Moses Botkin Challenge / October

"Adolescence" 8x6" oil on canvas

   

I've developed the rather immature habit of guessing the date lately. I was sure it was the 10th and I had a few days to finish the painting on the easel and get my challenge painting done. Checking the recorded programs on the DVR last night, I was stunned to see it was the 14th! Woops!

I couldn't blow it off, it's my first challenge painting since Tim left in February, plus the subject matter was my choice this month. The choice of what to paint is yet another part of my work that Tim helped me with.  Still reaching for the phone to ask his advice or mentally cataloging the questions I want to ask or the latest joke I want to share when he arrives home from work, but that's normal I guess. Anyway, I chose "Adolescence" but only because the previous theme had been "Childhood." Seemed a natural progression.

I had some lofty ideas. Wild but studied brush strokes evoking the perpetual angst of the young. Clearly that didn't happen. I gotta get out more and find some live models. Maybe even knock on my neighbor's doors. But, instead, rushed and not having a clue what to do I logged onto a stock photo site, typed in angst and purchased a photo that I thought might work. So what you see above is my interpretation of the photo I chose. Not what I had in mind, but at least it's done and I needed to know I could still paint quickly if needed. So, another milestone, I'm back in the challenge group. I think.

I fear I've pushed the limits of your patience with my many accounts of how cool Tim was/is or how deeply in love we were/are, so I'll just say that I'm feeling better. Days go by without a tear being shed which in turn creates guilt. The huge hole in my heart has at last produced what feels like a scab. Very frail though. A slight scratch, the tiniest tender touch and I fear I would hear it fall noisily to the ground and the tears and pain would again begin spewing out. But, it's a start. I'm smiling more and talking to him without that accusing tone in my voice. The "what-ifs" and "if-onlys" continue unabated, but I think at last that I'm beginning to accept, really accept, what is.

Thank you again for your caring thoughts and support.

And now, please enjoy the other members interpretations of "Adolescence."

"Tyler the Teenager"

14x18" Pastel

© V.N.Ross

 

Self Portrait 1968

18x27" oil on canvas

http://www.markadamsstudio.blogspot.com/ 

 "Soothing Break"

oil on hardboard 6x9"

©2012 Diana Moses Botkin

Happy Birthday My Love and a Commission Almost Done

16x20" oil on heavyweight canvas
SOLD Private Collection


The kids above are a commission I'm just finishing that I'm very grateful for. I got a call last August from a client who wanted a painting done of his kids for his wife's birthday. I wasn't feeling that focused but thought it would be a good opportunity to get back in the spirit of working again so I accepted it. And, as it turns out, it's just what the doctor ordered. Or as Tim said, through George, the medium..."get back to work, you think too much. It will be therapy for you and you know I'm right." And, as usual, even from a different plane, he was right...again. I used to hate when that happened.

I have some more work to do, but I'm thrilled with the canvas surface. I'm going to use this heavyweight surface for everything. There's just such a nice finish to the paint with it. I just heard from the client and he's happy, so that means I am too.

 Tomorrow is Timothy Berry's 45th birthday. Last year, when he turned 44, we as usual, didn't make a big deal. Who would have even guessed that it would be his last?

This was a Polaroid snap I took back in '93. We were all pimped out because we were on our way his folks house for Easter dinner. Our first outing as a couple at the 'rents place! I was nervous as hell but it turned out really well. They were very warm and welcoming and we enjoyed ourselves. He's simply perfect isn't he?

Such an incredible human being. So warm and giving. Such an amazing partner. I was so fortunate. I decided, just yesterday, that even if I knew it would end like it did, I wouldn't have changed a thing.

I'm feeling better. I miss him more than I can express but each morning and evening I talk to his portrait and kiss him good morning and good night. I feel a bit like Cloris Leachman in Young Frankenstien kissing "Wictor's" painting, but somehow I think he's there and he appreciates it. I know I do.

I've started awake more than a few times of late, sure that I'd open my eyes and see him standing there, at the side of the bed, smiling at me, telling me he loves me.  I'm grateful that there was nothing left unsaid. Nothing either of us needed to correct or change. It's strange but I realized that because of the way we appreciated each other, at any time we were prepared to be separated by death without any regret or longing to change what we said or did. I'm very grateful for that. We were always sure to express the love we felt, the appreciation for each others presence, for the things we did for each other, the things we said.

