small abstract painting by emily weil

daily painting | tunnel vision

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This post may be a bit cryptic and I hope not coy. I had an important moment today, working through difficult feelings. It led to a bit of a circuitous journey of prayer and meditation and aha moments, and I painted this to remind myself of this exploration of hope and possibility. 

I feel like I just went through an extra heavy industrial wash and spin cycle, so I’ll leave it at that; I’m stretched out on the clothesline in the sun to dry and then I’ll cuddle with my guinea pig and eat something delicious. Love and gratitudinous bubbles to all of you.

7″ x 7″ ink, acrylic, pencil on paper

 

 

 

abstract painting by emily weil

daily painting | shallows

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I’m feeling goofy-sideways on this weekend morning — fair warning. Does anyone remember the fabulous Russian ballet star, Godunov? His full name: Alexander Borisovich Godunov. He defected to the US in 1979. You may have noticed him playing a thug in the first Die Hard movie. [Where am I going with this, you may be wondering, rightly? Is she doing a bury-the-lead type of Rachel Maddow intro?]

Last week my Brushes by the Bay pals and I gathered in Holly’s magnificent garden to paint. She has 20-foot-high hollyhocks and dahlia blooms the size of cantaloupes and hummingbirds that dance in the water fountain. It is a private paradise, and I was happily enjoying it; I did several loose paintings of a dahlia bloom. Once I took the paintings home I decided to add background color to one of them. As I was painting, the neighbor’s cat decided to nose into my living room through my open deck door. I was startled and chased her out — she has eyes for my guinea pig. The interruption threw me and the painting got kind of wrecked. I swore at the cat, I swore at my paintbrush, I swore at myself. The painting had promise.

So… in the end, it wasn’t Godunov.

Ha. And apologies.

Soon after, I started up an abstract (above). It has many layers of paint and water soluble graphite and ink and inktense sticks and spattered acrylics, and is more in keeping with my allovertheplace emotions. I keep expecting to wake up one day to complete, all-encompassing, vibrating internal calm that will last forever. Pipe dream. Man-oh-man how grief and loss and family dramas stir up the pot. There’s a lot going on in my internal healing journey, and I’ll spare you the boring details. I’ll just keep showing up. And going to the beach.

12″ x 9″ watercolor, ink, water-soluble graphite, inktense sticks, acrylic, pencil on paper = $150

 

 

 

small abstract painting by emily weil

daily painting | folsom fun

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Spent a weekend in Folsom CA tending to my great grandbabies, Ivy and Ava who are 8 and 5, respectively (Folsom is east of Sacramento). The day I arrived my car said it was 111° and it was like driving into the mouth of a furnace. And everyone has powerful A/C so you could always find relief. I brought paints and art supplies and the girls and I had an art day, and it was a blast. It so inspires me, watching little kids dive in with paints and brushes without fear or self-doubt. They made amazing paintings, and I made this little guy. 

Now I’m back home in my quiet little floating home, happily. I walked in the door, started unpacking, and then within 1.5 mins headed to my couch for a nap [Note: days later I’m still napping].

And I miss them! We bonded, the little ones and I, as their mom went to an event in LA. I got to spoil them and love them and cuddle with them and at times be stern with them and we connected and laughed and had a ball. On my last night there, the girls were out of their minds with excitement that mom was coming home that night, and I couldn’t get them to calm down and sleep, so I lay on the couch being the tired old Mimi while the girls played veterinarians. Ivy wants to be a vet and my goodness her pretend skills were impressive — it’s clear she can indeed run a successful business. Their first patient was a dragon with a broken arm, as the dragon was attacked by an eagle. I praised them for their imaginations and for getting along so well. It was darling and hilarious.

So I accept where I am in my life’s journey. And I accept my beloved granddaughter’s. We have so much to learn regardless of our life circumstances (and I’ll take being 71 over being in my twenties any day of the week; I am still forgiving myself for knuckleheaded choices made as a young woman). Today I accept life on life’s terms and am bubbly with gratitude for warm family connections.

