Fast Four-ward

There's a beautiful scene in the movie, Big Fish, where the main character, Ed Bloom is recounting the story of his life to his son. He tells of being completely enamored by a young woman he sees across a room. As he walks toward her as all action around him is stopped, beautifully illustrated by even a spilled bucket of popcorn with popcorn kernels suspended in mid air.

They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true. What they don't tell you is that when it starts again, it moves extra fast to catch up.

And then, the action in the scene fast forwards. 

My own life is feeling a little bit like that right now. The last few years have been spent almost exclusively concentrating on restoring my health, and now, it seems like time is moving extra fast to catch up, and specifically, in this case, illustrated by having another four of my paintings on display in an art space in Pearland, Texas.

These will be on display through June 3rd at the Vineyard Church Art Gallery, 2905 Harkey Road in Pearland.   

Peonies in a Clear Vase, oil on board, 32"h x 29"w

Lily Pondering, oil on linen, 30"h x 30"w 

Sheer Delight, oil on linen, 20"h x 16"w

 

Perchance to Dream Oak, oil on linen, 30"h x 30"w

The Amazing Reese and I have a previous commitment, and will miss the "meet the artists/opening reception" night this coming Friday, April 22.  

Opening Reception Recap

Last night was the opening reception for Visual Arts Alliance 38th Juried Membership Exhibition. It was a wonderful reception -- for a Wednesday night, there were a lot of people in attendance -- and the quality of the included work was impressive. It is wonderful to have my work in such good company. 

Studying my painting with juror, Lester Marks -- always interesting to see my work through someone else's eyes

It was so nice to be back in person, though, to be fair, with all things pandemic considered, VAA did an amazing job for their virtual 37th Juried Membership Exhibit back in November 2020. (Girl with Apple was in that show.)

Happy to have had "Martin" chosen for the exhibit by juror, Lester Marks

Though Houston is the fourth largest city in the United States, it often feels like a small town. It was such a treat to catch up with several old friends throughout the evening -- some were fellow artists, and some were friends who showed up on my behalf. Thank you all, or as we say in the South, thank all y'all. 

Delighted to see one of my favorite people -- I love her!

The show will be on display through the month of April at Sabine Street Studios, 1907 Sabine St. here in Houston. 

I'm ever so grateful to be back in the studio, painting, pausing, and painting again. It feels like my soul is waking up a little bit more every day. Alleluia!

Martin

It is with delight that I announce that my painting, Martin, was selected by juror Lester Marks for inclusion in the Visual Arts Alliance 38th Juried Membership Exhibition. Martin and I became friends way back when I was just a newbie on the Houston art scene. We don't see each other nearly as often as in the past -- life got big and messy for us both -- but we still pick up conversation right where we left off, as is intimated in Martin's pose in the painting. This is a 14" x 18" oil on linen portrait painting that captures the subject's likeness with complete regard to his intellectually sharp nature and chatty personality. 

Martin, 14" x 18", oil on linen

The juror for this show, Lester Marks (in his own words) serves as the Mayor's Ambassador to the Arts here in Houston, the fourth largest city in the United States. He is affiliated with Houston Arts Alliance, a quasi-governmental agency overseeing the funding of all the arts in Houston. He has been recognized by ARTnews as one of the top 200 collectors in the world, and by Art and Antiques as one of the top 100 collectors in America. 

This painting, along with the other selected member works, will be on view from April 4th - 30th, at Sabine Street Studios, 1907 Sabine Street, 77007, with an opening reception on April 13th starting at 6pm. The Amazing Reese and I will be at the opening reception. Hope to see y'all there.

Giving Myself Grace

When I first started painting in my early 40's, there was an immediate jolt to my soul, a connection so strong that I actually started to see life in a different way. That's one reason this blog is named Finding My Glasses, named not only for the obvious reason of my near constant pursuit of looking for my actual spectacles, but also because suddenly I was seeing the world through a lens where colors, shapes, and lines became part of how my world was interpreted on a day to day basis. Since painting in oils was developing into a new skill, there was a huge learning curve, one which I'm continually exploring, and a daily pull and tug to create as much as time and space allowed. 

For the last few years, all of my energies, spiritual, emotional, mental, physical, and creative have been intensely focused on a very basic "struggle" to return to full health after breast cancer, or as full as it can be after breast cancer. There hasn't been much of anything left in this old body and soul to spend any amount of time in the studio....until recently. One of my dear art friends suggested that perhaps it was time to start pursuing art again, and at first encouraged me to tidy up the studio, and then to make a cup of tea or coffee and just go sit in the studio.....say a prayer, and if I'm supposed to pick up a brush that day then I will, otherwise, give myself grace and try again another day. So that's what I've been doing. (For all of the extra sitting time in the studio, I've brought in a more comfortable chair.) This contemplative mindset is also very much in keeping with what my therapist has been nudging me toward -- giving myself grace to sit and not be busy all of the time. It's a BIG change for me.