"I'd love you if you were a head on a plate!"

That was the most romantic thing he ever said to me and at the risk of being cheesy, we were always telling each other how much we cared. I'd been fretting about looking older, gaining weight, whatever and he just took my face in his hands, looked into my eyes and said that. I'll never forget it. What freedom! What joy! I wasn't relegated to being just the "wife," always looking my best. I was his best friend and he was mine. We trusted each other completely. There would never be a cross moment where a previously shared weakness would be attacked or pointed out. We felt completely and utterly safe with one another.  I consider myself most fortunate to have had that kind of relationship, even though it's no longer shared on the physical plane.

So again, thank you all so much for caring. I'm doing much better than I ever expected but that's because he's here. He's with us. Happy Birthday my love.

UNTITLED

30x30" pencil on heavyweight canvas

      


This guy’s expression about sums it up. He’s made an appearance in the past, but he was drawn on an 11x14” piece of paper. If size really matters, than my state of mind is rather obvious. And, I was curious to see what pencil would do on 30x30" heavy cotton canvas. Plus, again, I am trying to get back to work on some consistent basis, as clearly there have been more than a few false starts. I was so sure I would continue working when I posted the boys back in June.

But grief will have it's way with you. You think you've come to terms with it one day and the next you realize you haven't even accepted the possibility.

This experience is polarizing on so many levels (gee, suz...ya think?). Painting has clearly not been a priority. I’ve crawled into the pity pot to party far more often than I expected I would (arrogance). I’ve come to see that my pain isn’t special.  Each and every day I hear of some horrific loss or tragedy, both on the news and in my day to day, and it dawns that this is all part of life. And it sucks.

I’ve vacillated between feeling like the most fortunate woman on the planet because I got to spend twenty years with Timothy Francis Berry, to feeling like the victim of a cruel and vicious fate because we only had twenty years. I think I've reached the pissed off stage. I'm really pissed off, but this too shall pass.

When I realized, years ago, that death scared the bejesus outta me, I set out to make friends with it. Not an easy task. I read all manner of life-after-death books, specifically those written by a man named George Anderson. He was very popular at the time and based here on Long Island. I read some of his work while Tim and I were in our first bloom of love. I would relate everything I read to him—I was fascinated, he was sure I was crazy.

So, fast forward some eighteen years and my best friend and husband has had the very bad taste to die and leave me behind. Three months into my journey without him, I found I'd all but abandoned my cosmic muffin ways for the "real" world of grief and loss. It was dark, lonely and terrifying. If there was ever a time to embrace my belief in the metaphysical, this was it, so I thought it might be a good idea to make an appointment with the current popular Long Island medium who has a show on TLC. Logging on to her site I found she was booked for the next two years.


Well dude, I thought to himself, if you wanna chat you're gonna have to take care of how.


The next day I received a lovely email from a fellow artist I'd met online who had just found out about Tim's passing. In the email she shared a link to George Anderson saying I might find it helpful if I went to see him. I was stunned. I'd forgotten all about him! I immediately went to his site and was thrilled to be able to make an appointment on the 3rd month anniversary of Tim's leaving.

So yes, dear followers, there it is...I went to see a medium. Do with it what you will. I hesitated sharing this because as I've told this to some people I know, they blink and their blank unbelieving expression tells me that I've lost them. And they think they've lost me. I understand that reaction. This kind of thing isn't easy to hear no matter what your beliefs, but being in this position makes it very easy to try anything just to have a chance to "hear" from the one you've lost and miss so very, very much.


I won't share what I experienced, it's much too personal for even me, but I will say that when I went to a nearby diner immediately after my session to collect myself, I had no doubt whatsoever that Tim was sitting directly across from me.


This wasn't a desperate attempt on my part to make this marriage work from two different dimensions (although I'm sure it would and is) or to try to hold on to something that clearly isn't physically here any longer. It was more of a... "did I fail you and are you alright," kind of thing. I didn't and he's perfect.

