"Mother Love"
oil on paper
11 x 14 matted
It’s been a busy fall here at Underhill Hollow, despite the
lack of blog posts. It’s been a year of
juggling, of making ends meet, of just trying to keep up. The business of art has never been a
full-time thing for me. Despite steady
sales, loyal clients and collectors, several galleries, I need to supplement my
art business with another job, and since my other job is managing an image
collection at a pretty great art institution, where I am surrounded by other
creative people, brilliant art and design students, and some pretty fabulous
co-workers, that’s not a bad thing. My
day job often inspires my painting, and, let’s face reality here—provides me
with health benefits. I have twenty-five
years invested in my job, and that’s a rare thing these days. When my son was born, I was able to work
part-time, and the work-life balance was perfect. I sacrificed half my benefits, and a
good-sized chunk of pay to have more time to raise my son, and find creative
time for myself.
Now the boy is in high school, and when I was given the
opportunity to go back to full-time, I seized it—somewhat reluctantly, but
although money doesn’t make the world go around, it does pay for a good
education for our son, and hay for the horses.
So I count my blessing every day—for the job I have, for the people I
work with, for the relative comfort that provides.
When I went back to full-time work, I realized I was going
to struggle to find studio time. I
realized something was going to have to give.
I scaled back on doing weekend art shows, and decided to focus on my
gallery work and commission work. I still
spend a couple of evenings a week in the studio, and chunks of time on the
weekends. I crave rainy weekend days,
when I don’t want to be outside, so I can be really productive in front of the
easel. I use Sunday afternoons—football
time in our household, to escape the t.v. and hole up in my “woman-cave”.
I can track my productivity by how many new paintings are
added to the inventory each year. 2014
was a record year…although the numbers are a bit deceiving—many new works were
small drawings and watercolors as opposed to new large oil paintings. I still did two major weekend art shows,
completed some commissions, designed a new poster, and gave private art lessons
to a very talented fourteen-year old.
Painting is like breathing to me-- no matter what life throws at me, I
will keep at it.
Since it’s the time of year to take stock of things, I’ve
been making lists in my head of all the things I am grateful for, the things
that are most important to me, and I would say eighty percent of the things on
that very long list are people. My
family, my friends, my co-workers, my farrier, my vets, the farmers that bring
the hay every year and stack it in the barn for me. So what else is on the list that does not
fall into the category of human beings? My
animals of course! Our good health. And my skills at
painting, the land our house sits on, the productivity of the garden. The wild birds that come to our pond, even
the public buses that save me gas money every day.
So, what doesn’t make the list? Things.
Of course I am thankful for a roof over my head and a car that gets me
back and forth, and the clothing that fills my closets, but they are just
things. The house has been around since
1825, and it’s covered in ugly aluminum siding, which used to bother me, but not
so much anymore. The septic system is
failing, and there is a gaping hole in the mudroom where the apartment stairs
were taken out and rebuilt differently, but even that’s okay. My car has 150,000 miles on it, and is full
of scrapes and dents and dog hair, but it gets me around. I’m not going to be that person who worries
about the appearance of my things. Of
course I love it when I can make things pretty, and yes—we’re going to be
working on rebuilding the mudroom. A new
rug or piece of art, or a nice jacket make me as happy as the next person. My horses are shaggy and whiskery, but they are
happy and well-fed and live a life outdoors as horses are supposed to do, where
they can roll around in the mud.
I think most of my friends have pretty similar priorities in
life. They are kind, forgiving,
generous, and considerate. They’re the
kind of people who would leave a note when they accidentally put a ding in my
car, even though no one was looking. And
they’re the kind of people to whom I would say, ‘thanks, but don’t worry about
it. It’s just a tiny ding.’ So many people you encounter in life will
disappoint you. But remember to hold close all the
ones who don’t.