Early on in my art journey, I decided that, for me at least, it was best to forge my own path so as to not be unduly influenced by anyone else's work. I had read stories of  great artists before me who had destroyed their own work if they saw it was influenced by a mentor or teacher, and I wanted to avoid that step if possible, so, with the exception of one life drawing class at Glassell School of Art, and a three month still life drawing class, I am, in art speak, self taught. Part of what that means is that there is a LOT that I don't know. It often feels like I'm starting at square one. The struggle to convert the idea for the painting, how I see it in my head and dreams, onto a two dimensional surface is real. But what joy is experienced when it all comes together.  This is one of those times! Both self imposed structure and grace have permitted time and strength to work on this painting. It's a 36" x 24" oil on linen that I'm happy to now present. Voila.

The Girls, oil on linen, 24" x 36"

Felix

Painting portraits is my absolute favorite of everything I paint. Mixing colors and seeing globs of paint transform a blank canvas into a recognizable human being is thrilling, even when bad eyesight has me scrambling between cheater glasses and a magnifying glass to get everything painted in the right place. Three years olds are adorable -- that's all there is to it -- and are particularly difficult to paint because their features are so delicate and unformed that it's hard to find shadows on their faces to distinguish one area from another.  This portrait was painted for a grandmother who has commissioned me to paint portraits of all of her grandchildren at the charming age of three. 

Thank you to the friend who encouraged me all those years ago to pick up a paintbrush. Thank you to the friend who, when asked, offers gentle and helpful criticism. And, thank you to the grandmother who trusts me to paint her grandchildren. 

This is a 16" x 20" oil on linen. 

Re-Set

When things go wrong, or right for that matter, the Amazing Reese has a way of putting it all in perspective. He asks, "Do you believe in predestination?" Now, without going down a trail of religious doctrine, Reese's point is do I believe in something beyond my understanding that is guiding how I interact with the world, or conversely, how the world interacts with me? Some people call it fate, or destiny. The idea that some things happen for a reason and sometimes the best thing is to recognize this instead of agonizing over the outcome. I'm mentioning all of this because last week something happened to me for the very first time and it was weird, and disruptive, but ultimately, must have been for good, because no other explanation makes sense. For reasons beyond my understanding, the blog entry that I wrote about my time in Mexico with fellow breast cancer survivors was flagged for removal by google, because it violated their guidelines. (?) Google then re-evaluated the post and said the post was reinstated, but somehow it has disappeared into the great internet abyss, and I'm left with wondering whether to write about my time and impressions of Mexico again, or just leave well enough alone. (?) 

The main reason that I wanted to write about the vacation I just took is that I very much wanted to have a public record of my gratitude for the people who have supported me throughout the last four years as I have crawled, walked, and more recently, run through my breast cancer journey. So many people have contributed in small and big ways -- prayer, notes of encouragement, paying for a house cleaner when I couldn't do my own housework, driving me to appointments, bringing meals, flowers, contributing financially to ease the burden of medical bills, helping me crawl into bed when I was so weak with the effects of chemotherapy that I couldn't even do it myself, loaning (and giving) me books, loaning me passwords so that I could use a Netflix account, loaning me a TV so that I had access to entertainment while recovering in bed, loaning me old movies on dvd, information gathering so that I had access to resources such as the therapist I've been seeing to help me process the trauma of it all, giving me mileage points to buy my plane ticket so that the trip was a blessing and not a burden financially -- there have been SO many people who have helped. me. little ole me. THANK YOU ALL!!!!

So, fully vaccinated, I went on vacation...to Mexico....with fellow breast cancer surviving ladies, and it was lovely. There were 13 of us in total, there was instant camaraderie, and even some fellow HER2 positive breast cancer ladies (four of us.) We compared scars, emotional and physical. We ate together. We reflected together. We relaxed. We shopped. We roamed. We rejoiced and complained. I'm eternally grateful to have had a week to re-set my perspective, reflect on the last few years, and do it with lovely people in a lovely place. 

All 13 of us

P.S. -- the blog entry that I published last week is back! Just using a few extra words here to express my gratitude. 