5″ x 7″ watercolor, ink, acrylic, water-soluble graphite on paper = $50

 

 

 

abstract on paper by emily weil

daily painting | mysteries

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WTF…??? That’s my reaction today. A good friend enjoys the British TV show, “Portrait Artist of the Year.” So I tuned in, and Boy Howdy I’d love to know why watching various artists paint portraits as part of a competition to win a large and prestigious commission made me curl up and cry. For god’s sake why did viewing the show make me feel exposed and raw and like I was again careering around on the emotional racetrack? (AGAIN careering around, she says? It happens five effing times a day.)

Well, a couple of thoughts I guess. 

•  Judges are examining the artists’ works as if the painters are baking a cake. It feels a bit crass — and that’s probably not fair. Maybe because when I create, a part of me is on the canvas or paper, and it would be like having someone say my head was too big or they didn’t like how I smelled.

•  I wonder if I’m any good as an artist. That kind of competitive endeavor on the TV makes me cringe and I suppose I worry I could never measure up (am I a big fat fraud?).

•  I am not fond of the art world. In this country, artists are patted on the head and are patronizingly told we have such a nice hobby (but I’m not bitter). Sometimes we are treated with undisguised disrespect. Maybe it’s because I just had a row with a gallery in S California that invited me to be part of a show, and then their requirements and red tape and paperwork, and how demanding and even threatening they were took me aback (sign these forms or else!), so I got fed up and bowed out of the show, which then produced a long, multi-paragraph email telling me I was a terrible person and that because of me I ruined other artists’ lives who wanted to be in the show. I’ve never had a dreadful experience quite like that. I’m still cranky I guess.

•  But then. The artists in the TV show are producing terrific, inspiring work. And I have talent too, and I know it. I have my own voice and I honor it and that takes ovaries.

Thanks for reading this. I’m mostly working out my emotions as I write this, and you are kind to read my musings. I feel better now.

5″ x 7″ watercolor, ink, acrylic, water-soluble graphite, inktense sticks on paper = $50

 

 

 

watercolor and ink abstract of flower by emily weil

daily painting | holly’s peony

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I’m tired of the usual. So I took out an ink bottle and a scruffy paintbrush and painted this peony from my friend Holly’s magnificent garden and the break from ink pens was refreshing. Time to mix things up.

I played hooky from an event I signed up for. It feels good sometimes to RSVP for something I feel lukewarm about, because if I intentionally skip it it’s like I’m being bad. In a good way. I stayed home and read and went for a bike ride and took paints and inks out and ogled an abnormally handsome man who appeared in the marina inquiring about homes for sale.

I’m also tired of the stupor of grief. But my heart isn’t as heavy these days which is a relief. The last 4 years have been a firehose of deaths and family tragedies, and now the dramas have slowed down so I’m trying to absorb everything and make sense of life and death. It’s exhausting. That’s OK. I’m being patient and kind with myself. Takes time to get through these lessons (though graduation doesn’t happen until I kick the bucket).

I’ve been exploring ideas about unhappiness. Being unhappy is unAmerican, apparently — it flies in the face of the patriotic pursuit of the American Way which is supposed to be happiness. Think of all the methods employed to avoid feeling sad: pills, alcohol, smartphone scrolling, shopping, therapy, exercise, prayer, avoidance, sex, denial. I think Americans consider it criminal to be sad. Or maybe a sin. It certainly should be hidden in a closet.

But why should unhappiness be avoided at all costs? Is that even reasonable? Why should I feel ashamed of feeling bad? Does anyone else ponder these things or have I been swallowed whole by navel-gazing? And does anyone besides me get bothered by watching Brad Pitt in a recent movie and his face is all smoothed and plastic-looking from surgery and Botox®? Where did those marvelous eye-crinkles go? I think we’ve all gone mad.

That’s fine. I’m unhappily OK. I’m good.

