watercolor, ink and acrylic painting of pink flowers by emily weil

daily painting | albany front yard

I took out my phone to photograph a delightful front yard I strolled past in residential Albany last week. Pink flowers, backlit in the morning sun, danced like delicate, tutu-adorned ballerinas. They were lovely. When I got out my paints yesterday, at first I painted from a photo of an enormous magnolia blossom blooming in the tree outside my brother’s skilled nursing facility but the results were flat and dull. So I roamed around my photos and found these cute little pinkies and did painting #2.

I had a whole day at home yesterday and could get my house back into shape a bit and make a nice meal (“lemony pasta”). While waiting for layers of watercolor to dry I did chores, and it felt good to tidy up the lily pad. I’ll head back to San Rafael for brother-time this afternoon, as I miss him on those days I stay home. Precious times, these are. My heart is broken but I am fully, energetically, juicily alive and paying attention as I make this nutty, sad journey. Most days I do not feel like getting out of bed. But I still have to get to the bathroom. And then, hell, I might as well make a cup of tea. After that, yes, there’s always stuff to do.

8″ x 8″ ink, watercolor, pastel on paper = $85

 

 

 

watercolor, ink painting of roses by emily weil

daily painting | roses

Tired, so tired. Friends at times remind me how taxing caregiving is, and how exhausting grieving is. Yes and amen; I’m there. And trying to cut myself some slack as I hear inner voices telling me I’m lazy or I should be more productive. Get back, mean critics who live in my head! Go and bully someone else (happy to share a few suggestions).

I have frequent conversations with myself. Sometimes I am gentle and follow my therapist’s direction to be as loving and compassionate with myself as I am with my dying, vulnerable brother. Sometimes I feel like an utter failure in life, wondering how I got here. Other times I think I am brave and sturdy, getting up every day and moving forward. 

My dear bro is considering end-of-life options, perhaps employing MAID — Medical Assistance in Dying. Either with this choice or letting the cancer take over his brain, he has an abbreviated future. And I support whatever he chooses. It is, after all, completely up to him. Some in the fam disapprove  of this possibility and I hope he follows his own truth. He’s so steady — a decent and kind man. The staff in his skilled nursing facility are fond of him as he is not demanding or difficult. But his life is small and getting smaller, and though he is not in pain, it isn’t a happy existence. And he lets me frequently pester him to get up and take a walk outside or ask him to tell me anecdotes from his 79 years on the planet or discuss the dynamics in our family or explore death options. These moments are often sweet and intimate and I will hold them dearly in my heart for the rest of my years. I am deeply grateful. 

10″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, pastel on paper = $130

 

 

 

abstract painting by emily weil

daily painting | class demo abstract

I was photographing this painting today and as I edited it to clean up the image in Photoshop I realized it’s kind of a big penis in a salad bowl. Oh well. The unconscious mind at work again.
I was doing this class demo in today’s watercolor workshop I taught, showing different kinds of paper (smooth vs. textured). Then as my marvelous students beavered away on their paintings with great dedication I fooled around a bit more on the composition.
I LOVED teaching the workshop today. A welcome break from brother-care; pursuing my art passions keeps my feet on the ground. One of my lovely students professionally designed commercial displays and many of us have enjoyed his brilliant creations in the Gump’s and Macy’s windows in San Francisco. Another student, amazingly, works for a traffic engineering group for which I worked in the 1980s when in art college; I did admin work for the small office and now the company employs 300+ employees. The founders of that company were very kind to me, and in off hours sometimes let me work on class assignments on their office computers. I’m thrilled at their success.
And life goes on, and isn’t it amazing? Queens leave the planet and kings rise to rule. Enjoyed my day — as I express myself in the arts, at the same time various friends and family members and I support our dear brother as he considers MAID — Medical Aid in Dying; he is experiencing his demise from brain cancer. He reflects often on his life — yesterday he learned that the Mosquito Fire in the Sierra foothills consumed his previous home and ranch where he lived with his first wife — we went outside to enjoy the gardens at his nursing facility yesterday and the smoke was in the air and he pondered if he was inhaling his burnt-up house.

8″ x 7″ ink, watercolor, pastel on paper

 

 

 

watercolor, ink, pastel painting of morning glory by emily weil

daily painting | pill hill morning glory

I can’t remember why I was driving over Pill Hill in Oakland last week; trying to get to the freeway after getting a 2nd booster shot at Kaiser I suppose (Pill Hill is what folks call the area off Broadway that is chock-full of hospitals and medical facilities). But I pulled over for some reason, I think because my purse was on the back seat of my car and the seat belt sensors are ridiculously sensitive and Michelle was yelling at me (Michelle is my wonderful new RAV4). 

