As I write this, it's Saturday morning on the 5th of August. The lights are down low, the fog has rolled in, and for some reason, all I can think of is the poem that was written by Ernest Hemingway, "For Whom The Bell Tolls". My husband Dave and I are listening to mellow jazz on the laptop via the internet. The instrumental song that's currently playing is featuring mellow saxophone and other brass horns. I'm relaxing on my sofa - it has been a long but satisfying day.
Satisfying, not necessarily in art, but with family. Here in Rockland Maine, we are knee deep in the annual Lobster Festival. Dave and I picked up our two oldest grand-kids this morning and checked out the hour long parade that started at 10 o'clock. However, about an hour before the parade commenced, roads were already blocked off, traffic was extremely heavy, people were confused, state and local police were extremely polite and professional, and yes, car horns were blowing. We managed to park on a quiet side street, near a grove of trees, and walked the half-mile to the beginning of the parade route, which by the way, flows from three major streets into one. It's like watching a parade and a detoured traffic jam at the same time. We managed to nab the exact same spot as last year, so we were all pumped.
Before the parade started, two large school buses pulled up to this 3-way major intersection, stopped, and then approximately 100 men in white sailor suits exited. Then the buses had to be escorted down a 4th side street past some parade floats. More horns and sirens. A good friend of mine named Signe was on one of the "floats" - technically a red convertible Mustang. The Lobster Festival has been in existence for the past 70 years. Every year, votes are cast for a young woman to be that years Sea Princess. Kinda tacky, I know, but somewhat historical. My friend was the very first Sea Princess back in 1949. Dave and I spotted her, waved, and loudly wished her well. She waved back and got the young man who was driving the vehicle to toot the horn.
As the parade proceeded, participants passed out candy, school supplies, necklaces, frisbee's, and coupons. Needless to say, our grand-kids made out like bandits. A little after 11 o'clock, the 70th float passed, thus signaling the end of another annual parade that had been filled with sirens, guns, laughter, music, cheering, and applause. And yes... horns. Once the last float slowly drifted out of sight, the sidewalks and streets were filled with people folding up their chairs and walking back to their cars. We followed likewise. Along the way back to our car, we ran into several people and floats making their way back to the high school where they started from. Some participants on the floats had leftover candy and tossed even more to the grand-kids. Like they needed it.
Once we piled our chairs as well as ourselves into our car, we made a quick U-turn, and headed for a major road. Gratefully, other vehicles let us out and we zoomed back to our house within minutes. Once inside, we engaged in a rousing game of Phase 10 until it was time for lunch. It wasn't long before that time hit. Since no one could decide what to eat, it was off to Subway. Dave took the children in to order their food, while I waited for our oldest daughter to meet us there. Food was eaten, a little shopping was done at the big-box store in the same plaza, and our daughter told stories of her recent vacation with her family.
After we all departed ways, Dave and I went to a photo center to pick up his large prints for our upcoming art shows. He was pleased at the results. Once back home, I had a project planned for this weekend, and I began in earnest. The mission - I need to declutter. My paintings have officially over-run my studio. They are in all corners, under tables, behind furniture, and take up a large closet. Never mind my easels, paint supplies, paper, and canvases... and my framed works for the upcoming gallery showings. A fellow artist friend of mine offered me a space in her immaculate "barn" that's next to her studio and mentioned to me that the two of us could have a combo art / yard sale in September. She was excited about not only helping me solve my clutter problem, but hers as well.
Unbeknownst to her, this "decluttering" is a major undertaking for me. Not only to unearth them from their current resting places, but to go through them and to make sure they are all signed and titled. Some titles came easily, some required more thought. I ended up signing and titling about 50 works, went through about 50 more that had already been done, and put them in moisture-proof protective containers. I haven't even tackled the closet yet!I started thinking - should I blow the horn on this entire project?
When a person creates a piece of art, they put a part of themselves into each creation. Each of these paintings I think of as a child. Unfortunately, over the past few years, most of them have been in some sort of storage mode for at least the past few years. Some I didn't get the chance to hang at all for my enjoyment. There comes a time when you have to let go. I want to say I'm ready to do this, but in reality, I'm not. I feel as if a large part of my SELF is being ripped out of me... thus, "for whom the bell tolls"... me. Does this mark the end of my painting forever? No - from here on out, I'll be doing it on a much lesser scale.
It's been said, "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear". For me - when the child is ready to fly on their own into the world, they will do so. I've invested a great deal of time and energy into these paintings. I've filled them with the love that was in me. Now it's their turn to bring love into the lives of new owners. I am spreading the love. May this transition pass smoothly. I've read that death is just passing from one room to another - that's easy enough.
Until next time,
Jill
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