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Sean At 18 We don’t have many pictures of him |
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Autumn Visit |
Joy Murray
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Sean At 18 We don’t have many pictures of him |
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Autumn Visit |
I’m still somewhat in a daze after the death of my mother. The veil between life on earth and the afterlife still seems thin. It’s a time of growth, contemplation and reconnection. So much love is available to me through my friends and family that I am unable to write clearly about it. I spent a week in Memphis where I’m from and where my mom spent her entire life. Everything flowed together like a golden river — grief, affirmation, and growth.
I got back home to Portland, Or, the day before Valentine’s day, which is my wedding anniversary — 3 years and still on our honeymoon. My husband was so great — he had vacuumed and cleaned the apartment, bought flowers and made himself available to my every need. We had a subdued celebration of our love with moments spent honoring my mother.
It happens that the Portland Jazz Festival occurs in February, so we went to see an interview/masterclass with pianist Barry Harris last night. I sketched while he talked and realized it’d been almost 2 weeks since I’d done any drawings from life.
I decided to post this sketch of Mr Harris for Paint Party Friday as my work in progress — my sketchbook, which will never be more than a work in progress.
Mr. Harris is 84 now, slightly stooped from age, but exudes an ephemeral strength. He’s a kind and forthright teacher, with a great love of jazz. He said it hurts him when he goes to other countries and sees musicians that sound better than Americans — “Jazz is our music.” We should always be the best — this was his way of urging students to practice, practice and learn the standards. He was very clear that musicians, even if they weren’t accompanying a singer, should know the lyrics so they know more meanings of the songs.
I usually don’t post my quick sketches of people because I worry that I don’t capture them accurately. But this week I am not so much concerned with accuracy as I am with energy, and in this pencil sketch, I like the energy. Barry Harris has such elegant hands but they look rough in this sketch because he moved them all the time, as if he was plucking music and meaning out of the air. I hope I captured that energy.
I didn’t get my favorite quote on this sketch:
“The diminished scale is the world.”
In the diminished scale the music is more alive — that was such a good thing to hear when my life seems diminished by a loss and yet more lyrical for having honored that loss.
Let me know what you think.
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Barry Harris – The diminished scale IS the world |
Go to Paint Party Friday for links to a whole world of art created in the past week.
I got some encouragement from friends to post the following pages from my most recent journal. They sort of map some moods and also different ways of using a journal.
This was done in pencil, which is why it’s a little hard to reproduce.
“Wanted to draw something hard and sensuous to honor those parts of me that have hardened because of grief and loss. I imagined traveling to a cemetery or city park — but I can’t get around. No car, limited mobility and many other things to do. I settled for this white clay swan of Jim’s. It’s heavy and hard. The wings are impressed with feather markings and tiny impressions cover the feathered body. The drawing makes it look grey but it’s white w/an orange beak, black marking and brown glassy eye. One chip on the wing tip.
Later, Jim, my husband, told me this an icon swan, one he bought for his late wife Kathleen, as a symbol of someone able “to extract pure essence fro the adulterated mixture.” The swan is pure beauty although it feeds on dubious food. He got that image from Thomas Merton. Kathleen, a family mediator in divorce cases, was able to help really dysfunctional families see the essence of families — the kids, the love, the actions that will have effect 50 years from now.
So I didn’t have to leave home to find what I’d wanted to find in cemetery — a hard graceful image of the beauty of loss.”
If you are subject to depression, you know that those first days after the depression lifts, you come up with the most fantastic ideas about what you can achieve. I’ve learned to write them down instead of actually pursuing them:
“Post Depression Flights of Fancy:
I decided if I ever got pet it should be a big multi-colored parrot. Then I want to teach it to sing one of my favorite soul songs — maybe ‘It’s Alright’ or ‘Always and Forever.’
I saw posters for readings and performances at the library and actually started to sign up or start making plans to go them (but didn’t)
Also, I figure when I sell my book (as yet unwritten), I’ll buy the house across the street and have a studio there. Maybe I’ll train the parrot to bark like a guard dog.”
By the time I finished drawing the parrot I figure I could train the parrot to sing my top ten favorite soul songs. Then I watched the Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill and decided I couldn’t cage a parrot — unless it was disabled — hmmm.
This last entry was from a relatively normal day mood wise. I got the newsletter from the Women’s Caucus for Art and it had a wonderful photograph of an Indian girl in dance regalia, so I pasted in my journal. Unfortunately, I forgot to write down the name of the photographer, so if anyone out there knows, let me know. I did a quick painting with ink gouache and watercolor pencils. I loved the festive color and melancholy expression — and how much she looked like a bird that needs to fly away soon.
Here is my year 2012 in journals:
Eight 9×12″ journals, and 7 portable Moleskines. I learned a lot about myself, writing and drawing. Did I produce anything of merit? Only time will tell. But the time spent on them helped me fly steadily through the year.
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He said, “Patti and I shared so much over the twenty-four years we were together: her paraplegia, raising our son, lots of adventure, laughs, and love. When she died in a horrible accident, I had to face a completely new life and approach it day by day. A Kiss Before You Go is an illustrated record of our years together and my first year alone. It covers sad events but ultimately it’s a book about loving and living, about beauty in its many shades.”