Sent on Vacation

Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

A year and a half ago, I was granted a breast cancer survivor's vacation to Rome through Send Me On Vacation. As those of you who are regular readers of my blog may remember, to pay for the plane ticket, I sold some paintings, and shopped for the least expensive ticket I could find, and bought it. Then, the entire world shut down because of the highly contagious, new coronavirus that was hospitalizing and killing people by the thousands. The trip to Rome was postponed. And postponed again. And postponed again. And again. It has been postponed so many times that I don't even remember. So when the organization sent out an invitation to attend a trip in Nuevo Vallarta, Mexico, I quickly decided that this trip would be a delightful alternative. (On a side note -- two weeks ago, the money for the plane ticket to Rome was finally credited back to our bank account, which has helped subsidize fees and incidentals while in Mexico. For this trip, one of my dear friends donated his airline miles for the plane ticket to Puerto Vallarta. So grateful.) 

Sayulita, Mexico

Last week, through the resort Vidanta's Ambassador program where Vidanta members donate their weeks and rooms to various charitable organizations, in this case, to Send Me On Vacation, a group of us breast cancer survivors (and one uterine cancer survivor) went to stay at the Vidanta resort in Nuevo Vallarta. Four of us were HER2 positive, though I think (?) I was the only HER2 positive, ER, PR negative. Put it this way, at least no one else spoke about that specific breast cancer diagnosis to me. It was interesting to compare notes on our treatments, disease progression, progress (or lack thereof) and recovery. To go from independence and invincibility to relying on others and weakness is difficult even for the strongest among us. It was helpful for me to see and visit with other ladies who had also gone through chemo, radiation, and surgeries and hear about (and see) their scars, whether physical or emotional. 

On our way to another adventure together, vaccinated and covid free.

It was a special blessing to spend time with new friends with whom I formed an instant bond. As beautiful as our surroundings were, in thinking back on the week, my favorite times were spent with these ladies. We took a taxi together into Puerto Vallarta to the south, and Sayulita to the north, and San Vicente to the east to roam the streets, visit the markets, barter for bracelets, sit in the square, and eat a meal (or a popsicle). In San Vicente, where our taxi driver took us to show us his hometown and buy us a popsicle, we were still at the square when a political parade moseyed down the street! I LOVE Mexico!

Thank you to those of you, friends and strangers, who have prayed for and supported me from the very beginning, when I announced my breast cancer diagnosis on this blog almost four years ago. Looking back on that blog entry, I was naive to think that everything was going to be completed within a year -- little did I know or understand. With each day that passes, I continue to progress toward health and my new normal. I'm grateful for an opportunity to have renewed my spirit through this vacation. I'm exceedingly grateful for the new friends I've met. And, I'm grateful for those of you, dear friends, who continue to love, support, and pray for me, scars and all.

Sunset in Nuevo Vallarta, Mexico

The Pasture with the Trees in the Background

It's always affirming when one of my paintings strikes a note or stirs a memory with a viewer. In this particular instance, a beautiful soul, my friend Lisa, sent me a charming reason why she was so attracted to this particular painting, which, with her permission, I've included below.  

You won’t believe this.... I grew up on a ranch in Oklahoma, and one of my favorite places to stop with my horse to take a break in the shade was in a pasture that had a small stand of trees like yours on the left and then a couple of other trees to the right. It looks exactly like my spot. I would tie my horse to one of the trees and sit in the shade to eat an apple, a bag of Fritos, and have a soft drink choice of the day; Dr. Pepper, Nehi Grape Soda, or Orange Crush. I love to remember sitting with my back against the tree, feeling the soothing, dry breeze, hearing the rustle of the leaves, sharing my apple with my horse, taking in the brilliant blue sky and all of the greenness around me, and imagining what the future might hold, back when life was uncomplicated. These days, when I have grueling medical tests, I practice mental imagery and go back in my mind to my most secure and peaceful places -- this is one of them.

Our ranch was in the foothills of the Ozarks and the land was emerald green in the summer. The colors in your painting bring the vivid green hues and lusciousness of summers at the ranch in Oklahoma back into my mind. It is very moving that it has an uncanny resemblance – number of trees, the approach I used to make on my horse to that location -- it really looks like my stand of trees plus the two spare ones to the side! My family sold the ranch a while back, but if I ever make it for a visit I’ll drive out to that pasture and take a picture to send you. Identical.

My own artist's statement encompasses the belief that art is beauty in ordinary moments. Being gently reminded that life is full of small beauties....as simple as sitting under a copse of trees in the heat of summer, hearing the rustle of leaves in a gentle wind, or noticing an expansive blue sky or lush green pastures is worth capturing in any format, whether in the beautiful prose of a friend, or in a two dimensional format, like a painting. May we all recognize and celebrate that our lives are filled with ordinary beauty, because that, my friends, in my humble opinion, is art. 