Anyways these enormous morning glories, the size of large saucers, with their pointy, lavender tips, were profusely blooming on the corner so I snapped a few pics and painted the scene a few days ago. They were just so healthy and gorgeous. I always get a kick out of seeing lush gardens in urban areas, and that corner of Oakland is about as urban as you can get.

Anything that is part of the natural world comforts me enormously as I watch my brother slowly fade and decline from brain cancer. Last week I visited my wonderful friend Sandy who very recently lost her husband to a heart attack. I was so glad to see her and left the house (the house I grew up in) at dusk. As I went out to my car on that wooded Mill Valley hillside I was surrounded by bats! They danced around me and over my head and I was frozen in awe and wonder, listening to the whooshing of their wings. I love bats. It was bat magic.  

10″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, pastel on paper = $130

 

 

 

painting of magnolia seedpod by emily weil

daily painting | seed pod

At my brother’s previous home, Marin Terrace in Mill Valley, a real shithole of a nursing facility (I will be filing complaints), the one saving grace was that there was an outside patio with a huge magnolia tree that provided shade and a pleasant place to sit and chat and visit. After the flowers bloomed (the luscious beauties only lasted a day or two), these seedpods would be left behind and they were so beautifully designed — such a fascinating and sturdy structure. My bro would pick them up and play with them, and so would I — the stem had a kind of velvety feel to it.

So since my bro has now moved to a much nicer facility (Aldersly in San Rafael) I thought I’d draw/paint one of these pods which I’d saved. He needs some fresh artwork for his new room so I’ll bring him this one today.

Death and dying and grief are part of my world, daily. Sorrow joins me every day at the table and takes my hand and I accept those frequent visits. Yesterday I learned that my wonderful new friend Sandy lost her husband suddenly from a heart attack. No warning. Sandy purchased my childhood home in Mill Valley and has lived there for 50 years and through a few crazy-wonderful turns of events we have become connected (sometimes I even stay at the house, thanks to her generosity). Russ was a lovely, kind man. I did not know him well but was very fond of him, and he was very sweet to me. RIP dear Russ. Please look after Sandy. I will try to too.

7″ x 9″ ink, artgraf graphite on paper

 

 

 

abstract pastel, watercolor painting by emily weil

daily painting | corpuscles

Today grief is a giant python, circling my neck. Some people I know are afraid of strong emotion so they avoid feelings. I don’t seem to have that ability; today my heart is just a messy, bewildering puddle of loss.

This is one stormy bitch of an ocean to navigate, as most Americans freak out at expressions of pain and sadness. “Don’t get stuck there,” some advise. Others helpfully share admonishments to not “feed the energy” of anguish or rage. Which makes me feel even more alone with my very intense, bright-red feelings. I feel branded. A scarlet letter, tattooed on my neck. Stay away, the letter warns. She’s very emotional these days. She might be overwrought. Out of control. Angry and bitter.

I don’t fear for my sanity (well, sometimes I do, but I’ve been here before). I know that fully embracing the losses of one dead sister from cancer and another sister who committed suicide and my only brother dying from aggressive brain cancer inside of two years is where I am and need to be; feeling every last damn molecule of shock and sorrow. While I hose off the spatters of family dysfunction that regularly spray around the room and forgive me for my metaphor soup.

“I resist nothing” is today’s mantra. That’s the best path. When my mom died my brother’s wife admonished, “rub it in your hair” — fully experience all the grief and sadness. Good advice. Today my gray locks are filthy with ashes. Unattractive but very, very real.

7″ x 7″ ink, watercolor, red wine, pastel on paper = $65

 

 

 

red wine, oil pastel, ink and pencil abstract painting by emily weil

daily painting | fermented art

So my brother likes red wine and I’m the supplier. He doesn’t drink much, so the wine sits and spoils in the bottle (I’m trying a new stopper that may help make it last longer). I brought the half bottles home from his nursing home and decided to get out some paper and splash the leftover Syrah around and see if it’s a viable medium. What a hoot! Layers and layers of winey pigments on this piece, to which I added oil pastels and ink and pencil and all kinds of stuff. Took days of adding and dripping and drying and experimenting and today with Van Morrison serenading me in my headphones, and the boat slightly rocking in the breezy estuary, and the sparkles of watery reflections dancing on my ceiling — well it’s a marvelous and peaceful and very pleasant day. Sweet and welcome few hours of rest. 

The Big Bro we hope will move to a nicer nursing home in a few weeks. His brain cancer is clearly advancing as he is getting more wobbly and confused and tired, but he’s still great company and I enjoy being with him. How fortunate I am to have these rich moments. Every day. Wherever I am.