10″ x 14″ watercolor, ink, acrylic on paper = $200

 

 

 

watercolor painting of cows by emily weil

daily painting | curious cows

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Cows. So fun to paint. These interesting (and interested) blocky-headed creatures gathered around our car in rural Sunol, where several of us who are E Bay Parks volunteers ventured out to the hills to observe golden eagles. Cows are curious, and they were likely wondering when the bales of hay were going to emerge from the backs of our vehicles. They kind of lined up, staring. Cracked me up. Ben, the biologist who has much experience with both the birds and the rural areas we visit, said that once he’d parked his truck and traipsed off to look for eagle nests and when he returned the cows had licked every inch of his truck clean. Including the windshield which, after this bovine tongue-lashing, was clouded and made his ability to drive impossible. No clue as to why the cows considered Ben’s truck delicious.

I love these outings to rural areas to track the birds. Paul, my volunteer birding pal, is great company and as we look to see if our pairs of birds have had kids we solve all the problems both in the world and in our families; politicians should give us a call, as we’ve worked through every kind of global issue and we definitely have all the answers.

I’m an artist. I am beyond lucky. And I get to appreciate local raptors. And I get to teach art to open-hearted students. And I get to enjoy my lovely home on the water and chuckle at my guinea pig Buster Posey’s little noises (nothing cuter than a guinea pig sneeze). And today I watched the tugs nudge a container ship up to the shipping cranes along the estuary with the foggy SF bay as a backdrop. I was funky today, as I come to terms with visitations of memories of childhood loneliness. My belief is that when these visuals surface in my brain, it is an opportunity for me to love and comfort that little girl who was so bewildered and confused. She’s mine now. I protect and love her and we heal together. The possibilities are endless.

10″ x 14″ watercolor, ink, acrylic on paper = $200

 

 

 

watercolor painting of ribbon tree by emily weil

daily painting | box of sunlight

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Sometimes brief life-moments make me stop and take in unexpected sparkles of beauty — like this morning when I was in the shower, and sunlight was streaming through the bathroom window. The steam flowed and swirled and the droplets formed a rectangle of misty light. Oh it was lovely, and I paused the sudsy rituals to marvel. 

I woke up in a complete funk so this helped bring my chin up a little. I fumble around sometimes, feeling a bit overwhelmed by loss or family worries or emotional firebombs (why did I tune into that documentary about the abuse of kids in a Baltimore Catholic school?).

So I’m following Hillary’s advice — get up every day and keep going. I vacuumed the floors. I made some tea. I packed up art supplies to join this morning’s sketch group at the Albany Bulb. “Dial 911, step over the body, and do the dishes,” a therapist from years ago used to say. I’m embracing this perfect July Saturday, knowing how fortunate I am.

[I enjoyed the sketch group outing. Always great to hang with other artists. The Albany Bulb, an old landfill created almost a century ago, pokes out into SF Bay and people go and bring their dogs and bikes and create art out of the concrete chunks dumped there. Funky and fun; this tree was adorned with flowing ribbons and busy with chitting chickadees.]

7″ x 10″ watercolor, ink, acrylic pen on paper = $100

 

 

 

watercolor of tree by emily weil

daily painting | crinkly tree

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Gratitude Monday. I’m so thankful to be in my comfortable, safe, and mostly quiet home. The birds are squawking (herons), the pigeons are hoovering up birdseed out on my deck, my fridge is full of food, I slept a solid eight hours last night in my cushy bed, and today I played with paint. This little thing, which is meant for a greeting card for an old friend and neighbor who babysat myself and my little sis, came from getting sucked into Instagram art demos. You make a puddle of paint and then crinkle plastic wrap onto it, and it dries with some texture. I’m not a big fan of painting trees so maybe I’ve found a way to avoid my aversions. 

Carolyn (babysitter) often enlightens me on childhood events. I asked her recently what her observations were of me as a baby/toddler when, as a way of fixing my lack of hip sockets at birth, I was in casts and braces for my first two years. Carolyn remembers the metal brace and how I thunked it against the floor when I was lying on my back (my brother reminisced about how I would slam it against the wooden slats of my crib, splintering them). Sheesh, I must have been a handful for my mom! But I’m extremely fortunate, for I’ve had a physically normal life. Carolyn also is helping me understand the family dynamics of our home — I fought constantly with my little sister. I always thought it must’ve been my fault — maybe I bullied her. No, Carolyn says. She was fussy and picked fights and was difficult to manage. I guess I’m never too old to try and figure out childhood relationships.