I Declare

Recently, I saw somewhere on social media, probably Instagram, a little saying about which I could completely relate -- a new term, scanxiety. Scanxiety is the apprehensive uneasiness or nervousness in anticipation of an upcoming scan or test to determine cancer growth or remission. Let me tell you, scanxiety is real. To live in a body that has betrayed me once before, and to learn to trust it again is the only healthy way forward, but in order to do it well, I  really put in the work, a big slice of it being telehealth therapy sessions through the Flatwater Foundation. It's been life changing. My therapist and I had been specifically preparing for me seeing the oncologist for my semi annual check-up, and having a mammogram and ultrasound. (I had found a small lump in my armpit.) All of my coping strategies were in place -- prayer, mindfulness, tactile distraction (sticky tape), color awareness, deep breathing -- and still my blood pressure was high (for me) at the appointment. I honestly thought that even with the high-for-me blood pressure that I was doing all right until my oncologist mentioned at the very end of the appointment that she was ordering bloodwork. My therapist and I hadn't prepared for that! I started to freak out (internally) a little bit....ok, a lot, because because because it all reminds me of getting blood work done ad infinitum during chemo, and radiation, and before surgeries, and, it, well, I hadn't considered the possibility of needing to have more bloodwork done. As a good Christian girl, I started audibly calling on the name of Jesus as the phlebotomist started prepping my arm. Also as a good Christian girl, I felt the need to tell the phlebotomist that I was indeed calling on the name of Jesus and not just swearing over and over. She said, "I know." 

God bless her. 

It just so happens that it was one of the easiest blood draws of all time. (Thank you, Jesus, and thank you, best phlebotomist ever!) 

And, then I cried. 

Without further ado, it is a great relief to report that for my semi-annual oncology exam, I "passed" the mammogram, the ultrasound, the bloodwork. The lump I felt was a leftover surgical clip. Officially, I can declare there is no evidence of cancer in my body. Amen and amen. 

Shipping Fun

Again, I'm so thankful to those of you who have donated to my art fundraiser for 2020's breast cancer related expenses. The paintings are now dry enough and ready to ship as seen in the above photo. On my list for today is to take these paintings to the post office for shipping. Quite a few paintings have  already been picked up or delivered -- will  finish up when the rest of the addresses have been collected. There's still time to get in on the action, though less than a dozen paintings are left of the 10" x 10" size for a $100 donation; nine paintings left of the 8" x 10" size for a $80 donation. This has been a very fun project. 

The Amazing Reese and I are so, so grateful to all of you -- those who have prayed for us, and those of you who have donated. And, we're especially grateful to my cousin, Betsy, who organized the GoFundMe. 

Girl With Apple

 

Three years ago, mere weeks before I was diagnosed with breast cancer, in a focused flurry of activity, I painted several paintings, but because of the stress of life at the time, never wrote about any of that work. Girl With Apple is one of those paintings. It's 16" x 16" oil on board. 

Yesterday, I found out that Girl With Apple was accepted into Visual Art Alliance's 37th Juried Membership Exhibition by juror Shana Nys Dambrot. She is an art critic, curator, and author based in Downtown LA, and also the Arts Editor for LA Weekly. Out of 276 submissions, she selected 71 works for the show, so obviously I'm pleased to be in such good company. In the age of covid, this will be an online exhibit only, with the opening on Sunday, November 29th, at a to be determined time. I'll be posting again with updates as the day approaches. 

FYI, there are still paintings available in my art fundraiser for breast cancer related expenses. For those of you who have already contributed, if you live in Houston, let's make arrangements for pick up or delivery. For those of you who live out of town, I'll start shipping soon. Please send me your address if I don't have it already. 🙂

Early Thanksgiving

This week, my heart is full of gratitude for the friends, and friends of friends, who have graciously contributed to my art fundraiser for breast cancer related expenses. 

There are still around a dozen 10" x 10" paintings and nine 8" x 10" paintings in inventory for a donation of either $100 or $80. Paintings should be ready to ship by the end of the week. (These would make great gifts!)

My cousin started a GoFundMe if you'd like to contribute there. 

PayPal is Sarah at Sarah Hazel dot com

Venmo is @SarahMillsHazel

Art Fundraiser

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in the summer of 2017, my first action was to ask for prayer.  People I've never even met prayed for me. The shared burden that prayer encapsulates comforted me that whatever happened, good or bad, I was at peace with my life, content. I wrote about it here. After chemotherapy, radiation, and six surgeries in three years, I'm more than ready to be finished with everything. To that end, I've been working hard on a return to health which involves taking specific supplements, stretching, using specifically formulated creams and lotions for lymphedema, pneumatic compression an hour a day, occasional cold therapy, physical therapy, psychotherapy, reducing sugar intake, running or walking daily, and temporarily switching to a plant based diet to help reduce inflammation in my body. I've even started painting again, which is a big deal, because for the longest time I didn't even have the energy, mental or physical, strength, or range of motion to stand at the easel and paint. It's so rewarding to again find such delight and enjoyment in creating art. I love it!