Whatever your judgements about this, it's helped me more than anything I could possibly imagine. The portrait hanging on the bedroom wall is now comforting and inviting. I put the screen saver slide show of us and the pups together back on the computer and I talk to him constantly, even more than before. I have no doubt that, as George said, he's "come home, because this is where he was happiest."

I went ahead with renovations on the house despite feelings of doubt and fear and I can now say, unequivocally, that I did the right thing. Leaving everything like it was when Tim was here would not have been good for me. Now, I feel as if I'm building new memories of us in a different space instead of trying to resurrect the old ones in the same space.

Each day brings new doubts, fears and feelings of loss but at the same time there is the knowledge that something so honest and kind and loving couldn't just evaporate. I'm trying to get out of the house more. I've begun taking Tai Chi which isn't nearly as easy as it looks, but it's helping me to center myself and feel peaceful. I'm also taking guitar lessons and planning to renovate the den to make it an inviting light-filled, efficient studio, so painting is in my future plans.

As for this drawing, I just wanted to post so I did something that wouldn't take a lot of time. If I could put it into Photoshop I'd move the mouth over a tad to the right. Other than that, it was fun to be drawing again. It felt good. There's another painting of the boys on their morning walk on the easel and I have some commissions and a few donations paintings to do so the forced vaycay is definitely over.

I'd like to thank everyone for the emails, cards, gifts, calls and caring. When I say I cannot tell you how much they all mean, I'm not exaggerating one tiny bit.

The boys miss their daddy as much as I do, but they're full of life and are so much company.

I bought a silver box and had his initials engraved on the top. I put his wallet, some guitar pics, some favorite snaps of him, a lock of hair from back in the day, a lock of hair from his last haircut, and some personal things that he loved, along with notes I drop in from time to time.  It sits near this framed photo from one of our jam sessions with our friend Cliff in the living room.

I hope to be posting again soon and so appreciate your patience and kindnesses. Thank you over and over and over again from the bottom of my heart.

MORNING WALK

 48x36" oil on canvas

"I think a death, or a loss, of someone very close to you, does something to you that you can't get any other way."
                          Andrew Wyeth speaking about the loss of his father N.C. Wyeth


Clearly, I’m no Andrew Wyeth, that’s not my point. This quote could have come from anyone, it was just a nice happenstance that it emanated from the mind of an artist and particularly one that I worship. It meant so much more to me that way.

I watched "The Wyeth's: A Father and His Family" on the the Smithsonian Channel the other night. I was left with a deep sense of longing for a father like N.C. for one thing and an acute sense of how differently things look to me now that Tim is no longer a part of my physical life for another. That said, it occurred to me that this marriage really isn't over, it just exists on two different planes for the time being. That thought makes me smile.

As I mentioned in my last post, painting feels wonderful. I don't feel the need to apologize, agonize or do the "who me?..aw shucks" shuffle.  It is what it is and the results are what they are. They mean nothing in the scheme of things. Nothing is solved by a particularly good painting, nor is anything harmed by a particularly bad one. I'm still me. Tim's still gone. What difference does it make?

And, I want to continue honoring the memory of my very best friend in the world, however I don’t want each post to be a funeral march to the cadence of my lingering sorrow and grief. I don’t want visitors to my blog to be met with yet another installment of my deep sense of loss. I know that Tim wants me to work. He wants me to realize my potential and he wants me to be happy, and I don’t plan on disappointing him.

I began walking the boys two days after Tim passed. We have a rather sizable back yard and had grown far too comfortable just letting them out into the fenced expanse of space to play, do their business and get the exercise they needed. I felt walking was something we could all benefit from, so I bought two turquoise harnesses and began walking them three times a day.

The fresh air and exercise helps the three of us and we look forward to it every day that it doesn't rain. In the hushed silence of the morning, listening to the noises they make, watching their ears flopping up and down and their little cute bottoms sway as they walked, I couldn't help but think it might be a good idea to paint them doing just that, but from the leash point of view.

I bought the largest canvas I've worked on to date - 48x36" from Dick Blick (gotta love that name). Anyway, I've always used the Premier Gallery canvas for my work but decided to try the Premier Heavyweight cotton for the first time. I'm hooked. The paint just settles on the surface so nicely and the finished look is something I've longed for. Who knew?

