The Neighbor

The Neighbor

As I've been cleaning house and going through old files and documents, emails and photos,  I rediscovered this photo taken at a friend's wedding over 10 years ago, which had been saved to use for a painting some day. Our friends have three kids now and a middle schooler to boot, so it's safe to say that this painting has been sitting on the back burner for a while. Honestly, this would never have come to fruition had I not been going through dusty old files and throwing things away left and right. 

It's 14" x 18", oil on linen.

Recalled to Life (!!!)

It is with great pleasure and delight that I officially repeat what my oncologist said at my appointment earlier this week. Without going into the nitty gritty, after initial pleasantries, she said, "It's been five years and your cancer hasn't returned. You're cured." I was like, "What?" (Did I hear her right?) She then explained that with my type of cancer, HER2 positive, if it hasn't returned within the first five years, that there's a 99.9% chance that it will never come back. She then pointed out that it has been five years (as if I didn't remember - ha!), and that for all intents and purposes, even though they can never say 100%, she repeated that 99.9% is pretty good odds, and therefore, "You're cured!" 

Amen! Halleluiah!

As the oncologist was leaving the exam room, I shouted, "I'm alive!", to which she quickly replied as she turned around at the doorway, with a smile on her face, "and thriving!" Then she came back into the room, gave me a big hug, and said, "You're a different person than you were five years ago. I've seen you grow a lot. I'm really proud of you. Congratulations." 

Me: 🙂

(Shout out to my therapist for helping me learn how to deal with the trauma associated with a breast cancer diagnosis.)

After my appointment, I told everyone at the grocery store -- "I'm cured!" All week long, coming and going, out and about, I tell people, "I'm cured! I'm cured!" There are smiles, congratulations, and high fives galore -- all over the city. 

It has been a long five years, full of hardship and pain. Just this week, saying "I'm cured" out loud, everywhere, all the time, even at home to the dog, ("I'm cured, Daisy!") is further helping to change my psyche back from a place of uncertainty, to one of peace. Words are so powerful!

As we enter this season of Thanksgiving and holiday (and my 59th birthday) celebrations, may I be so bold as to ask y'all to offer a prayer of thanksgiving on my behalf, as I celebrate being cured and "recalled to life". 

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Remembering Last Summer

Sailing in Terherne, oil on linen, 24" x 36"

The Amazing Reese and I had an adventure last summer -- to the Netherlands and France! (It was our first time in Europe.) We were completely charmed by the old world, welcomed with open arms by everyone, and found friends on every corner. We toured museums and churches, ate like locals, and walked everywhere. At the tail end of our trip, we stayed a few nights at our friend's sister's home in the Friesland province of the Netherlands, which is where this painting gets its inspiration. It's a wonderful place and I'm ever so grateful that we got to go there. 

This painting was a bit of a struggle to complete -- it was very complicated to do. The light is somehow subdued and brilliant at the same time that far north, and, well, different from what I'm used to painting here in Texas. It was on and off my easel for months as I tried this and that to get it just right. It's always a good day when the people for whom the place is significant actually like the painting, and I'm happy to report that that is the case here. 

 

Never Give Up

The phrase "never give up" always reminds me of the movie Galaxy Quest. The title character in the film, who is a parody (homage?) of Captain Kirk in Star Trek and played with great enthusiasm by Tim Allen, when faced with seemingly insurmountable odds in the quest to save the galaxy from destroyers of the universe, often in the form of space aliens, always uses the catchphrase, "never give up -- never surrender". What is more invasive (insurmountable odds) to the human body (our personal galaxy) than treacherous (space alien) cancer cells? May we all be reminded to never give up -- never surrender! 

The magic five year cancer free mark is coming up for me in December! (After that I only have to see my oncologist once a year until I get to the ten year cancer free mark.) In spite of the struggle, I'm grateful every single day to still be alive. Never give up! Never surrender! 

Now, to the announcement -- in conjunction with October being breast cancer awareness month, Chemotherapy Self Portrait was selected for and included in an online group exhibition called Cancer: Never Give Up 2022 with Gallerium Art. Also, this is probably the last time I will submit this work for exhibition because it's such a vulnerable piece. 

Here's a link to my artist profile affiliated with the exhibit. 

