Christmas Eve and Christmas morning at the Beach

For Christmas Eve, Chris and I went to the Sound and sat in meditation for an hour from 4:20 to 5:20 as the sun set.  It was a glorious, spectacular display of ever-changing beauty.  I invoked the fellowship of Quaker Meeting in Richmond (they were meeting at the same time) and reveled in the gorgeous display in the clouds and on the water.  Grief over my father's death two days before and worries about what was to come crossed through my mind, but I chose to replace those thoughts with awareness of the beauty and sacredness of the moment.

Written on Christmas morning:
Right now I am watching pure beauty unfold as the sun rises over the dunes in front of me.  I see a sliver of orange light at the edge of a slender purple cloud.  The sky above it is beginning to take on shades of neutral, then green, then brilliant aqua then light cerulean.  I have no shade for the green among my paints - it's the same hue as was in the sunset yesterday.  Birds by my window, many of them, awaken to partake in the feast they can now see arrayed before them.

Wisps of clouds drift through the horizontal sky.  Small puffs up high reflect the orange glow beginning to ascend over the horizon, purple on the top where they still reflect the night just passed.

These moments between day and night and night and day hold such magical beauty, such vivid displays of color and intensity.  Perhaps transitions are such - birth and death seem to be equally full of richness and an awareness of the Divine.  How else to explain the infinite variety of exquisite?  One simple sunrise is more satisfying than the entire stable of Oscar-winning movies since The Academy began their awards.  And such promise each one holds.  A fresh start to a new day.  Clean, clear, washing everything with the brilliant glow of the almost infinite power of the sun.  How logical for our ancestors to have worshiped the sun!

Even on overcast days, the sun offers a glow through the grey, a hope of beauty, and, always, Light.  Light that illumines all things and displays the Truth of them for all to see.  Light I hope to shine onto the sadness and grief present in my life right now.

The sun is rising.  I can no longer look at it - its glare would hurt my eyes, so direct and bright has it become on its journey to illumine our entire world.  It casts a pink/orange glow on the large white house in front of me, standing sentinel over the dunes.  The sky is taking on its daytime blue, tinged only slightly by green now.  The puffs of clouds have changed to light yellow underneath, their grey more green than purple.  The orange cast to the horizon has been dulled to pale blue, almost neutral, by the sun's brilliance.  The powerful yellow white orb has wiped out the quiet intense colors of dawn to shed its stronger light on the world.

It feels too direct, too bright in this moment as it shines its beam directly into this room, onto this bed, into my eyes, casting a strong shadow through the railings of the deck.  I am beginning to feel the heat of the rays on my face.  I notice the parallelogram patterns of sun and shadow against deck floorboards and the salty residue shining almost opaque in the window.  The shadows from the rails allow me more visibility through the glass to the outside world.

The sun is an inch above the dunes.

Fear of situations in my daily life intrudes.  My stomach feels the rush of adrenalin.

I return to the scene outside the window.  More beauty is there for the awareness than anything I could imagine in my mind, especially these days as my mind runs amok with worry and despair.

Perhaps this Christmas is about the birth of a deeper God-consciousness within me.  Perhaps it is the chance to live more aware, more in the moment, with greater gratitude for and awareness of God's presence.  A complete surrender to his Will, complete Trust in divine goodness, and Trust that joy and happiness are more present when I open my heart fully to God.

The sun is shining brightly on my face now, warming it, causing me to keep my eyes downcast so I don't burn my retinas.  Maybe that was the metaphor for God in the Bible - the Israelites weren't supposed to look directly at God - perhaps he was embodied in the sun for them.  That makes sense to me.

God, bless us as we go through the day.  Help me feel the ultimate gift of your presence.  Help me retain the knowledge of your presence as I am confronted with my fear and sadness.  Blessed be.

Overwhelmed by so much good!

Some days it's harder than others to paint.  So often it's all I want to do, and today I have all day to do it, and it's a little bit like pulling teeth.  I like the image I'm working on, and it's still hard.

I woke up with a ton of anxiety crashing through my sleepy eyelids.  I have taken on too much, don't know how I can do it all, and the overwhelm is grinding down on me pretty hard.  I get to this place every so often.  It usually means I need some sleep, but that isn't really the case this time. 

I'm sitting in my famous red chair, facing our line of bird feeders watching the 10-15 birds and several squirrels take their turns for food, sunflower seeds and suet.  A big blue jay has figured out how to get his place on each feeders and frequently comes, causing the other birds to flee.  The squirrels try to get to the feeders but seem to still be daunted by our very fancy jerry-rigged anti-squirrel bird feeder line.  It's an idyllic setting and should help me take a deep breath and let go of all my anxiety.  Right?

