Sunday is Mother’s Day—I’m sure I don’t need to remind you!
Mother’s Day reminds me of my own mother and the fact that it’s already 15 years ago that I gave her her last Mother’s Day card. She died about six weeks after Mother’s Day in 2006.
I still miss her, though signs of her are sprinkled throughout my life. I still wear a few clothes of hers that I rescued from her closet. Some of the art that she made adorns our walls and decorates our house at Christmas. Bells from her collection sit on my window ledge. And we have photos! On beginning to go through my photos a few weeks ago, I came across so many wonderful memories of things we did together—pictures of the birthday parties and family dinners we celebrated at our home and hers, camping trips on which she accompanied us, scenic walks we took around Abbotsford where she lived.
I also have a few photos of her when she was much younger. I love studying them and finding premonitions of the faces of my siblings, our children, nieces, and nephews. This week’s quote in my daily planner reminded me of one of them:
“I can’t quite see myself as a mother and I can’t quite see my own mother as anything else” – Courtney E. Martin.
On my cleanup a few weeks ago I found a stash of sympathy cards we received on Mom’s death. Many of them tell memories of her. This Mother’s Day, I’m going to reread all those cards and appreciate her again for all she was to those of us blessed to have her in our lives.
This week I’m taking in a three-session webinar on the artist’s mindset led by artist coach and mentor Matt Tommey. Yesterday’s lecture was followed by a Q&A where Tommey answered submitted questions. The first question and his answer opened a window for me.
The question was (not the exact words but the gist) “What do I do when I feel an artistic calling in many directions?”
Many creatives are polymaths, i.e. Renaissance people who are interested and excel at many things. It is not surprising that they struggle with finding a focus when their interests and skills are wide and varied.
The answer to that is to recognize that life has SEASONS.
He spoke of his own seasons of leading worship (music), basket making (art), church involvement, now leading his mentoring program.
Our seasons are determined by many things: our age, family and responsibilities to them, finances, health, etc. When we are aware of life’s seasons, and the changes they bring, we don’t need to stress when we find our focus shifting as a result of changing circumstances.
I can relate to that!
When our family was growing up, my creative pursuits involved decorating my home, sewing for my family, gardening, and doing the odd craft project.
Then I started a home-based medical transcription business and for a time my attention was absorbed by it—along with family and church responsibilities.
Once it was established, I got the itch to work on an old love—writing. I registered for a writing course and within about a year, had sold my first article. Many published articles, stories, devotions, puzzles and poems followed. I published a couple of poetry books and even wrote two novels.
(Many of my siblings are talented artists with formal art training. I loved art but felt I couldn’t measure up, so shoved that old interest into the background. When I saw the Bible Journaling book and the projects people did, immediately I knew I wanted to try this, just for the fun and spiritual enrichment of it. I promptly ordered a journaling Bible, which I enjoy doodling in to this day.)
My next step into art was joining Instagram where my visual world exploded with the wonderful art work of others. I joined in on a few art and lettering challenges and stumbled across Samantha Dion Baker’s book Draw Your Day, about keeping a sketch journal.
On December 7, 2018, I made my first sketch journal entry, with a resolve to do a little art every day. It’s a resolve I’ve pretty much honoured since them.
What I discovered, however, as I let myself get drawn ever more into the vortex of art, was that my formerly high enthusiasm for writing was waning. All the creative oxygen in my life was being sucked up by art. I often felt sad and a little guilty about this, but didn’t feel like going back to the committed writing lifestyle either.
Yesterday’s discussion by Matt about flowing with the seasons of life, then, helped me put my experience into perspective.
I realized there were reasons why I was moving out of the writing season.
I have written about many many things and felt talked-out.
As I age (and I am a senior) words are harder to find. The old mind isn’t quite as nimble and sharp as it used to be. Art is easier on the brain.
The production cycle for any big writing project, like a book, is long and taxing. Even if one puts one’s heart and soul into it, it is often not monetarily viable. (It’s true what they say, that writing the book is only a fraction of the work that’s needed to get it out into the world.)
