abstract by emily weil

daily painting | coming ’round

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“The quest for connection was always there in me. Connection is what I’m driven by, and I was lucky enough to notice it when I was sub-6. I can hold one idea, and that’s my idea.”

This is a quote from an interview with Tilda Swinton, an accomplished actor, in the Sunday paper. It struck me, her honesty. She was being interviewed about a new movie she’s made about ending one’s life in the face of a terminal illness (after my sibs’ deaths, it’s a topic I’m a bit obsessed by). 

I am understanding more clearly that my desire for connection has been the driving force of my seven decades on this planet; I am compelled to search out loving, nurturing threads between myself and other humans. Trying to heal childhood wounds.

On this bumpy path I’ve been seeking spiritual connection and faith and belief in the Divine. I define that Higher Power in my own way that I don’t have the skill to clearly articulate. My spiritual practices don’t follow any religous systems and I’m good with that. I’m probably a cliché — as my life hurtles forward to its inevitable conclusion, I am exploring spiritual matters and ideas. They comfort, guide and inform me.

As I do healing work, paying attention to scars and wounds that bubble up, the synchronicities often amaze me. After a particularly intense therapy session, a poem popped up in my email inbox that amazed me. Here is link — click on image of painting above to go to page where link is active (tried to copy the poem here but there were too many spaces between lines and I couldn’t figure out how to tighten things up):

https://sage-ing.org/wp-content/uploads/ODonohue-ForaNewBeginning.pdf

12″ x 12″ acrylic on claybord

 

 

 

painting of male nude by emily weil

daily painting | malcolm

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Clever bugger, grief. Sneaker waves that knock you off your feet, roll you, leave you wondering what the hell. I keep thinking there’s a timeline where I’ll be done grieving my siblings. A date on a calendar. Wrong-o! So. I dig around inside myself looking for stamina and grace and hope. And, the amazing thing, I find those buried treasures. I’m resilient and strong and weeping is not a sign of weakness. I just wish the little dog I’m currently looking after didn’t love to chew up soggy Kleenexes. 

[Malcolm was the model at the Frank Bette Center drawing group Monday eve]

12″ x 9″ watercolor crayon, water-soluble graphite on paper

 

 

 

watercolor painting of nude by emily weil

daily painting | drawing marathon

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“I’ll have to reinvent myself,” said Paul Whelan to Andrea Mitchell when she asked him what was next for him. Mr. Whelan was held prisoner in Russia on false spying charges, and was released earlier this year and I cried watching the footage of him landing and being greeted by Pres. Biden; Biden unpinned the American flag from his own suit lapel and put in on the shirt of this newly-freed hostage.

Loved hearing those inspirational words — in that short statement there is hope, faith, confidence and belief. As I navigate my storms of grief (no comparison to Mr. Whelan’s ordeal), looking to what is next in life is giving me little sparks of hope. There is much living yet to do. I endeavor to embrace this chapter in my life with the open-hearted trust of a curious child.

[I enjoyed the Bay Area Models Guild Marathon Sunday at the College of Marin]

14″ x 10″ watercolor, ink on paper

 

 

 

abstract painting by emily weil

daily painting | outdoor abstract

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Yesterday I so enjoyed meeting with fellow artists in my marina to create and chat and support one another. It’s been a roller-coaster week, and I knew I wanted to spend my creative time doing abstracts on paper as a way of sorting myself out emotionally. And, as always, it worked. This simple ink, watercolor and Inktense block artwork was one of the pieces. I’m constantly amazed at the therapeutic value of creating — whether it’s writing or making songs or producing visual art, these processes seem to be necessary for humans to function well. I’m remembering my teacher Leigh Hyams saying, “As artists we fertilize the world.” There are so many ways to make things — engineers build bridges, inventive programmers magically create video games. Carpenters build structures. Chefs put together delectable meals. We all have gifts to share. Another memory, of Red Skelton — a comedian and clown popular when I was a child (loved him, for he had a sweetness about him) used to say that we all have received God-given gifts. The way we say thank you is to use them.

9″ x 9″ watercolor, ink, Inktense blocks on paper

 

 

 

painting of flowers by emily weil

daily painting | joan’s pitcher

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My mother-in-law, Joan Favors, had a birthday a few days ago. She’s been gone for awhile now but I always remember her day in August even though I divorced her son in the 1980s. We stayed in touch, and I knew she loved me. So when a dear friend gave me a bouquet of flowers on Joan’s b’day, I pulled out the lovely ceramic pitcher she gave me eons ago, as I wanted to honor her. Thus the subject matter for this painting. 

I can’t seem to help reflecting on my life and its various chapters and pathways, as I edge into my elder years. I feel like a freak most of the time as since the time of my divorce, when I was in so much pain I couldn’t sleep because of night terrors, I’ve been a devotee of therapy and spiritual searches and meditation, wondering how much healing was possible in one’s life after growing up in a train-wreck of an unhappy and abusive family.

