watercolor of rose bud by emily weil

daily painting | rose bud

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I created this small painting a few weeks ago and thought I’d post it before my schedule gets a bit more busy; we scatter my brother’s ashes tomorrow, I’ll join family members up north for turkey day, and then soon after will have the privilege of going on an exciting international trip.

I’m hanging on during the emoting. The ups and downs are like being on the Giant Dipper in Santa Cruz (just looked at images online and they made my stomach lurch) — so far I’m still strapped in but am a bit dizzy. I am enjoying the sweet company of friends and family who are arriving for the ashes ceremony tomorrow and also when I stopped at the grocery store to buy Thanksgiving pie ingredients I started crying in the dairy section (well, as I write this, that makes sense, as bro was the family’s supreme commander of holiday pie-making). This led to me doubling over in the elevator down to the parking garage (I was alone). Then there was the contentment of arriving home where it is safe and beautiful and dry and I felt the deep satisfaction of knowing I will see more loved ones tomorrow.

I don’t expect Mr Toad’s Wild Ride to be over any time soon (keeping to amusement park references) but I did get a case of Dramamine® at Costco.

Have a good holiday season, everyone. May you enjoy peace and love and fun and contentment. If your heart hurts may you find solace and comfort and places that soothe. 

7″ x 7″ ink, watercolor on paper = $65

 

 

 

abstract acrylic painting by emily weil

daily painting | belt it out

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So the thing about grief is that it rips your skin off, and then it knifes deeper into your muscles and organs where, with surgical precision, it tears open all the old wounds that you’d rather not look at. This is its gift.

So I kind of celebrate this moment (she said, perhaps masochistically). And I would like it very much if I never again felt like this. But I know things are shifting and re-balancing and I will come out stronger. I’m certain of it. It effing sucks but chains I have dragged behind me my entire life that I didn’t even know were hindering me are rusting through and falling off. Childbirth and open-heart surgery come to mind, to add the list of metaphors.

This painting represents part of my journey.

Broken hearts are more open, I am told.

40″ x 28″ acrylic, oil pastel, pencil, cut up scarves, cut paper on canvas = $1450

 

 

 

watercolor of crab cove park by emily weil

daily painting | crab cove

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“Linda Wishkob was magnetically ugly. Her pasty wedge of a face just cleared the post office counter.” Louise Erdrich wrote those astonishing sentences in her book, The Round House. What a writer! Those two lines alone are worth the price of her powerful novel. I love being in the middle of a book that pulls me in its direction throughout the day making me look forward to whatever time I can carve out to devour it.

Speaking of writing, I am finding writing in my journal to be helpful. It’s like talking to a therapist. It’s a release of emotion and very healing as I don’t have to edit my words or try to sound nice. I can write with abandon, knowing that no one will look at me with that dreaded look of concern while they worry I’m going to go jump off a bridge.

Grief, man. What a trip.

7″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, pencil on paper = $90

 

 

 

watercolor of green onions by emily weil

daily painting | green onions

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I’m writing this while sitting at a little desk in a Crescent City Air BnB apt. with big windows that look across the street to the ocean. Storms are piling up out there and my rain boots are keeping my toes dry. I’m told to keep an eye out for migrating whales.

It’s just gorgeous here. Beautiful views, stormy seas and this place is very affordable. And loving family (good lord what a concept — pretty foreign to me, but I am delighted at how my connection to niece Kirsten is strengthening). Oop, here come fresh raindrops on the window. Last night it was quite stormy and I listened to the ocean all night.

My lovely niece is directing a play in a local theater group here which prompted my visit. She will likely move out of the area and this may be my last opportunity to see theatrical productions that she creates. Her whole family has been involved with this theater for decades — even my sister Diana, Kirsten’s mom, used to play roles before she became housebound and withdrawn.

And I am here in yet another place to heal. The ocean does that. And Kirsten and I will seek out walks in the redwoods between raindrops.

I did these little green onions/scallions in Alameda last week. Would’ve posted this yesterday but the storm took out the internet across the city for the day.

7″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, pencil on paper = $90

 

 

 

acrylic abstract painting on canvas by emily weil

daily painting | seventy-one

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I’ve often longed for a frontal lobotomy. That desire is fresh again — anything for relief from Nurse Ratched, who embodies the grief that is my daily companion. I hardly know how to explain myself. “How are you doing, Emily?” is a question asked by people who genuinely care. “Doing my best,” I answer. Because it isn’t culturally acceptable to answer the question honestly: “Well, I was writhing in my bed this morning from stabbing pain in my gut and shards of glass in my heart and it feels like my kitchen floor is jaggy with razor blades and I can’t sleep and I sometimes spontaneously sob hysterically in the produce dept. of the grocery store and I wish I knew who put TNT under my mattress and blew me up. But other than that, I’m fine.”

Truly kind people want me to feel better. I get that and appreciate it. But it also adds pressure, like I’d best hurry up with my mourning. So that makes me withdraw, and then the grief process becomes more isolating. 

Just being honest here. Thanks for reading this. I’d like our culture to be smarter when it comes to holding and supporting those who have had difficult losses. It’s just amazingly lonely and takes years. I’m so bored with justifying my technicolor emotions.

