Beloved Memphis Artist Frankd Robinson will be leading workshops this Saturday, Earth Day, April 22, at the West Tennessee Spring Conference of the Tennessee Art Education Association. It’s an all day event that takes place at the Memphis Museum of Science and History (MOSH), or the Pink Palace, as it was formerly named. You can find out more about Mr. Robinson on this post, or google his name for more information.
The conference is part of the River Arts Fest and will be from 8:30 a.m. til 3:45 (Conference starts at 9, but there will be coffee and snacks at 8:30). Workshops will include:
“Turning Recyclables into Classroom Jewels for Artmaking with Frank D. Robinson: Bring your bag of trash, trinkets and whatnots that you want to turn into jewels for your Portrait/Collage ArtWork.
Bring Magic to Your Art Instruction with Tech with Tambe Howlet
Digging Deep Observational Drawing in the Science Museum – The Natural History Galleries in the Museum are full of delights! Captivating collections of native animals and insects abound, as well as full scale replicas of dinosaurs! During this workshop, we will immerse ourselves in drawing from our choice of stunning Still-Lifes in the galleries. Bring your favorite drawing tools – paper and boards will be provided!”
All the details can be found here at the TAEA website. There is a very reasonable fee and an option for a food truck lunch or to bring your own brown bag lunch.
I contacted them and they are still taking registrations, though they are filling up fast. When you register, you’re required to give the name of a school and district. I put in Murray Art School and Midtown Adult District. It took my registration then, so try it. There are email contacts listed if you have problems with registration and they were very quick in responding with information.
It seems like it’ll be a great way to celebrate Earth Day, creative recycling, and art. I hope to see you there.
Trust Your Struggle by Frankd Robinson
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I hope you find comfort and rejuvenation as the spring continues to resurrect life all around us. Let’s work to cultivate compassion and cooperation as we go through the hard trials of life.
I Saw Delight, watercolor, 2016, Joy Murray
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Thanks for reading my blog. Feel free to share it, if you’d like.
This blog is brought to you by the generosity of people who support me on Patreon , buy my art, and who support me in so many different ways.
If you’d like to make a one time donation, you can do so at paypal
Cards and prints on some of my art is available on Redbubble.
You can subscribe to this blog by email in the link below this post.
If you find a typo, let me know, and I’ll send you a postcard.
Storm season here in the midsouth has been especially devastating and tragic this year. This morning I read there are more storms on the way, but today, and yesterday, were lovely days.
Often I wonder what to write on this blog with so much destruction and chaos going on in this world. The compulsion is still here to write. This morning I woke up thinking about the calm between storms. And the importance of rituals when disasters, or even small upsets, happen. My most common ritualistic gesture is to touch whatever pendant I’m wearing and try to stay grounded. I’m here now, and mostly okay. I most often wear a turtle, a heart, and various stones as necklaces. It’s a small gesture that draws no attention but calms me.
After the tornado in Rolling Fork, Mississippi, and before the ones that hit practically every where in the Mid-South, I went outside to discover that the magnolia tree that lived next door to me was being cut down. They’d already removed half of it by the time I saw what was going on.
My driveway was blocked by the tree removal truck.
Normally the sky would be blocked by the extended limbs of the magnolia. The light is different now. They were a quick and efficient tree service. By the end of the day, the tree was gone. I wished I’d taken more pictures of it, especially the root structure, and the V-split where the tree divided into huge trunks.
A limb had fallen from the tree during a winter ice storm and did some damage to the apartment building next door. But it wasn’t an unhealthy tree. If it had been better maintained, and pruned back, it probably would have lived decades longer. I estimate it was somewhere between 100 and 200 years old.
One of the things I love about magnolias (I love everything about them) is that their branches dip low, so even from my wheelchair I can commune with it. Their leaves are evergreen, a deep smooth green, with fuzzy backs, so they are a tactile pleasure. Pods are intriguing, flowers are fragrant and stunning. Here are some random shots I’ve taken from my wheelchair.
At the end of the day, the tree was no more than a stump.
I figured the stump would be like a marker for the tree. It’s roots might live, and when the world becomes a forest again, then it’d come back to life.
The next day the stump was gone.
A friend offered to do a more formal ritual with me, to mark the loss of the tree. So we did.
We made a wreath and in the center placed a little vase of azaleas and a hawk feaather.
My son gave me some glow in the dark Kodama, Japanese tree spirits, and I put them on the magnolia trunk
We gave thanks for all the beauty the tree had given us, for the shade, for the home it made for many creatures that nested and lived in its bounty. We talked about the lives of trees, of the blessing of urban trees.
Kathleen helped with all the parts of the ritual I couldn’t manage. She, too, had enjoyed it’s shade and seeing the birds that nested in its strong long arms.
We tried to count tree rings and marveled at what must have taken place in the city around it as it grew and grew.
I understand that dangerous trees must be removed, and that a city block isn’t a forest. There’s just something in me that aches when a favorite tree is lost. I spend a lot of time walking/wheeling around the city, since I don’t drive. Certain trees, plants and even houses and buildings, become touchstones, a map of things that are a relief from the dangers of traffic, potholes, and the constant alertness I have to maintain to stay safe as I travel.
I can’t imagine the fear and heartbreak tornadoes and other natural disasters do to people’s souls. Things are lost never to return. Our powerlessness is shown over and over, in small and enormous ways.
By the time we finished our little ritual for the tree, the wind had blown the wreath in different directions, the vase of flowers had fallen.
A few days later, coming home from the store in my wheelchair, I found the hawk feather stuck on the boards of the path to my ramp. I took it back home, put in a vase, and will keep as a little symbol of immortality, whatever that means.
I find solace in nature, and in art. It’s a good time of year for planting rituals, and for watching what was deadened by winter come back to life. I hope everyone stays safe out there.
I Buried My Blues and a Forest Grew by Joy Murray
From a sketchbook in 2012
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Thanks for reading my blog. Feel free to share it, if you’d like.
This blog is brought to you by the generosity of people who support me on Patreon , buy my art, and who support me in so many different ways.
If you’d like to make a one time donation, you can do so at paypal
Cards and prints on some of my art is available on Redbubble.
You can subscribe to this blog by email in the link below this post.
If you find a typo, let me know, and I’ll send you a postcard.
Gwenn Seemel, French and American artist, who is one of my favorite artists, and also a mentor and friend, has been working on a series of paintings on mental health, called Everything’s Fine (Because Everything’s Not). While painting the series, she opened her studio online on the Twitch.tv platform. I got to watch her creative process for these paintings and also get some encouragement for my own mental health problems. Here is her introduction to the series and plans for how to make the paintings available as a boost to anyone who needs a mental health boost:
In 2022, while I struggling more than usual with depression, Gwenn and I were discussing self portraits. She asked if I’d ever had my portrait professionally painted. I’ve only had them done by kids and photographers. So she painted this from a photo I sent her, and it’s one of my treasures. I feared that displaying portraits of myself might seem vain, but what I discovered from this jewel was how uplifting it is to see myself smiling, to be represented by swirls of color and expressive lines. No matter how glum I am, when I see it, I smile at myself. If that’s vanity, then it’s delicious and healthy vanity. (Gwenn by the way paints many portraits with smiles, which I think is rare in the portrait world, and one of the reasons I love her work.)
joy murray art~stories~life 