Today I’m happy to keep working at it, and have had good results. I’ve been fortunate to have had many guides and therapists and healers in my journey. I’m thankful, and I also honor my own hard work and participation and devotion to becoming whole. Life is full of adventures and losses and joyful surprises, and I’m all in and grateful to keep showing up. “Life is a feast, dahling,” Auntie Mame said, “and most poor fools are starving to death.”

12″ x 10″ watercolor, ink, acrylic, pastel 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

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

abstract painting by emily weil

daily painting | belly band

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Today’s blurb is for Mike. I found out today that my childhood neighbor and pal died, and I am grieving him. Mike and I played and climbed trees in our little Mill Valley hillside world. I spent hours and hours in his home, which had a friendlier vibe than my house. Debbie, his sister, was my best friend, Rhonda was the oldest with her magnificent flaming red hair (so compelling to me, this older teenage girl with mysterious ways) and baby Jimmy came along when we were in grammar school. I think we had a Bluebirds meeting in their house, and I held baby Jimmy and then dropped him on the floor (short drop from the couch, no harm but I still feel bad). Mike, my crush, was a sweet boy who loved motorcycles and news of his death is hitting me hard. This happens as we enter our later years. Peers and childhood buddies and family members die. Their lives are done. I am keenly sensitive to my choices here — to be sad, to be depressed, to be bitter as I sort through loss. Or I can keep my heart open, committing to live as largely as I can regardless of my age. I think I’ll do the largely part. 

[Working on this today in my studio was great therapy]

12″ x 12″ acrylic, oil pastel on claybord

 

 

 

watercolor painting of magnolia bud by emily weil

daily painting | magnolia bud

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Lucky me to have time with my dear friend Claire, visiting from WA! We visited my brother and afterward we headed over to Uncle Fuzzy’s yard in Mill Valley to enjoy some Chardonnay and chat. Claire and I (90% Claire, 10% Emily) looked after our old friend as he was dying of cancer two years ago, and the house is still in probate and not yet up for sale so I pulled my camping chairs out of the back of the car and we watched the woodpeckers and crows in the nearby trees and reminisced. During those months in 2020 Claire and I sat in the yard many times, sipping wine and laughing and shoring each other up while Russ (his given name) napped, as we loved him and he was soon leaving. So in Russ’s back yard is a gorgeous blooming magnolia, and this bud was just peeping out and getting ready to pop. 

I feel immersed in death and dying, and that sounds darker than I feel. Death is a fascinating part of life, and yes I will be shattered after my much-loved brother leaves the planet a few months from now. You get up in these years and loss is a part of the landscape. As one writer opined in an NPR interview, once you get past 60 you constantly carry a 100-lb sack of grief on your shoulder, as loved ones grow old and die. Yes, exactly. And there’s a magnificent beauty to that natural unfolding of things, though our hearts break daily. And this is a part of life, and how glorious to fully live, which is my response in the midst of all this. I want to live as largely as is humanly possible until I, too, get ready to leave the earth. I want to skid into that moment, waving my freak flag and laughing and rollicking with irreverence and giddy with joy at having been given this amazing gift of life.

7″ x 10″ ink, watercolor on paper

 

 

 

watercolor and ink drawing of hollyhock by emily weil

daily painting | peralta hollyhock

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As I left my therapist Lucy’s office on Peralta Ave in Albany the other day I noticed this lovely hollyhock towering in a yard across the street (snapped a photo). There’s something about these flowers — I only see them in the summer, and they seem quite accessible and almost pedestrian but also very gorgeous. They are not sophisticated or aloof, like a perfectly grown rose or an elegant lily. Which is why I think they are magnificent. Lucy is helping me walk through this very difficult chapter in my life (and in my family) — death, dysfunction, addiction, estrangement, cancer and suicide lurk. And death is a natural — even miraculous — part of life. And those of us left behind get out our mops and try to clean up the bloody bits of our beat-up spirits. Lucy advises me to keep my heart open. Which often seems impossible. But when I do, and choose to see the love and magic in the world that surround me, my steps are a bit lighter — I appreciate the red-shouldered hawk that flies overhead when I have conversations on the Mill Valley patio with my brother as we sit under a huge, blooming magnolia tree. Bright scarlet dragonflies zoom around outside my houseboat, skimming the estuary waters. Red tail hawks in a nearby Monterey Pine dodge dive-bombing crows. I get to see golden eagles have kids in the Sunol hills. Finches and sparrows mob the bird feeder on my deck. And, best of all, I absorb the warm hugs and loving affection from my brother. It’s a beautiful world.

OK now I am going to follow the steps a counselor suggested years ago when we experience hard times: Dial 911, step over the body, and do the dishes.

10″ x 7″ ink, watercolor on paper

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