10″ x 10″ red wine, oil pastel, ink, pastel and acrylic on paper =$130

 

 

 

watercolor painting of tulips by emily weil

daily painting | tulips

Well this darling mini bouquet of tulips that I picked up from Whole Foods cheered me for days (now that I think of it, what flower arrangement wouldn’t?). So since I’m hiding from the world today, resting and putting my neurons back together after a week of car wrangling and Carvana shopping and transmission breakdowns and tow trucks and slimy Toyota dealerships and discussions with my bro of death with MAID (Medical Assistance In Suicide) and hacking through family thickets of dysfunction, I got out my paints to help with the self-soothing process. It’s working (and I’m dreaming of about a month on the Big Island of Hawaii).

There’s something delightfully innocent about tulips. Such charming open faces. My life is often drama central these days and wetting my watercolor paper and adding splashy reds and deep-hued cadmium yellows calms and heals. Lordy I’m grateful today to be in my quiet, wonderful floating home on the Alameda estuary (which is weirdly brown in color this week), listening to the herons squawk and feeling my home gently rock in the breezes and saying hello to friendly neighbors as they walk by. Happy for these few hours of respite. OK now I’d best go clean up the paint spatters from my kitchen counter.

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

 

 

 

watercolor and ink painting of orange lily by emily weil

daily painting | mill valley lily

I don’t consider myself a particularly deep person, but as my life events are quite challenging these days, I am finding that I need to use a pickaxe to dig into my substratum to find strength, stamina and wisdom to navigate this time of loss and difficulty. I liked a quote I found:

“Eventually, everyone will be dropped into the depth of life. It may happen because of some life-threatening illness or a sudden loss or from being loved unconditionally for the first time or by the sudden beauty of grace. But once broken open, the deeper, relational journey begins by which we truly know that we are alive.” (Mark Nepo)

So I’m making some choices that are uncomfortable but essential — to strengthen my faith. I can’t describe what I believe in exactly. But I have spiritual roots that sustain me. So now I strip back more dead foliage and burrow deeper, trusting that I will be OK. I’ll find a good car. I’ll have the strength to lose my brother (and to support him while he fades). I will get the support I need to walk through the shadows of family dysfunction and mental illness and loss. That’s today’s statement, and I’ll keep you posted.

But I want to give a bit of an update to the previous post. My insightful, loving therapist provided me with much understanding which I want to talk about. Last weekend I was deeply, darkly depressed. It sideswiped me and left me gasping. Thankfully I had already had a therapy appointment scheduled, and, Voila! Light. Lucy helped me understand that my dear, goofy brother’s unconscious and sometimes careless comments to me fishhook me back into my painful childhood. My bro was born in 1943 in a time when white men were gods. He was oldest, followed by three sisters. James was the king. We girls were considered useless, less-than, and not much more than a drain on dad’s wallet; we were to grow up and get married and get out of dad’s hair, while older-brother’s lauded education would earn mom and dad parenting points. James unknowingly can sometimes channel dad, expressing the attitude that his opinions/experiences/views hold more weight than mine. At times I have to elbow my way in, in a conversation with him, to get equal time. He has no idea, and he is a kind and loving brother who appreciates me. But this big blind spot can spiral me downward into that place of being a girl who has no value, who is never noticed or supported, and whose dreams aren’t worth mentioning. This was such an Aha moment that Lucy gave me. So I went back to the model that serves me well, which is to be my own loving mother. I told little Em, I SEE YOU. I comforted her and told her how valuable she was in this world. It worked.

Now, back to car shopping…

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

 

 

 

watercolor painting of santa barbara wharf by emily weil

daily painting | stearn’s wharf + rant

I’m not sure how to do this; hoping that faking it works for now. 

I’m calling on the angels and gods and goddesses and Jesus and Great Spirit and medicine animals and any other spiritual entity I’ve ever heard of, asking for help.

I’m worried that in the face of my beloved brother’s last days due to cancer consuming his brain (gliosarcoma) I’m full of self-pity and I whine too much.

I’m worried that as I continue to grieve my two dead sisters I’m feeling sorry for myself.

I’m worried that I’m folding under the life challenges of my old, 2006 Prius that won’t run and my failing graphic design freelance business and my adult children suffering through mental illness and powerful addictions.

I’m worried I’ll always be alone.

I’m worried I’m an asshole, taking my frustrations out on other humans while becoming bitter.

So the only remedies I can come up with are to 1) Get out of bed in the morning and make my tea. 2) Do my day with as much presence as I can muster. 3) Respond to each curve ball as best I can and hope my bat holds up. 4) Nap. 5) Resist nothing. 6) Practice Radical Trust.

That’s it. Wish me luck. I’m sure my headlights are strong enough to get through at least the next few yards of this mother-effing dark and terrifying and isolated back road. 

I guess I sound pissed off. 

Boy howdy, yes I am.

[painting is from Santa Barbara watercolor workshop I attended last April]

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