One Week Later.....Still Processing....and Fangirling

Alison de Lima Greene, me, and Three Girls 

Meeting Alison de Lima Green, the Curator for Modern and Contemporary Art at Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, and the juror of the VAA Open Exhibition, titled "Other Stories About Who We Are" was a transformative event for me. Not only did she select my work for the exhibit, we had a delightful, albeit brief conversation at the opening reception. It was a brief conversation because, even though the art was the star of the show, everyone there knew that the real star was Alison de Lima Greene, and everyone wanted to talk to her. She made it a point to meet all of the artists in attendance, for which I was grateful. Admittedly, I'm fangirling here -- the opportunity of having her see my work was the only reason I entered the show. That she selected it -- priceless! AND, her juror remarks were so eloquent and well said -- if only someone had recorded it! (Maybe they did -- anyone?) 

In her juror statement in the printed exhibition pamphlet, she says that the works in the exhibition were "chosen for their visual wit, their emotional engagement, and that almost ineffable quality of being able to capture and trigger one's imagination." (!!!!!)

As the night was coming to a close, and she was getting ready to leave, I realized that I didn't have a photo with her, and she graciously acquiesced to the above photo, even "curating" the photo by directing the photographer (daughter Anna) on where to position the camera angle to get the best shot. She's a genius. 

Sigh. Maybe someday we'll be friends. (Alison -- want to grab a coffee sometime?)

Another moment of fangirling -- on an Instagram post where I had posted a photo of the painting and was (excitedly) making an announcement that it was selected by Alison de Lima Greene, artist Marta Chilindron "liked" it. For y'all who don't know, Marta Chilindron is a big deal. She is a sculptor with works in museums across the country and world, including a piece in the new Kinder building at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. And she "liked" my post! Eeeeee!

Sigh. Maybe someday we'll be friends. (Marta -- want to grab a coffee the next time you're in Houston? I'd love to meet you.)

With Natalie at the #Obamaportraitstour

Lastly, over the weekend, my museum buddy friend Natalie and I went to see "The Obama Portraits Tour" at the MFAH. The two portraits are absolutely riveting -- an extremely well written Paper City article by Leslie Loddeke, in which she explains the symbolism and significance of the portraits, commissioned by Smithsonian Institution's National Portrait Gallery is here. It's well worth the read.

Afterwards, Natalie and I really did grab a coffee (and tea) and have a chat, because we ARE friends. Sigh. Good times. 

The Three Graces

It is my pleasure to announce that Three Girls, or The Three Graces was selected by Juror Alison de Lima Greene, the Isabel Brown Wilson Curator of Modern and Contemporary Art at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, for inclusion in Visual Arts Alliance 38th Juried Open Exhibition. Word on the street is that she only selected 10% of the work submitted for the show, only 50 pieces (!), so, understandably, I was overcome with emotion when receiving the news, and admittedly, choked back a few tears upon hearing it. 

Three Girls, aka The Three Graces, oil on linen, 24" x 36"

It takes a long time for oil paints to really dry, and watching this one settle into what it is becoming has been a delight. It's truly wonderful to see it in person, and to that end, I encourage all of you in the Houston area to see it in person at Sabine Street Studios from May 9th - June 11th. 

Mark your calendars -- the opening reception for the show will be May 18th from 6-9pm. (Juror remarks are usually around 7.) The Amazing Reese and I will be at the opening reception and would be delighted to see you all -- Sabine Street Studios -- 1907 Sabine Street, Houston, Texas, 77007.

Youthful Beauty

16" x 20", oil on linen

A dear friend shared a photo of her daughter with me, that the daughter's friend had taken, and said that she envisioned the image as a painting. From one, to another, to a mother, and to me - so many people sharing in the beauty of a simple, captured moment. 

Work began, and as the painting progressed, it became increasingly obvious that something was "off". It was not without calculations and finagling and tweaking of the vanishing point, which the Amazing Reese helped me accomplish by stretching a piece of thread across the canvas, that the painting finally started coming together. 

Finding the vanishing point with a piece of thread

Painting is a mystery. How is it possible to take an idea or an image and convert it to a flat surface? Though I've spent years painting and creating, the finished product still overwhelms me with wonder. 

P.S. I've known the young lady in the painting her entire life -- literally -- even to the point of being in the delivery room when she was born! 

 

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.