My show, Not Barbie: A Celebration of Real Women, is coming along well.  I have 2 of the 8 pieces finished and another is well on its way towards being done.  That's what I'm tyring to paint today.  I feel like I'm painting to get it done though, rather than because it feeds my soul.  That's what happens sometimes when I'm getting ready for a show.  I forget to enjoy the process.  Painting is all about process.  The product hardly matters to me once it's done.  I enjoy the final product, but, really, it's the process of painting which is the reason I do it.

I've realized lately that my work isn't all about the painting though.  I am passionate, as well, about women's body issues.  I truly want to change the way people perceive women and beauty.  I want the media to begin to portray normal women, not just overly-thin ones.  And I would dearly love for all women to love themselves.  Wouldn't that be amazing?  I feel so drawn to those intentions that I can barely get myself to sleep at night, and I wake up with all sorts of new ideas each morning.  That is a blessing.

And I'm a little bit tired!  It's tricky trying to slow myself down enough that I can relax and enjoy the process.

As part of my upcoming art show, I am also organizing a performance series called Beyond Barbie: Piecing Together Today's Woman.  I realized a while ago that the vast majority of my models are talented, gifted performers, writers, dancers, etc., so I thought it would be amazing to showcase their talents.  This series was born out of that desire.  I didn't quite realize quite how much work it would be!  There are women who have taken on organizing each night so I'm not having to do the nitty-gritty of each night, but it's still astonishing to me how much thought it takes to pull it all together - marketing, program, tickets, press releases, etc., etc., etc.  The gorgeous thing about it, though, is that almost everyone I've mentioned it to wants to take part in some way - helping, performing, organizing, attending.  This series seems to have struck a chord in the most wonderful way.

So here I am with fabulous ideas being realized all around me and feeling overwhelmed because there's so much good!  That seems a little bit ludicrous, but I guess life is like that sometimes. 

My desire now is to get a bit of rest, remember to relax and breathe, and trust that all is well.  All is very well.  All is happening exactly as it should.

The truth as I see it. The truths my models bring to me.

I take these photographs.  I paint these paintings.  I learn about these women - the skinny ones, the fat ones, the fit ones, the sluggish ones, the old, the young...  Each of them is so perfect, so unique.  Each shares part of her story with me, and I feel such compassion, such empathy, such a strong desire to portray them as beautifully as I possibly can because that is the truth as I see it.

They tell me about themselves as children, about their operations, about their abortions, about their partners and their children, about their eating disorders, their abuse, their happy childhoods, their healthy upbringings.  They share with me how they feel about their bodies whether they use words or not.

I ask each woman try to find a word to describe how she wants to feel and appear in the photographs.  Here are some of their answers:

powerful, like a Goddess, strong, beautiful, graceful, prayerful, meditative, centered, calm, energetic

Some women are defiant - they will show their bodies if they damn well please.
Some pose because they know they need to/want to in order to march through their fear to the other side.

Some want to feel beautiful and think I can help.  Sometimes I can.  Sometimes I can't.  I try.

Some have had eating disorders or other issues about their bodies.
They might be shy about posing nude for me, a virtual stranger. They might believe they look too fat or too skinny or too tall or too muscular or too ...  whatever their loved ones have sadly led them to believe was true.



Some are defiant yet scared.
Some pose then know it is the right thing to ask me never to paint them.  They want to not be seen by all.  Yet they wanted/needed to pose.

Some are simply comfortable with who they are.  They revel in the feel of the air on their skin.  They love feeling the warmth of the lights on their skin.  They dance.  They move.  They close their eyes and feel the grace they were born with.  They love the feel of their muscles and skin and hair.

Some have hated their bodies in the past but done so much work that they are in a different place now and want to celebrate it.

Some have me photograph their scars and tell me the heroic stories that accompany such fascinating beauty.

Some are awkward at first and move stiffly until they realize they are safe and seen with compassion.  Their reserve melts.  A magical moment occurs and they allow themselves to be.  To just simply be.  Be in their own skin, naked, and seen by another.








Some weep with joy at the freedom.

Some blame me for the shock.

Some are wounded because they needed to say no to modeling but didn't.
Some move through the myriad feelings and come out different.

Some are healed.




All tell me stories I am honored to hear.  All share a most precious gift - vulnerability and trust.
It is one of my deepest wishes that I honor that trust and give these women the gift of being seen with love and honored for the beauty that shines from within.