End of the year...

This hasn't been a very easy year. I started it off still struggling with the loss of Tony, taking on a new job with different responsibilities, a mother-in-law who got very sick (and still can't care for herself), a father who faced all sorts of new cardiac complications and thought he was at the end (though his problems turned out to be greatly mitigated by the application of an good sound electric shock), and back troubles of my own. Through it all Bruce has been with me, the eye of my storms, the safe place I can crawl to where I am sheltered and comforted. I haven't spent nearly the time I wanted to spend on my work in the studio. All my plans for the year were delayed when I began spending more than ten hours a week doing physical therapy. I did get to spend a glorious week with Kris in Minnesota exploring ideas, techniques, visions, and life. And what I brought home with me was a fresh perspective on my work. I hope our time together was as beneficial to her as it was to me. This summer I graduated from PT and begans doing a bit more work in the studio. Then I got hit by a monster wave of depression that is probably the beginning of menopause. Finally started drugs for the depression last month.

Ultimately I didn't get much new work done this year. I did manage to finish the piece on grief and get it juried into the Pilchuck auction. My work was rejected for a lot of other shows because of shitty images. I keep trying new photographers and they all suck.

Just when I was gearing back up and beginning to get a lot of work started, on paper and in glass, I was rear-ended while driving to work. My car escaped without a scratch. I, on the other hand, have costochondritis, an inflammation of the cartilage and joints attaching my ribs to my spine. Every movement that involves any turning of my torso is painful, breathing hurts, coughing and sneezing are incredibly painful, and physical therapy and massage therapy reduce me to tears when they start working on those joints. There's nothing like lying face down on a table with tears flowing while you allow someone to apply the most god-awful torture to your back. And now all my energy goes into managing the pain. I can't take anti-inflammatories, my liver doesn't like them. I tried Darvocet last year and couldn't stop crying for days. Ultraset doesn't go well with the wonderful Wellbutrin that enables me to enjoy life some, so that painkiller is out. I won't take drugs that compromise my ability to drive, to work, to think. Muscle relaxants are out because they tend to increase depression. So all I can do is slap on a couple of patches of lidocaine for 12 hours once a day.

Despite all that, I managed to finish a piece for every member of my family this year, and hope that each piece works for them.

For my mother a piece with animal skin called "Out of Africa" because I know how much she loves Africa:

















For my sister who I think of as very mod the first piece I have done about music "New York City Jazz".

For another sister, who is living through difficult times right now, a figure piece about hope "A New Day is on its Way":

For the last sister, who makes the world a better place, a sanctuary where she can be renewed, a "Garden Contained":




For my father a piece I completed earlier this year "Early Morning Contemplation":


Working on these five pieces this year, going through my work, cleaning out my studio, helped me to evaluate what I am doing with this work, where it is going, and what I want to make of it. The integration of figures with abstractions continues to challenge me. It's where I want to go, to paint the inner life in abstractions, to show emotions through the use of the figure.