Unfortunately, breast cancer comes with a price tag. Besides the obvious changes in how my body looks and functions, there is the added stress of paying medical bills. Perhaps seventeen years of acquired artistic skill could offer a win/win for those who might be inclined to share our burden once again. (?)

Art is what I would like to present and use as a fundraiser to raise money to cover our medical bills. To do this, I am offering original copies of my own work. 

So far, I've painted sixteen landscapes which were copied from one of my paintings that my parents own, and the sixteen paintings of oranges and apples are copied from  one of my paintings that some dear friends of ours own. These paintings are all 10" x 10" oil on board (plywood). There are twenty of the path with crepe myrtles painting, eleven of which are 10"x10", and nine of which are 8" x 10". (Don't remember who owns the original painting of this.) 

For a donation of $1 per square inch, you get an original piece of art created by yours truly (win) and the Amazing Reese and I are blessed by your donation which goes toward the deficit in our budget created by breast cancer related medical expenses (win). That means a 10" x 10" painting is a donation of $100 and an 8" x 10" painting is a donation of $80. (and so on -- I have some 6" x 8" = $48, 5" x 7"= $35, and 4" x 6" = $24 paintings in the works - coming soon.) 

To create an assembly line of paintings is not an original idea. In the fall of 1998, Rice Gallery brought artist Stephen Keene to Houston for a show/exhibit. Keene created an assembly line of plywood surfaces and would then paint the same stroke on each board over and over, until an entire work of the same painting was created multiple times. It was a fascinating exhibit, to this day, one of my favorite exhibits of all, not because it was "fine" art, but because it was accessible. 

Of special mention for this art fundraiser project is Art Supply on Almeda -- they very generously donated almost half of my art replenishing supplies. I'm ever so grateful. 

Please feel free to share this post and/or another prayer on my behalf. Thank you!

Edit -- My cousin graciously started a GoFundMe if you'd like to contribute there. 

Or PayPal me at Sarah at Sarah Hazel dot com

For the younger generation, Venmo is @SarahMillsHazel

When Cousins Meet

One of my absolute favorite things about being alive is enjoying the profound beauty of otherwise ordinary moments. This was one of those moments for me -- two little (2nd) cousins meeting for the first time. 

It's been a good long while since I've seen any of my cousins, except for Cousin Tricia, who came to see me when I was going through radiation treatments a couple of years ago, but other than that, it's been a while. My dad's family is from North Carolina, and when I was growing up, we'd travel from Mississippi to see Grammaw and Grandpaw Mills in Concord. While there, the cousins all gathered at our grandparents' house for hours of play, especially hide and seek, and tag. When I was in high school, my parents moved us miles and an ocean away, and summer trips to North Carolina became a thing of the past. 

Thanks to social media, I've reconnected with some of my cousins, one of whom (Betsy!) recently apologized for biting me when we were about this age. (How else is a three year old expected to resolve conflict? Biting is a simple, effective way to communicate displeasure over whatever the offense might be, especially if one is three.) I don't remember being bitten by Betsy, or anyone else for that matter. But, I do remember being smitten -- smitten with affection for my cousins. #cousins4eva.

This painting is 24" x 30" oil on linen. 

 

Happy Our Time

After a prolonged breast cancer induced hiatus from painting, it's exciting to be back in the studio, and consequently, catching up on projects that have remained dormant for too many years. That my mind, body, and soul are all in agreement that painting is what I should be doing with my time these days is nothing short of a miracle -- to me, at least.

This is another project that has been on hold for a few years. It was incredibly complicated. At first I painted it free hand, but finally had to get out a ruler to help with all of the straight lines of the porch railing.

It's 18" x 24" oil on canvas.

The Next Move

The Next Move, 18" x 27", oil on wood

Full of gratitude for this second chance at life, and keenly aware of not wasting time, gifts, or talents, I'm working working working on projects that have been on the back burner for a while. This return to health (for me) includes standing at the easel for extended periods of time to paint. The Next Move is what I worked on last week.

Another thing that a return to health (for me) includes is running....and Daisy. The newest member of our family and great running partner is a sweet, spunky standard poodle named Daisy. She's a fun little dog with almost endless energy and enthusiasm. Taking her on daily walks/runs is an integral part of my overall fitness, tremendously enhancing my physical, mental, and emotional health. God bless Daisy. (Instagram and twitter followers have already met Daisy.)

photo by Nash Baker

 This is me actively pursuing health. I can't do everything, but I'm doing everything I can.

