed a bird on the back porch. Just gutted the whole thing out - there were even blood stains on the concrete.  This isn't surprising, as cats kill birds all the time, but it gets your attention. 

Death and birds.

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Last night, I woke up numerous times, and with each lapse of consciousness, I was haunted by the memory of my grandma. 

How different she looked, how powerless we are, the pain she is feeling, and the emotions she can't or won't express. I wondered about my own death and how similar or different it might be. Any time I think about death, I think about God. And when I think about God, late at night, I always doubt. I begin to doubt that God exists or if there is any purpose in life, I doubt my feelings and my own experiences. 

I feel existential dread as I recognize the slow and inexorable wheel of time as it moves relentlessly forward every day of my life. The world is defined by its commitment to change, entire species and epochs have come and gone....for what end? One day you and I will be gone. One day, it's more than likely humanity will become extinct too.   I know this isn't an uncommon thought or concern but I wonder what the point of existence is anyway?  The pain, the mystery, the suffering, the wondering...the plan?

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A few days ago my family and I went to one of our favorite pizza restaurants to eat out and on the way out, I noticed a small dead bird that had died from running into the window. This happens all the time, millions of birds die every year around the world due to flying into windows. Still, the human brain is wired to recognize patterns..... so, there it was again, death and birds. 

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A few weeks ago a wren made a huge nest on our front door. There are six eggs. We have watched them grow, day by day. 

It was a welcome bit of hope in a troubled time.