Nativity Revisited

Last night I was invited by a dear friend, Mrs. Moore, to Black Nativity Revisited put on by the Allen Temple Baptist Church in Oakland. I had a little problem with the “revisited” in the title. Why was it there? Isn’t it the reason for the season? However, as the night progressed, it became so important.

I left late in the dark to a crowded freeway headed to a part of Oakland I didn’t know. When I stopped for a red light, a homeless man appeared out of the darkness right up at my car window with a palms together begging. I was taken aback and tried to explained through my tightly shut window and locked door that I couldn’t reach my purse, didn’t have any cash in my pockets. I just couldn’t help him. There were cars lined up behind me. I didn’t have time for this, I thought.  I was going to be late. As the light turned green, he signaled he understood and backed away into the night.

When I finally reached the church, I was greeted warmly and let in to the performance held in the sanctuary. I couldn’t completely settle down to enjoy the jubilant  performance. The beggars face haunted me on and off throughout performance of the Christmas story.  I revisit the Nativity story every year. It doesn’t change. I do it to honor and celebrate this glorious gift from God. But on this night, it changed for me.

During the performance last night the phrase “no room at the inn” was spoken and sung I don’t know how many times . It’s repetition, though, called upon me to rethink about the beggar I had just left on the street. Had I not just refused him entrance into my life? Why didn’t I roll down my window? Why didn’t I make the extra effort to reach for a couple of dollars? Why didn’t I just stop, let the cars behind me wait, and give something to this man in need. Some would try to ease my conscious by saying I was a woman traveling alone at night. But I didn’t feel threaten. He didn’t approach me in hostile way, made no movements that indicated I should be weary. He just want some help. I turned him away like the inn keepers in Bethlehem. I had no room for him.

I read somewhere, long ago, that the people who come into your life which  you find most frustrating or disturb your day to day existence, are there to teach you something; most likely something about yourself. Last night that beggar came knocking on my door, and like the inn keepers in Bethlehem on that most holiest of nights, I turned him away. The inn keepers, that turned Mary and Joseph away, missed being there when a miracle occurred. They missed  seeing Emmanuel, Jesus, Son of God, Comforter and Prince of Peace. What had I missed by not giving a minute two more to a beggar?

Or, maybe, I didn’t miss out.  Maybe I got to play a part in the retelling of the nativity story.   For the beggar reminded me to keep my inn open. To remember that we all are walking miracles brought into this world to give it something special of ourselves. I revisited the nativity. I learned I am part of the nativity; that I live it everyday. Last night I was an inn keeper. Today I might be a shepherd, tomorrow one of the three kings. That the next person I meet might have lesson for me. Whatever part I play, giver or receiver, I must keep my heart open and greet everyone as though they might hold a message I need to hear. And sometimes, slow learner that I am, I might have to be revisited again and again to get the point.

Merry Christmas to all, and may you be open to the miracles that surround you.

Another PhotoShop Edit

Though I’ve been working with PhotoShop for a long while, I’m still amazed with what you can do with it.  I generally use it for painting original drawings, but lately I’ve been using it to photo editing.  This time my niece-in-law ask me to update a cherished photo of her mom and dad for a Christmas gift.  The original image was so dark and dead looking, but PhotoShop brought it back to life.  That program and my Wacom tablet are just too cool with work.  So much room for creativity!

In The Garden

Summer gardening takes some attitude and grit to make things grow. I guess I don’t have this year. By this time in the season my raise beds should be over flowing with squash and cucumber vines. I generally have lush tomato plants that are covered with bright yellow buds and swelling fruit. The bees would be buzzing in and around the plants as I tended their care. But alas, not this year. I’m blaming the weather here in the Bay Area; too many cool, over-cast days. The truth, though, is my attitude for these activities have waned a bit.

My interest have been diverted to the interior of my home. Painters are currently finishing up transforming my dull beige and white walls into sunny yellows and dreamy blues. One room is being painted with a color that is so appropriate for an artist. It’s called Clean Canvas. Doesn’t that just make you want to go and start something new! So in away I guess I am still planting seeds. The kind will burst into new interiors that will feed my need to design a garden of a different sort.

SUSPEND for IF

If life is a circus, then we all stand suspended on a tight rope between our next act and the consequences it may produce.  In our hectic lives these days it seems we only have time to act and not ponder the consequences like we should.  If we could only slow down and take a moment to just think things through a bit more those consequences would so different.  We need more balance between action and thought.