Girl and Bunny

Trying to get back in the swing of things with regard to painting -- working through my available art supplies and using old photos I've kept on hand (for years, in this case) for inspiration. This is a 9" x 12" oil on linen.

Girl and Bunny

Man in a Red Shirt

Painting this was a happy struggle. The happy because I'm so grateful to be back in the art studio. The struggle because my body and soul ostensibly took the same beating from breast cancer, and I honestly wasn't sure if either my body or soul could handle the work required to paint. (Both can!)

It is always a boost of confidence when a loved one likes the portrait of their loved one. I'm pleased to say that is the case here.

This is a 20" x 24" oil on linen.

Dear Art Studio,

Dear Art Studio,

Thank you for patiently waiting while I focused all of my energy these past three years on the pursuit of living through a breast cancer diagnosis. During that overwhelming time, instead of being a refuge for creativity and artistic expression, you became a dumping ground for the endless amounts of cancer paperwork and medical bills. That must have been hard for you, but you accepted the change without complaint. Thank you for that.

Most days, I didn't even have the strength to stand at the easel, much less the mental acuity to focus on the process of painting. All of that is about to change.

I'm excited to announce that I'm organizing the medical paperwork and clearing out the mess, and preparing to paint again! Even though chemotherapy seems to have forever, or at least so far, damaged the sharpness of my thought processes, I have had a lot of time to think, and consequently, have some new ideas of what to put on canvas.

Soon, we'll listen to classical music and podcasts and create beauty together. I'm extremely grateful for this second chance at living, and look forward to your part in helping me transition back into the life of a thriving artist.

Thank you, again, for being silently affirming and supportive, and a reminder of what once was and can now be. Let's get busy!

Love,
Sarah

Sew What

6th and final (?) surgery - January 29, 2020

Back in February, barely a week after my last breast reconstruction (revision) surgery, I was invited to attend a trip to Rome in late April with a group of breast cancer survivors through the organization, Send Me On Vacation. With the generosity of those of you who supported this trip by buying a painting, I bought my plane ticket before the scope of the corona virus epidemic was fully understood. Without delving into the minutia of the timetable of plane rerouting again and again, and eventual cancellations, the trip was officially postponed until October. Again, minutia, but at this point though I've agreed to go on the trip in October, I've not yet bought my plane ticket, in large part because the ticket price is considerably more expensive, but also, with KLM I got a ticket voucher, not a refund, so I'm limited in purchasing options, and who knows what is going to transpire in the coming months?

Before the trip was postponed, I was preparing as if I would be going to Italy by, in particular, walking and sewing. Getting back in shape after each of the medical assaults on my body over the 2.5 years of chemotherapy, radiation, and six surgeries has been rather difficult. So I knew that if I was going to walk all over Rome, I'd need to step up, so to speak, a work out routine. Many of you know that a very long time ago, I was a competitive runner, which means that my go-to exercise of choice is running. With the aforementioned accumulation of medical procedures added to age, at best, what I do is wogging -- a combination of walking and jogging. It is what it is. 

In early/mid March, I got an undetermined sickness that had many similarities with Covid 19 -- fever, loss of smell and taste, blue splotchy feet and hands, small rash on the back of my leg, and more recently, hot itchy feet and sore pinky toe, but because I hadn't traveled to China, wasn't tested for the corona virus. I was tested for strep, flu, and x-rayed for pneumonia -- all results were negative. The Amazing Reese and I went to get an antibody test, and though I had a faint line that suggested I had been exposed to the virus, the conclusion was that we tested negative for antibodies.

Getting pricked for corona virus antibodies a second time because the first test was inconclusive. 

One thing I'm not is a great seamstress. I am big on ideas and enthusiasm and have been slowly attempting to reconfigure some of my clothes to adjust them to fit this torn apart and put back together body of mine so that I can look cute and feel cute when and if I eventually go to Rome....or anywhere. In this instance, frugality + desperation + time = creativity.

This was a small silk robe that no longer covered me properly, but I loved it so found a kimono at the resale shop and cut it up to add both length and width to the robe. Now, it's both cute and modest. Hat tip to Lacey Crawford for inspiring the idea. The ever Amazing Reese said the old lady house slippers had to go. 🙂 (I saved the pom poms for an upcoming project.)

This was a very cute sweater that I didn't feel confident in because the deep indention in my armpit area where my lymph nodes were removed showed. I actually took this one to the tailor and she added the silk sleeves for me and voila -- it's dreamy and covers my armpit area completely. 

