abstract painting by emily weil

daily painting | outdoor abstract

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 = $115

 

 

 

painting of flowers by emily weil

daily painting | joan’s pitcher

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 = $170

 

 

 

abstract painting by emily weil

daily painting | shallows

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

 

 

 

watercolor and ink abstract of flower by emily weil

daily painting | holly’s peony

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

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 of tree by emily weil

daily painting | crinkly tree

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

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

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

 

 

 

daily painting | free-flowing freesia

You know what I long for more than anything? Honesty and transparency. Yesterday I had the wonderful privilege of having lunch with a new friend, the widow of Gene, a dear friend of my brother, who died eight months prior to my brother’s death. So… we talked grief. About sudden and surprising weeping, about grief bombs. About feeling like crap most of the time. About people who want to help, but really just apply pressure for us to get over it (“I hope the next time I see you you feel better!”). About the isolation of grieving, as feeling awful just isn’t OK. We laughed and bitched and bonded. I had a ball. How refreshing it is to be able to just be myself in all my gory glory, without worrying about humans who want me to hurry to get over my sorrows or to tastefully camouflage my open, bloody wounds. I just want to be me without having to perform, or hide how I feel. I’ll never be the same after losing all my siblings in just a few years. That’s reality. I am a new me.

My friend had heard good things about my caring for my brother from her husband, before he quickly died of fast-moving cancer (Gene was a doll, a professional photographer who visited my brother and took the best photos of Jim and his pals). I think she expected a halo to be hovering over my mop of gray hair. So when we both laughed about wanting to bitch-slap someone who patronizingly says, “I’m glad to see your moods are improving,” it was a tonic.

It’s liberating to be able to share my insides with abandon and without worry of a positivity lecture. To just tell the truth. And make jokes about it.

Yes, this is a rant. Too bad. And yes, I am influenced by a recent interview I listened to with Fran Lebowitz. God bless her snarky views of us wobbly humans. An icy glass of sweet lemonade on a muggy, suffocating day.

6″ x 9″ watercolor, ink on paper = $75

 

 

 

watercolor of flowers by emily weil

daily painting | spring 2024

I’m waving my white flag in grief’s general direction. Been seven months now since my brother’s death, and of course both my sisters died in the prior years. The shock of it all is wearing off, but feeling generally crappy continues. I think it’s all part of this process and I tell myself not to worry or be impatient, as everything is running its course. My heart got broke. More than a couple of times. It takes time to mend.

Sure sucks at times. Especially since I can’t control grief and sorrow and loss and the way they wipe the floor with my hair.

So, no resistance here. I won’t fight it and I will brush aside advice that I should take pills to make me feel better. This is a natural, beautiful, normal, healing, extraordinary process. I embrace it. Even while I feel stinky. Ugh. I really like something I recently read about a woman experiencing painful loss — her answer, when people ask how she’s doing, is, “I’m here.” Yep.

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