Fade Into the Background for IF

Happy mistakes are a grand thing.  You start out with one idea, and then a slip of the pen sends you down another path.

I thought I’d do a piece about fading hair dye since I see so much of it at work. Blonde hair dyed bright red fades so lovely.  One of my students ended up with a beautiful shade of strawberry  blonde.  I’ve seen blue fade into a very  cool aqua green before the student did another dye job. Gothic black doesn’t grow out so well especially on light-colored hair; kind of end up with an inverted skunk look.

Well, that had been my intent. I didn’t think it was a strong concept. Then as I was working on the contour of the reflected head of spiked hair my pen had its own ideas.  It made the head so distorted I could only save it by turning into a martian.  So faded into the background are some of his friends.  I don’t know for sure, but I think they are having a better time than the people in the foreground.  I know I had more fun drawing the piece after my pen had it’s say.

Heights for Illustration Friday

SWAMP for Illustration Friday

Swamps are messy things. They’re wild and untamed, life unfettered.  This is a great prompt for me right now.  I hours away from Spring Break and the daily grind of teaching high school students.  While I love my students, I also need time away from the regimen of the classroom.  My swamp image reflects my mental need to let loose.  I’ve  thrown together this image using a variety of techniques. It’s a little traditional drawing, some digital painting and some digital collage.  It’s a little scattered which is how my brain is acting right now.  Yes! It’s time for a break.

SHADES for Illustration Friday

It is such a common sight, as I drive from work, to see a group of young men hanging out in the neighborhood  surrounding the high school where I work.  Some of them I know. They were previous students of mine.  The stance is always the same; one eye on each other and their other eye on the look out.  They’re always aware of the action taking place on the street.   So much is at stake.

Sometime I honk and wave at  the one’s I know.  Sometime I just wonder where they’re headed. I’ve known a few who never made it out the neighborhood.  One that stays with me because he died so young; killed after starting a family and trying to get out.  Once you’re in … sometimes there’s only one way out.

Yet I know each of these young men are like the values scales I have them practice. Depending on the pressure put on them, they change to be a different shade ; in the classroom so bright and fun, on the street — darker.  If only  the darker side could be erased away to reveal what I think is the truer shade.

I really like this prompt.  Here’s another image I doodled this week.

“Stir” for Illustration Friday

This weeks prompt for Illustration Friday brings up a quote by William McFee; “There is nothing like an odor to stir memories.” How often this is true.  A whiff of mowed grass on a warm summer afternoon while walking home from school, the smell of mom’s apple pie during a dreary, raining day filling our home with cinnamon or the scent Old Spice after-shave on my fathers neck as he gives me hug before bed, they take me back to events that haven’t been thought of for years. Then just as quickly they fade back as the present calls me to this moment. Once recalled, though, they flavor current events. The past affecting present.  The past changing this moment that like the odor will drift away to be recalled by some other smell one day.

Sketchbook Project 2011

This link  My Sketchbook will open a PDF file of the artwork I’ve drawn for Sketchbook Project 2011. You’ll virtually be able to flip through the pages of the book. The theme that I chose was First Thing In The Morning Last Thing At Night. I didn’t stop my illustrations at night. My story travels back to the beginning— or maybe the real start. After I completed the drawings,  I added the poem below.  Each line of the poem is illustrated as a double page spread.

First thing in the morning before the sun has completely risen
I wash away the night before
I rinse away my dreams
And begin my ever ordinary day
I place out my costume
Arrange my mask
And leave behind the collection of things that tell the tale but not the truth
For I am more than a life stored behind a door
I venture out
And back in
Struggling with the those like me
Moving about their day
Consumed by wants unaware of their needs
Listening to the teller of tales that seem so far away
But at night
When kissed by dreams
The curtain is raised
On a life unseen
Thoughts
Expand
Vision is cleared
Self is transposed
Through an eye Divine
A new puzzle appears
To choose to sail upon the changing surface
Or fly beyond
Or get lost inside it all
Whatever I choose I will be safe
No matter the consequence
For the Hand is always there
So I stand on the edge
With all the possibilities before me
I jump

Just before I finished I came across this poem by Rumi that I think relates.

Rumi wrote:

A candle is made to become entirely flame
In that annilhilating momment
it has no shadow

It is nothing but a tongue of light
describing a refuge.

Look at this
Just finishing candle stub
as someone who is finally safe
from virtue and vice,

the pride and
shame we claim from those

—

I have never been a flame,
But a drop
merging with consciousness?
That I can do
That I have done
That I am