This shirt I totally built from scratch -- no pattern, just a strip of fabric. I sort of copied one of my shirts, but turns out I didn't have enough fabric to do exactly what I had envisioned, so I improvised. If you see me in person wearing this, don't look too closely at the seams. It's a blue eyelet jersey fabric. 

The worldwide corona virus self isolating quarantine is not that different from how I've been living since starting chemotherapy back in 2017. Self isolation is hard, but why would I go through all the work of surviving breast cancer only to disregard the world's health experts? I've always been a team player, and to support Team World, I'm happy to wear a mask in public, sewn by our daughter, Anna.

Expect a hug from me two weeks after the end of worldwide quarantine restrictions.

Happy hour six feet apart on the front porch drinking wine through a straw with maker Anna in the background. Under the mask, I'm smiling. 

A Roman Holiday

Last September, I submitted a 26 page application for a Send Me On Vacation vacation for breast cancer survivors. Send Me On Vacation (from their website) provides breast cancer survivors the opportunity to initiate the process of emotional healing through a one of a kind vacation experience. They empower survivors to reconnect with their mind, body, and spirit. The organization's mantra of overcoming fear and fostering emotional fitness post treatment is supported by the concept of vacation rejuvenation transformation (which) helps subdue the fear that is often associated with surviving the effects of breast cancer treatment. Supporting emotional fitness is a critical first step in the recovery from the devastating effects cancer leaves behind.

The website for Send Me On Vacation clearly stated that just because you apply for a vacation, it doesn't necessarily mean you will be granted one. Since it had been five months since my application was submitted, I figured that meant that I didn't get it. But last week, an email arrived inviting me to attend a  Revive and Thrive vacation in Rome (Italy, not Texas) in late April of this year! (It's going to be my first trip to Europe.)

Part of the agreement with Send Me On Vacation is that I am responsible for my own transportation costs from my home to the destination hotel and back. Since the Amazing Reese and I are not frequent travelers by any stretch of the imagination and don't have a credit card for mileage points,  I'm asking around for suggestions/advice on how to buy an affordable plane ticket without getting scammed. (So far, I've looked at Kayak and Google  search for flights.)

In order to fund this journey, I am making these paintings available for sale for a limited time at $100 each. The tulips and the man on the green sofa are oil on linen but the others are all oil on board. The squares are approximately 16" x 16".

Below, the Sarah Hazel Personal Story is my 300 words or less Send Me On Vacation application essay. As I re-read it months later, it feels overwhelming and desperate. Much of this breast cancer journey has felt like that. I've cried more in the time since my breast cancer diagnosis than if you add up all the tears from my whole life before diagnosis.

BUT.......

Through a great program called the Flatwater Foundation, I've found an amazing psychotherapist, and, starting last October, we talk once a week via video therapy. (From their website,) Flatwater Foundation is dedicated to providing those diagnosed with cancer, their families and loved ones access to mental health therapy and family support. This includes access to both traditional and non-traditional methods of psychological counseling.  

My therapist has really helped/is really helping me with the process of emotional healing from breast cancer. It's been amazing to see the transformation in a few months from abject terror at getting my blood drawn to one of mild-ish concern. I'm so grateful that this therapy is helping guide me through the fear back to a place of calm. We've got more work to do, but I'm getting there.

The last of my breast reconstruction surgeries was two weeks ago. Everything looks good and is healing well. About three or so more office visits to the plastic surgeon to finalize the noobs and I'll be all done! Whew!

Sarah Hazel
Personal Story
September 2019

It took me about a year after I first noticed a lump in my breast, and then my armpit to finally get a mammogram. When you are hustling several jobs to help pay the mortgage so you don't lose the house, there's not a good time, or money, honestly, to schedule a doctor appointment. When I finally scheduled the appointment, and subsequent biopsies, because it was summer and the beginning of a holiday week, the results came back before I actually got a call from the doctor explaining them. Over and over the inanimate results screamed from the page, "associated with a relatively unfavorable outcome". Within a month I was sitting in an infusion chair being pumped full of chemicals to kill the cancer growing in my breast and lymph nodes. 

What no one tells you when you are diagnosed with breast cancer is how betrayed you feel by your own body. The scars where they removed my breasts aren't my only scars. The mental and emotional toll of these last two years has been relentless. My beautiful breasts (may they rest in peace) tried to kill me. If I'm being completely honest, they did a little bit. I'm broken -- mentally, physically, emotionally -- my spirituality got a beat down, too. It's all been so overwhelming. 