And I’m deeply grateful for redwood trees that I can literally lean on because they help absorb the pain. And for a studio full of paints. And birds. And October moonrises.

30 x 24″ acrylic, oil pastel, pencil on stretched canvas = $1025

 

 

 

watercolor of pomegranate by emily weil

daily painting | october pom

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I brought this pomegranate as subject matter to our Brushes by the Bay group yesterday. It had gotten a little dried out in my fruit bowl which makes it more interesting — it develops harder edges and interesting geometric planes. Fun. 

I’m home from my glorious Mammoth Lakes vacation. It was a beautiful reset button. I had clear, temperate weather and starry nights and breathtaking vistas every day. The morning I left the skies were cloudy and it was 45°. Talk about timing.

So I was happy to rejoin my artist pals to do art in my marina. I love the individual syles and media we use — watercolors, colored pencils, pen and ink, pencil. Nice to be home. So much life to grab with both hands.

7″ x 7″ ink, watercolor on paper = $65

 

 

 

watercolor of convict lake by emily weil

daily painting | convict lake

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I hardly know where to begin. I am the grateful recipient of a gift of a vacation in Mammoth Lakes, in the eastern Sierras, an offering from a dear relative who has a place here, and who knows the losses of the last few years in my family. It is a reset button for me — I am resting, crying, grieving, exploring, painting and writing. At Convict Lake, a gob-smackingly beautiful place, I set up a little painting station and chatted with fisher people and other hikers and watched bald eagles catch trout. After painting I walked partially around the lake, and a man stopped me and pointed up to a bald eagle in a tree just above the path! So we marveled and shared our views with other hikers. An elderly couple came by, and I gave them my binocs to get a closer look at the majestic creature. The man said he was 87 and had been in wild areas all his life and this was his first sighting of a bald eagle. I was thrilled for him. 

I am healing. I am absorbing all this beauty and love from the wild. Craggy peaks out of every condo window and aspen trees with changing colors. Stars and the milky way — I’m at 8,000 ft. and Jupiter beams like an incoming airplane. Local natural hot springs to soak in. This is good. This is beyond good. I’m a big grateful, absorbent sponge. 

Don’t want this to be a boring travelog. But boy howdy I am appreciative of this slice of magic wedged between death and grief and mourning and my life in Alameda.

10″ x 7″ ink, watercolor on paper

 

 

 

watercolor of flowers by emily weil

daily painting | simple bouquet

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I have a delightful student who takes private painting lessons from me. We sat outside in the comfortable, smoke-free October air and worked on a bouquet I had brought for subject matter. We both enjoyed painting in a smaller format; we worked side-by-side as we practiced various watercolor techniques. I finished this one up today.

As we were working two Cooper’s hawks flew overhead (they like the cottonwood trees bordering my marina). It was glorious. If you are a bird nerd like I am now is a great time to visit Hawk Hill in the Marin Headlands to see the hawks, eagles and falcons migrating; they funnel through that area, heading south to winter in Southern CA, Mexico, and Central and South America. It’s quite spectacular (mid-day is best).

6″ x 6″ ink, watercolor on paper = $45

 

 

 

watercolor of flowers by emily weil

daily painting | gorgeousness from holly

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Aahhh… October. Such a beautiful month. Autumn is a lovely time of year and I will get to enjoy it up in the eastern Sierras in a few weeks for a vacation of napping and hiking and painting and reading and exploring. So grateful.

A very generous friend gifted me with another bouquet from her stunning garden; worked on this yesterday. I may do another painting today of same.

Today is the 6-week mark of my brother’s death. Tiny little glimmers of sunlight are poking through, encouraging me that grief is a process, and I won’t always feel skinless and inside out. Boy am I grateful his journey is done. No more broken hip or Parkinson’s or brain cancer or unhappy marriage. I feel him with me sometimes, loving me and comforting me and encouraging me that I’m not alone. Thank you, Jamey.

I’m agog at life’s winding roads. Surprising twists and turns and storms and fog and sunshine and healing and hope and loss and love… well, I could go on (well, I already do). I could never have imagined this path with my brother — that we loved each other so much, that we helped heal each other of childhood wounds. That multitudes of loved ones and friends showed up to love and comfort him. It was stunning. I will always be filled with gratitude I got to be part of his life and his death. It was a privilege.

12 x 9″ ink, watercolor, acrylic on paper = $140

 

 

 

watercolor of leaf by emily weil

daily painting | september leaf

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I was cleaning up this image in Photoshop, created yesterday, when I realized the leaf is heart-shaped. I had a ball (as usual) with our Brushes by the Bay artists group, and stayed after the group dispersed to keep playing with paints. This leaf drifted from trees behind me onto my work space and I changed direction from painting the small bouquet I’d brought to do this simple autumn offering. I am encouraged — my heart is OK. I’m healing.

I love this time of year. Hawks are migrating, the air is cooling, days are getting shorter which means better rests at night. Maybe it is wisps of memories of forever hopes from childhood that my October birthday will be fun. Maybe it is memories of kid excitement for a new school year with unknown possibilities. Dunno. But this heart-leaf comforts me in my time of grief. To everything there is a season.

7″ x 7″ ink, watercolor on paper = $65