Email

Since the first of the year, I've had a strong need to organize things.

I cleaned out two closets, and completely rearranged one room. As I mentioned in an earlier entry which begins here, I think that was prompted by displaced anger. Still, since then I've been unable to stop the rearranging. I've found places for all sorts of extraneous items sitting on top of the books on the bookshelves in the back room, and moved more furniture around in there to make it more comfortable and usable. I've moved plants. I changed my whole kitchen counter so the microwave is more accessible, and cleaned out and rearranged some cabinets. 

Best of all, I finally motivated us to actually put up most of the art work and our family pictures. After two years of looking at them sitting in boxes in my dining room, when I suggested we put up the pictures, instead of groaning, Big Kitty agreed pretty easily. That was rare, so I assume it must have been the right time for both of us.

For the two years we have lived here we've only managed to find the time to hang some very large paintings-- a job which just couldn't wait because there was no room to store them otherwise. Now, we've spent hours hanging things, and I've also sorted through other artwork and old prints stored at the studio and decided which ones to use over the fireplace, found frames for them and measured them for mats. That will be the last step.

I need to have some of the family pictures on the wall to catch glimpses of as I walk past. Even a fleeting image of someone brings little, special memories usually good, sometimes not. They remind me of where I've been and where I am, of the intricacies of family, of love, or not, prompting reflection about relationships. 

Each art work, print, drawing or painting has some special meaning to me. I look at the art work and remember the artists. Often, I know them personally if it is something I bought or traded at a gallery or an art fair. Many have been my friends over the years. 

Barbara's painting now hangs over my bed. Her handmade paper piece had a place of importance in the jewelry gallery we had for eight years. It was perfect because its quilt-like image invoked thoughts of the handmade, and its sculptural quality made it look like giant wall jewelry. I've known her since my children were small so it also reminds me of the years I spent with her and our other friends as young mothers having coffee at each others houses or sitting on a bench in the park by the sandbox talking while our kids played.

Johnnie's painting, is on another wall in that room. Johnnie was one of my art teachers, who taught printmaking. She was one of the best teachers I had and an excellent printmaker. She also did fine pastel drawings and oil paintings. I find the luminosity and depth in her abstract painting both comforting and challenging as I look deeply into its layers.

Those paintings, other prints in that room, and one dresser which has been with me since childhood, combine to remind me of my entire life. 

In another room, I have Skip's intricate drawing of stones. Another amazingly detailed work with a strong quiet presence, like Skip himself. Studying it induces a state of meditation. I remember also, Linda, his wife, another jewelry designer whom I admire. Of course, that triggers memories of all of the the art fairs we've all done, and of all of my other artist and craftspeople friends-- many brought to mind again as I look at the decorative and funky ceramic pieces I've also collected over the years. 

We have two large paintings done by an artist, Didier N., who came here from Paris to make a name for himself as an artist. I always found that to be amusing, but it worked for him and he was quite successful. One is of of a lone blue straight-backed chair in front of a closet full of wood in an empty room. It's the first painting he painted in this country. We bought it at an artists’ organization benefit auction. The other of these is a large painting of us, commissioned in a narcissistic moment, no doubt. But it's interesting to look at, and it reminds us of the time when our business was successful and life was pretty good.

In the other room there are the two cheap fish prints, one being the front half, and the other the back half of the same fish from a center spread in a magazine. It couldn't be framed whole because of the staple marks. I had the idea to split it and frame it as a pair, and to give it as a funny present to my now husband, who was new in my life then. It has no value whatsoever, other than sentimental. Two of the other prints in that room are a pair of fish, hand colored book plates, which he gave to me. Together with the “"half-fish"”,  they complete a story, and always remind me of our early times together. 

Each and every art work, or family photograph sparks a memory, a reflection, or a new thought. In fact each and every object we own does that, whether we made it, or someone we know made it. Even if we got it at a garage sale or a thrift store, there's a memory-- as small as remembering the day we got it or the place it came from, or what we were doing at the time. Each memory prompts its own little mental trip which can lead just about anywhere. 

I didn't realize until everything was hung, how much we needed to do this-- how much I had missed having familiar and comforting artwork around me. I need visual stimulation, I thrive on it. Now that I see how much it has lifted my spirits I wonder how much not having it up for almost two years has contributed to my depression, and unhappiness.

It's also had a similar effect on my husband. He mentioned, completely independently, how glad he was to have the pictures up and how much a difference it seems to make to him as well.

What I know for sure is that my apartment now feels much more comfortable, much more like I belong, and much more like home. I've surrounded myself with my things, I can accept that I live here, and it's really OK, and I think I can start to move ahead.