I'll be taking the camera on our walks now and then and snap away until I get a shot I like. This one really hit that sweet spot inside and I couldn't wait to paint it. I thought I'd spend weeks doing the asphalt but actually spent only about 30 minutes splashing it on and just leaving some of the black painted surface of the canvas to explain the road texture. I have a few more details to iron out and some shadow and highlight to fix but that's about it.

I think Tim is pleased. With both the painting and my not putting all of my sense-of-self eggs into one ability-to-paint basket.

Thank you again for your caring, support, words of comfort and interest in my work. I'm very fortunate to have so many wonderful friends.

STEVE

8x8" oil on cradled hardboard

SOLD


First, I apologize. I had planned to go on as I usually did. Posting and then visiting other blogs and leaving comments. That never happened, clearly. Plus, forgive me for not thanking everyone for the wonderful and most welcomed comments left on the post of Neo. I seem to be making a lot of false starts these days.

I'm doing ok, I guess.  It's gotten worse though. The missing him. We were together every single day for 20 years, a good deal of that time 24/7. It's going to take some getting used to obviously. I cry a lot. At the most unexpected times. Something will trigger it and I'm off. It's called healing I'm told. Odd, but I now realize, once all of the visits, phone calls and cards fell away, I found myself asking the universe, like some lost little girl...can Tim come home now?

Conor, Tim's younger brother, and his lovely wife Sheila, came by to pick up his work for the memorial held at their mom's home. When he brought the work back, I was struck by one painting that I did of Tim over eight years ago. The reference was from a photo I took not long after we fell in love.  I felt drawn to the painting, almost as if he was flirting with me, somewhere, within the canvas, I felt he was watching. And after that strange event, I've been able to look at his image without dissolving into tears. It's wonderful to see him again.

It's ironic, but there is an upside to this ridiculous event. I call it ridiculous because I'm older. We were sure I'd go first. He would always say, 'you have to live to be 100, you know that, right?'

Anyway, I was talking about that upside. The first positive, if one could call it that, is that I'm noticing that I don't worry any more. About Tim at least. The siren sounding off, while he was on his way to or from work, doesn't make my stomach drop. I find that painting is just that...painting. How silly, it seems to me now, that I questioned my ability and felt so insecure about it constantly. When I do paint now, it's a wonderful distraction and I enjoy it because it's like therapy. Overeating no longer holds the promise of warm security and I don't fret too much that I'm looking older. That's about it though, I'm afraid it's a short list.

Anyway, on a lighter side, the dude above—the fly that is— decked out in neon green is Steve. His real name is Earl, but he now insists upon being called Steve.

One night, a few months ago, he was hanging at home having had a bit of a run in with his buds, and knowing it was date night for the 'rents, he decided to chill and watch the flat screen.

As fate would have it, his pops had the 1968 Steve McQueen vehicle (no pun intended) Bullit ready to go in the DVD player. He decided to watch it so he could make fun of the old man when he got home, he just knew it would be pure corn. Well, to say that the movie changed Earl's young life is putting it mildly. But hey, it was time to identify with a movie hero and, really, how can you go wrong with Steve freakin' McQueen? (If you're really young, check it out. It holds up. Big time. It was one of our top ten. Although it does skirt on the edge when his girlfriend gets all bent out of shape because of the violence he faces every day. But it wasn't like it is now then. Remember Quincy? Compare that with what we see on CSI!)

Since then, Earl...excuse me...Steve cruises the expressway and side roads looking for Mustangs. Preferably a late sixties model in olive drab, but he'll take anything. He's thrilled they've been reissued as classics.

He circles, lands and then holds on for dear life as the car winds through traffic, all the while pretending he's flying through the streets of San Francisco, as 'ole Frank himself, clad in that navy blue turtleneck, looking uber-cool and the lead and stand in for stunt man driver, in the first great car chase in cinematic history.

His new identity has bolstered his confidence, he's finding he has no trouble whatsoever with the ladies and for some reason his buds follow him everywhere now! But, that's no surprise. It's cool to be Steve McQueen. Even if you're a fly.

The example to the right is an idea I had that might be nice. I thought it might be cool to add the story to the bug. I'm not set on the design as yet, but whenever a bug is purchased, a 5x5" parchment with "the bug's story," featured in my blog, will accompany the painting.