But, I'm desperate not to be "broken" forever. To that end, I'm currently enrolled in a twelve week Livestrong program at the YMCA, working to improve my physical health. I'm in the process of trying to find the right therapist to help me process my fragile mental state. And I firmly believe that a vacation will give my emotional state a chance to breathe deeply, love wholly, and laugh freely once again. Please grant me a Send Me On Vacation, Inc. vacation with my precious husband.

A final note -- the Amazing Reese will not be joining me on this trip. It is only for breast cancer survivors.

Chemotherapy Self Portrait

I'm happy to announce that my painting, Chemotherapy Self Portrait, was accepted into the Eleventh Annual Juried Exhibition at Archway Gallery.

It's a very vulnerable painting to present, but here it is for all to see. For my thoughts on painting it, when I was in the midst of the nastiness of chemotherapy a year and a half ago, click here. Also of note, this week is the one year mark since the end of all infusions. That was a rough patch. And next week will hopefully be my last surgery to put me back together. I can see glimpses of light at the end of the tunnel.

The opening reception is this coming Saturday, July 6th, from 5 - 8 pm.

In Between Stops

There have been so many stops and starts to "living" while undergoing breast cancer treatment and the ensuing reconstructive surgeries, that painting and other creative endeavors in life have taken the furthest seat at the back of the bus. All of my focus -- mental, physical, emotional, even spiritual was spent just trying to be as healthy (alive) as I could before and after every new milestone. Just get to the end of chemotherapy. Just get through the mastectomies surgery. Get through radiation. Get through reconstruction surgery. Get through 2nd reconstruction surgery. Even now, I'm focused on being as ready as possible before my 3rd reconstructive surgery in mid July. It will be 2 years at the end of this July of put on the brakes, put on the brakes, accelerate a little bit and live a little, put on the brakes, accelerate, put on the brakes, live a little, brake....it really messes with your head.

Something I've known about myself for a while is that I generally can do only one thing well at a time. Once upon a time when I was a fancy runner, all of my focus went toward running faster and faster. Then, when getting our yard and garden into shape, I perpetually had twigs in my hair, dreamed about plants, and literally had a green thumb. And then, a dear friend invited me to take a painting class with her and lo and behold, life had me taking an unexpected turn. With gobs of encouragement and new art supplies from the Amazing Reese, I embarked on a painting journey that has been incredibly rewarding and satisfying. So much so that over the years, people have found ways to compensate me for a painting. Even commissioned me! But, it's been a good long while since I've been in the studio, other than to file and organize endless amounts of cancer paperwork, and do I even know how to paint anymore? Did chemotherapy kill all of my creative brain cells along with killing cancer cells? (Hopefully killing ALL cancer cells though I won't be officially declared cancer free until a full ten years has passed. One year down, nine to go.)

So, between surgeries, only somewhat ready, and terribly apprehensive, back in the studio I went to work on (drum roll, please) a commission! After the initial sketch, it took several weeks of nerves, doubts, and stalling (self sabotage) before I fully mustered up the courage to put actual paint to canvas. It was humbling/exhilarating to once again be immersed in the process of painting -- connecting me to a creative, confident aspect of my psyche that has lain dormant for so long.

Thank you, dear patron, for believing in my abilities as an artist. It's an incredible blessing. This painting is 16" x 20" oil on linen and was a pleasure to paint.

(Want a painting of your loved one? Commission me -- we have medical bills to pay.)

Black Friday

It is with deep sadness that I report that our sweet Tilly the Wonder dog passed away this morning. It was very sudden. She will be sorely missed.

Greener Grass

There is no fence to balance on with a breast cancer diagnosis. Since July 2017, the "greener grass" side of treatment has required heavy doses of herbicide (chemotherapy) to kill the weeds (cancer cells), aggressive pruning (surgery/mastectomies), additional weeding (radiation), all before replanting and grafting new branches in a carefully pruned garden (reconstruction surgery).

From my limited knowledge and vantage point, the replanting and grafting part of my breast reconstruction surgery is progressing nicely. I've followed all of the doctor's strict orders, and hopefully will reap the harvest of an extended, healthy lifetime. (Doctor's orders included staying inside for weeks on end and sleeping in a recliner.) Just last week I was able to sleep in a bed for the first time since surgery (yeehaw!) and with my new found freedom of being allowed outside, I'm slowly emerging from a cocoon of inactivity and enjoying small walks (around the block) with the Amazing Reese and Tilly the Wonder dog.

This side of the fence is definitely greener, especially considering that the alternative was death. Many thanks to the team of professionals who have kept me alive and soon-to-be flourishing -- dozens and dozens of people who have worked and are working together on my behalf. It's so wonderful to be pruned, grafted, and replanted in a verdant, green garden in this great big world!