Anyways since I was down for the count over the weekend with the shingles vax side effects, I was happy today to feel some energy and enjoy my life and its daily activities. Life is a feast.

7″ x 5″ watercolor on paper

 

 

 

watercolor and pastel painting of calla lilies by emily weil

daily painting | kris’s lilies

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If you’ve read any of my posts these past few years you know that my soapbox is about making space to grieve in a culture that doesn’t allow it. So — fair warning — I’m climbing onto it again (turn off your hearing aids, pals, I’ve got my bullhorn).

I read a fascinating article about loss in the New Yorker. A woman lost her mom, and tried to function as she had before. It didn’t go so well. So as a journalist she set out to understand her experience.*

I’ve often pondered this experience of grief, and have been very frustrated by these cultural realities. One of the interesting ideas the writer posited is that our American “pursuit of happiness” emphasis may be a factor — no room for feeling bad as we pursue that ephemeral rainbow: “…the ‘pursuit of happiness’ having been turned into an obligation: the challenging aspects of life are now framed as individual burdens… The choking back of sorrow, the forbidding of its public manifestation, the obligation to suffer alone and secretly, has aggravated the trauma of losing a dear one.”

I’m still working my way through these ideas and aspire to accept them. My moods are all over the place, but settling down some; it’s been 10 months since my brother lost his fight with brain cancer. “I’m glad to see your moods are getting lighter!” is something I hear sometimes and it makes me want to scream into my pillow (which I do sometimes). I just want to be myself and feel what I feel on this roller coaster of sorrow and loss. I get frustrated when I’m being monitored to see if I’m starting to feel better as it feels patronizing.

OK that’s my rant for today. Take what you like and leave the rest.

[This painting was done from a lovely photo of calla lilies a very dear friend sent me who knows I love them.]

*The New Yorker Daily: “It’s Mourning in America”

30″ x 22″ watercolor, ink, pastel on paper = $925

 

 

 

watercolor and ink painting of iris by emily weil

daily painting | sandy rhonda’s iris

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Grief soup! I’m simmering away today. Sometimes I’m not quite boiling over but there are signs I’m stewing a bit. Like when, as today, my living room is covered with loose books because I pulled them off of shelves to clean and dust. A big pile. Sitting there (they will get attended to). Or I find myself crying and staring out a window, unsure of what got the tears flowing (well, I tell myself, my brother’s birthday was this week so that’s a clue). So I muddle along, grateful for moments of joy and beauty. 

Like Thur night! OH EM GEE. I joined a bat talk at the E Bay Parks Sunol Visitor Center. We learned about various species, some teeny, some big, what they eat, where they hunt and so on. Then at dusk we put our chairs around the Bat Castle — boxes mounted on poles that house the bats. Our job was to count them as they flew out to look for dinner. Within an hour they eat 1/3 of their body weight! Sheesh. That would be like eating 100 pizzas. Then they might go back inside to nap and perhaps do more hunting at dawn. That is magical enough, but then, behind the sunset-pink hills a huge moon poked its nose up and joined us. Then the bats starting coming — by the hundreds — against the full moon (or maybe almost full). I could hardly speak (not that I needed to), it was so gob-smackingly amazing.

Sigh. These wonderful, magical moments in life. I eat them up, like the Mexican free-tailed bats gobbling up mosquitoes. Today I’m camped in Gratitude Plaza. And I just signed up for the bat tour up at Yolo County, where bats reside under the freeway and come out by the thousands at dusk. Can’t wait.

[This is a painting of a lovely iris in Sandy’s front yard on Rhonda Way in Mill Valley, my childhood home; to avoid confusion with my brother’s wife Sandra, Jim called her Sandy Rhonda]

10″ x 10″ watercolor, ink, pastel on paper = $140