If you've already purchased a bug and would like the story that accompanied said bug, just email me and I'll forward their story to you.

NEO

18x24" oil on canvas
SOLD

Hello everyone. Again, thank you all for your kindness and patience.  

I'm doing much better, in fact much better than I ever expected... today. I go up and down but I guess that's to be expected. I think the key is that I talk to Tim as if he were here, right next to me, and I feel, most times, as if he still is. There are no words to convey how much I miss seeing him and hearing his velvet voice, but I've decided that we were far too happy together for the last 20 years for me to spend the rest of my days in misery. I need to honor what we had and no matter how hard it gets— that is exactly what I'm going to do. 

Clearly, some days are better than others, but I must focus on who we were together and know that isn't over simply because I can't see or hear him anymore. I remember clearly, each of us looking at the other and wondering aloud if a husband and wife, together for 20 years, should be having so much fun. It is my intention to continue feeling that joy in honor of one of the kindest and most interesting people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. The insurance company stated that "the marriage ended on February 23, 2012." They were wrong. Very wrong.

I had my first regular day of work since it happened today and I must say that I am so grateful that it felt good. I'm getting some much needed work done on the house, thanks to Tim, and the confusion, changes and chaos are helping to keep me distracted and busy. But..and that's But with a capital B, it is heart wrenching to see the plans we had for the house come to fruition, specifically because Tim is no longer here.

I set a time limit for myself and I decided that today will my first day back at work. I've been patient with myself, however I feel it could become too easy for me to just do nothing and feel it's my due...basically a great big raspberry to the Universe for taking my best friend in the world away. But that isn't what it's about. I'm blindfolded and holding the elephants tail. I won't see the big picture until I leave this plane, so I'm choosing joy...today.

I hated reading books and suggestions that I accept what is but, it is that simple! Living in the past, trying to redo our last night together so I could change the outcome, or making believe he'll be home when I get back from the store doesn't help. There is nothing that will change what happened, I know that now. Believe me, I've tried everything. It happened because it was supposed to and I know that... simply because it did.

The Sunday before, as I got up to go into the kitchen for another glass of wine, I heard him ask..."has anyone ever died in this house?" I thought he was just curious. And in January we'd taken out a loan to catch up on some bills and he insisted that my name be excluded from the loan application and he took life insurance out on it! He'd never done that before. I thought he was just being responsible. On some level he knew. I wish I did. I think. 

Anyway, I'm back. This is my job now and I must do it. Neo was a commission I had on the easel before Tim left. It is the last painting he stood in front of. I had started it about a week before even though the canvas was improperly stretched. I was concerned because the canvas had so much play in it and decided to purchase another one and start over. Tim said, most decidedly, not to. I remember how comforting his words were. Today when I put it on the easel to finish it up, the canvas was as tight as a drum.

This past Monday the contractor working on our house asked me if I wanted to keep the smoker barbeque Tim had created so many incredible meals on. It had seen better days and we were going to replace it this summer but it brought back so many great memories, I was hesitant to let it go. But I thought better of it and told them it was ok to throw out...put it out on the curb. When I took the pups out for their before bedtime mini-walk, I saw it there...lonely, used, discarded. I thought of him working over the hot coals, dripping with sweat, pleased with the marinade he'd created. I thought it would be a relief for it to be gone. The next morning I woke up and put the boys harnesses on for our morning walk. As I opened the front door, there, right behind the dumpster, propped up on a piece of wood, standing at attention and ready to be put back into action, was the smoker, looking refurbished and ready for duty. As the day progressed I found that neither the contractors nor their employees had rescued it from the curb. I didn't. As much as I hated to see it go, I didn't want to save it. It's Thursday and we still don't know how it got there.

This past Sunday, I took my guitar and a nice glass of wine down to the living room. I turned on the digital recorder we used for our jam sessions and sat in my usual spot on the love seat adjacent to the couch where Tim would sit when we played. I turned on the digital recorder, chose a tune and turned my track down and played to Tim's accompanyment. Much to my surprise, it was a liberating and joyful experience! I heard his voice, our interactions and all it made me feel was happy. There was no emptiness. No sadness. I played for about three hours as if he were still here. The only thing missing was our mutal insecurity and doubt about our ability. Another indication that this kind of relationship deserves nothing but celebration and joy, simply because it existed.

