Here is what raw determination will get you in just one day.

This was the scene in my dining room today.  While The Girl napped, I painted for the first time since I found out I was pregnant with her, over three years ago.  This is the painting I had to stop working on, and it has hung in my kitchen, unfinished, for three years.

I hardly remembered what to do today, but then I remembered why I love it so much.  It was terrifying, clumsy, and exhilarating.

I’ll share progress soon.

Last week I had the great pleasure of visiting a collection of quilts from The Gee’s Bend Collective, right in my very own town!  The Snail clued me in, and we decided to meet there (without kids!) for some mutual inspiration and adult company.  What a joy it was.

The show was small, only ten quilts total, but what it lacked in quantity, it far surpassed in quality.

The quits are the work of a multi-generational group of women who are the descendants of slaves in the area of Selma, Alabama.  These women, out of the sheer necessity to keep family and loved ones warm, made beauty from discarded fabric. Tiny fabric scraps, discarded bedsheets, old blue jeans, parts of old sweaters, and even dirty rags found on the side of the road were worked into their beautiful quilts.  Making due however they could, these women took refuse and turned it into art.

Working without patterns or (at times) sewing machines, these women left behind traditional quilt patterns and chose to work in an improvisational way.  It is amazing what can be done with the humble needle and thread.  Nothing like this had been done before, and their work has inspired an entire new wave of improvisational quilt making.

What these women contributed to the field of modern art in this country cannot be understated.  According to this exhibit, their work is viewed as important to modern art as that of Henri Matisse or Paul Klee.  A retrospective of their work exhibited in museums of twelve American cities including The Whitney Museum of American Art in New York City.

I found myself choking back tears as I read the words in the exhibit, as soulful African-American spirituals played softly in the background.

I walked away from the exhibit feeling humbled, inspired, and grateful for the abundance that I receive every day.

It just amazes me when a day starts out so ordinary and ends so profoundly.

When it’s your husband’s birthday and he takes the day off from work.

What’s better than a day off from work?

Free day at the art museum.

What’s better than free day at the art museum?

Having a special date…just the three of you…for the first time ever.

Eiffel Tower, painted by me, November 2002

Dear France,

I love you.  I love your language, I love your chefs, I love your crepes, and I love your music.  I love your films,  I love your perfume, I love your painters, and I love your flowers.  I love your icon, I love your fashion, I love your croissants, and I love your wine.  I even love your smoking.

Someday I hope to come visit you, and speak your language fluently.  I would love to live in your capital one day, in an incredibly chic flat, perhaps in the 18e arrondissement.  Mostly I like saying arrondissement.  Although a little chateau in the south wouldn’t be too bad, either.  Perhaps for the summers.

Dear France, please wait for me, and know that while I live here in Florida, my heart yearns for only you.

Avec l’amour,

~Rose

Dear reader, The Daddy Monkey and I watched Coco avant Chanel this weekend, and it was breathtaking!  Even The Daddy liked it, believe it or not.  It made me fall in love with France, its romance, and its language all over again.  As if I needed another reason.  If you haven’t seen this glorious film, starring the radiant Audrey Tautou, please do add it to your queue.  I don’t think you shall be disappointed.

Now that The Boy is in school and have more than three minutes a day to rest my brain, I have been spending more time on nurturing my creative spirit.  I read The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly and it’s been an amazing inspiration.  I cannot say enough good things about this book.  It is luscious, moody, dark, touching and enchanting.  I just wanted to wrap myself up in it.  It is one of the best books I have read in years.  I read all 339 pages in a mere nine days, which is a miracle for a stay at home mama.  It has me wanting to read creepy old fairy tales through the eyes of a mother.  Even the cover is beautiful and inspiring.

I want so badly to start making art again. I’ve been wanting to try my hand at papercutting.  And I found the artist Elsa Mora and her amazing blog.  So inspiring!  And Rob Ryan.  Wow.

But even with The Boy in school, it’s hard for me to find the time to devote to learning a new medium.  Or to find the time to paint.

I’ve been carrying my sketchbook around with me more lately.  And I find that once I start drawing, I am overcome with ideas as one thought comes to me after another.  So for now, this is how I create art.  One little drawing or design at a time.  And I suppose that’s better than nothing.

I know that someday I won’t have small children to take care of.  I won’t have mountains of laundry to do, and a bathroom that always needs scrubbing.  I know that I need to Be Here Now, and enjoy the present moment, but it wouldn’t be all bad if I got to make a little art every day.

I fantasize about having my own studio space someday.  A place where I don’t have to worry about the toxicity of oil paints, or the dangerous nature of x-acto blades and linoleum cutting tools.  Somewhere I can play loud music and not have to referee sibling rivalry every ten minutes.

But for now, I have my sketchbook.  And it’s a start.

May the beauty you love, be what you do. -Rumi

Every once in a while, I will be able to coax him into participation.  It’ll even be his idea on rare occasion.  “Let’s do art-ing,” he says.  It usually ends in frustration, because for him art is a full-contact sport, not an activity to be participated in quietly and calmly.  Usually these art-ing sessions end with him literally throwing paint around, my walls and floor becoming the latest canvases of his Jackson Pollack-esque dance.

I try so hard to stay in the moment.  To remember that for him, art is about the process, not the product.  I try not to instruct or lead him.  I try not to get upset when paint.  Gets.  Everywhere.

I was recently reminded of the artist Carl Larsson, by Alicia, who mentioned him at Posie Gets Cozy.  I was originally introduced to Larsson’s work by my very dear friend Peter, who is also the man who married The Daddy Monkey and I fourteen years ago.  Peter was from Denmark, and a very cosmopolitan man.  He was an older man, very stuck in his ways, and an incredible chef.  My first cooking encouragement came from him, as well as the recipe for his indulgent Cosmo’s Potatoes.  He died of lung cancer just before The Boy was born, and I miss him.

After being reminded of Larsson’s work, I visited (once again) the official website of Carl Larsson’s estate and his home Lilla Hyttnas, in Sundborn, Sweden.  Thank goodness I know someone who lives in Sweden so I can go there someday!  There on the homepage, was a photo of beautiful little Swedish children at their easels, painting en plein air.  And then it occurred to me like a flash of lightning.  If I want The Boy to make art, I have to show him how important it is to make art.  Of course he doesn’t do it because I never do it around him.  For me, art is a solitary affair.  So I decided to meet him halfway.  Spring is in the air, so let’s take it outside.

I taped unlined index cards all over our little easel, set up watercolors on the table, and he went for it!

The Girl even got in on the action.

Here’s my favorite one.  We all painted a little bit on it, and I love it.  This one is going into a frame.

This was so much fun, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner.  It was so nice and warm outside, it was a glorious day.  I was relaxed because I had no fear of paint going everywhere.  I didn’t have to clean it up right away, so the kids went back and forth between playing and painting.  We painted standing up, we painted sitting, we painted standing still, and we painted moving.  They each took a turn in my lap, and it all worked.  Everyone was covered in paint when we were done, but I’m okay with that.  It was worth it.

It was so much for for everyone, and it gave me the chance to be the mother I want to be: happy, engaging, encouraging, relaxed and loving.