The energy of memories
I did not write a blog today. After working out, running a couple of errands and stopping at the library I had an appointment with a client for an hour. Then it was time to decide what remaining pieces of artwork would get hung and which would go into temporary storage. The process of selecting and hanging art as well as finding space to display the other art pieces such as pottery commanded a lot of emotional presence. Each piece has a history. In many cases I know the artist and in all cases I know which ones were gifts (most of them). The lovely tall pottery pitcher conjures up the presence of the potter, her son, his adoptive parents, her parents, a couple of men she dated and some mutual friends. Mercy! Then there are the Socratic book ends which were a gift one Christmas from my then wife who is also my son’s mother; the wonderful paintings by Pat J who so powerfully captures The Well Rounded Woman and the thoughtful man whose name I have forgotten. This brings into the room her husband who was also an artist, her three children and a host of others who are part of the Cooperative Art Gallery in Center Market. When I think of her I am reminded of Martin Luther King Jr and the non-violence as a living truth. This reminds me of the now departed Liz whose two works I hung with love - a sense of her smile etched into my memory. Not to be forgotten are the portraits by Anne F of my friends Lee and Frank who died within a week of each other. They bring with them twenty or thirty other people. Oh yes, no less that four of Barb’s paintings (original piece or copy of a piece) embrace me each time I sit down to eat. She brings with her L, H, J, J, S, T, L and a host of others.
I could continue to describe the art, the artist, the memories and the large extended family. Soon there would be hundreds if not more spirits of loving, creative energy surrounding me. Sometimes I stop to chat as I make my way from the living room, past the kitchen counter, through the book lined hallway and into the bath or bedroom/study. The trip can take quite a long time.
If we are lucky the legacy we each leave to and with each other is one of love, stimulating thought, the passage of time, creativity and much laughter.
Part of aging, if we are very blessed, is knowing we are being held by all this energy as one moves or floats from one room to another. I am sure that the memories include, if I search hard enough, some harsh words, disappointment, judgment, forgiveness, sadness pain. Yet, these are not the feelings which float to the surface and survive.
I silently smile and bow to the collective memory of those who have shaped much of who I am today. I am humbled and grateful.
Written September 17, 2016
I did not write a blog today. After working out, running a couple of errands and stopping at the library I had an appointment with a client for an hour. Then it was time to decide what remaining pieces of artwork would get hung and which would go into temporary storage. The process of selecting and hanging art as well as finding space to display the other art pieces such as pottery commanded a lot of emotional presence. Each piece has a history. In many cases I know the artist and in all cases I know which ones were gifts (most of them). The lovely tall pottery pitcher conjures up the presence of the potter, her son, his adoptive parents, her parents, a couple of men she dated and some mutual friends. Mercy! Then there are the Socratic book ends which were a gift one Christmas from my then wife who is also my son’s mother; the wonderful paintings by Pat J who so powerfully captures The Well Rounded Woman and the thoughtful man whose name I have forgotten. This brings into the room her husband who was also an artist, her three children and a host of others who are part of the Cooperative Art Gallery in Center Market. When I think of her I am reminded of Martin Luther King Jr and the non-violence as a living truth. This reminds me of the now departed Liz whose two works I hung with love - a sense of her smile etched into my memory. Not to be forgotten are the portraits by Anne F of my friends Lee and Frank who died within a week of each other. They bring with them twenty or thirty other people. Oh yes, no less that four of Barb’s paintings (original piece or copy of a piece) embrace me each time I sit down to eat. She brings with her L, H, J, J, S, T, L and a host of others.
I could continue to describe the art, the artist, the memories and the large extended family. Soon there would be hundreds if not more spirits of loving, creative energy surrounding me. Sometimes I stop to chat as I make my way from the living room, past the kitchen counter, through the book lined hallway and into the bath or bedroom/study. The trip can take quite a long time.
If we are lucky the legacy we each leave to and with each other is one of love, stimulating thought, the passage of time, creativity and much laughter.
Part of aging, if we are very blessed, is knowing we are being held by all this energy as one moves or floats from one room to another. I am sure that the memories include, if I search hard enough, some harsh words, disappointment, judgment, forgiveness, sadness pain. Yet, these are not the feelings which float to the surface and survive.
I silently smile and bow to the collective memory of those who have shaped much of who I am today. I am humbled and grateful.
Written September 17, 2016
RSS Feed