Again and again, thank you for your support and thanks so much for stopping by.

FRANKIE THE FREQUENT FLIER

12x36" oil on linen

SOLD

Hello everyone. Again and again, I need to thank you all for your support and your kindness. This is the most extraordinary thing that has ever happened in my life and to hear from so many friends, many I’ve never met face to face has meant so very much. Again and again, thank you, thank you, thank you.

I think I’m back. It changes drastically from day to day. I still feel as though half of me has been severed and in my mind’s eye, I see myself as one of those digital framework images, clumsily trying to carry on with only one side functioning.

A while back a reporter asked the Dalai Lama a question. Why, he asked, when your country is being overrun, your people imprisoned and you yourself exiled, why are you always smiling?  Because, he said, it feels good. I get that now.

My brother was in Viet Nam and when he came home he related some incredible stories. A Marine would be sent out, beyond the relative safety of the perimeter, to sit in six foot high elephant grass and listen for enemy troop movement. Consequently, that wait also included the possibility of being eaten by a predator, bitten by a snake or being dispatched by the enemy. At times the waiting and silence became too much and against strict orders and commons sense the men would key their handset and say...”What the ______ (insert desired expletive here), over,”  just to hear a familiar voice.

That’s about where I am right now. I’m trying to smile because it feels good but I seem to be continuously keying my handset and saying... “What the ______ , over.” Hoping against all reality that Tim might answer. We’d always use that phrase when perplexed or vexed in any way. Maybe I just can’t hear him.
 
I understand the logic of  why everyone always says when something like this happens...“this only happens to other people, this doesn’t happen to us!” I get not being able to process the “qualifying event,” as the insurance company calls it, until weeks later and suddenly, one morning, waking up as if it just happened. I totally see the ability of the human mind to shield itself from a shock it cannot possibly process.

What I don’t get is the survey the funeral home sent to be graded on their work so they can better serve the community. How can I possibly answer those questions? This is my Tim we were talking about! Seeing his name on a piece of paper, the name that I’ve loved so much for twenty years...such a great name, such a cool name....on a certificate with the word Death at the top is excruciating. For a while I refused to handle them. I only touched them with tissues.  His ashes sit in a box, clothed in red velvet along with an envelope containing locks of his hair in the studio. I hate going in there. A small box of dust. Really Tim?

All the cliches work. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. He’s in a better place..although I can’t imagine a better place than here with me and the boys. Time will heal. You had a wonderful twenty years the memories will sustain you. Those things are all true...but...

This was an extraordinary man! A kind, generous and compassionate man. Our time together was fun, creative and thrilling. As recently as a month before he left we’d stayed up talking till 3 am on a school night. I love him with every fiber of my being but, I also genuinely liked this man! I never realized how important that was. I liked who he was as a human being. If I were a male, I would choose to be Tim Berry.  I was so proud of him wherever we were, whatever we were doing. He was always polite, always patient and always smiling.  I simply cannot put into words what this man meant to me and what an incredible person he was. He taught me so much, he taught me the value of kindness, patience, compassion, honesty and integrity. He was my very best friend in the world, I trusted him with my every secret and I’ll never be the same without him.

That said, I can’t promise the subject of Tim Berry won’t pop up now and again if I’m able to continue posting. But then again, what else am I going to do? My butt’s sore from sitting in bed. It’s strange, even with the empty side, the stunning silence, bed is the only place I feel safe.

I have some ideas in my head about painting my emotions. I’ve reconnected with an old friend who has promised to pose for me. We’ll see. Right now, this is Frankie. This is the bug I’d planned to paint when I woke up that morning and thought it strange that the bright light shining in from the bathroom skylight hadn’t woken Tim up. Frankie’s not quite finished yet. Still have work to do on his tail and wings but I felt like posting so I felt I should.

Frankie is a senior at Dragonfly High. He’s full of piss and vinegar and has the potential to become either a nice guy or a jerk. It’s fork in the road teen angst time for Frank. Hopefully he’ll come out of it. Although buzzing the girls while they sun themselves in the courtyard is not cool, he has been seen helping elderly ladies across the street, so there’s hope.

Thanks for stopping by.