All that to say, I now understand my journey better. I feel free to embrace this new season of visual art creation as a step that was right and perhaps even inevitable.
Our Lecture One assignment was: “Create a piece of art that reflects your response to the beauty of God’s gift of imagination.” The Red-wing Blackbird study that illustrates this post is based on a reference photo i took a few weeks ago, of a blackbird singing his heart out. It symbolizes the joy of a new season.
One more thing!
We’re having a two-day sale at our Etsy shop. You will find 15% off all items in the store (art cards and wall art). Check it out: at Violet Nesdoly Art.
When presented, by my writing group, with the challenge to write about my experience during the pandemic, my first thought was to do it in poem form (seeing as how it’s April and National Poetry Month). “Pandemic Lifestyle” is a snapshot of some of the things that have characterized the last months for me and my husband. (The last stanza makes reference to Psalm 91 that has been a mainstay for me and many others during this time.)
We keep our social distance intentionally move out of the way of anyone approaching us, take to the sidewalk’s grassy margin the street’s parking lane to honour a fellow-walker’s and our own 2-metre force field. As we pass our eyes meet momentarily above masks, smile humour (This feels ridiculous) and apology (Sorry to be treating you like a pariah).
We live in a bubble cloistered behind the membranes of doors and windows that become transparent during Zoom meetings, where we see each other at kitchen counters, lounging against headboards, seated in front of bookshelves (looking so well-read), or posed before waving palms and surging surf, mute testimony to where we have been where we would love to be again yet relieved to be here, now, surrounded by the familiar and the safe.
We are sheltered under a wing covered by divine feathers as we experience sweet family life virtually with children and grandchildren, brothers and sisters, in Bible studies, prayer meetings and streamed church services. Here we have been hidden from the Covid-19 pestilence that walks in darkness, the prowling pandemic that lays waste at noon. We have not been numbered in the daily 3 o’clock count of thousands and ten thousands that have fallen around us, and we are incredibly grateful.
I first discovered this book when I attended a webinar on writing spiritual memoir hosted by an Ottawa writing group, where the author, Karen Stiller, was the presenter. I was intrigued. Watching a later interview of Karen by Patricia Paddey on YouTube had me downloading a Kindle edition of the book, and I’m so glad I did.
The Minster’s Wife is a beautifully written memoir of Stiller’s spiritual journey, from her introduction to faith in her youth to her current self-admittedly greying years as a still-learning believer and minister’s wife.
I love the humble, self-deprecating tone of Stiller’s faith pilgrimage stories, which are rich in detail and often humorous.
In fourteen chapters organized by topic rather than chronologically, Stiller relates tales of “Identity,” “Doubt,” “Community,” “Envy,” “Forgiveness,” “Holiness,” and more, Stiller gives us glimpses into her pastor’s wife role that is as satisfying and rewarding as it is sometimes frustrating and challenging. Her love for the church, her children, and her husband glows through her candidly confessed imperfections.
I so appreciated Stiller’s lack of bitterness and self-pity, as she described her experiences, both bad and good. Her stories gave me a new appreciation for the role of pastor’s wife. Her style of showing us what happened without over-explaining its significance left room for this reader to mull over the multi-layered learning that happens so often in real life.
The Minister’s Wife is recommended reading for lovers of memoir and for ministers, minister’s wives, and all of us parishioners who love them.
Art shows are a new experience for me. Applying to have my art included in a show is a lot like getting a writing submission ready for publication or a contest—exciting and a little stressful. And so, a few weeks ago, after completing just such a submission, I was thrilled to have my painting “Persimmon Fall” accepted into the Langley Arts Council “Looking Back, Moving Forward” show.
It was originally planned as an in-person gallery exhibition, but that had to change because Covid-19 restrictions are still in place.
The virtual show opened on April 2nd and runs to May 12. You can view the exhibition gallery HERE.
One of our pastors quoted a Bible verse on our Good Friday service that perfectly goes with this duo:
“Looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God” – Hebrews 12:2 NKJV.
Here, on Good Friday, the last day of Lent, Laurel and I conclude our Lenten conversation with one more poem and image.
Laurel’s poem prompt, “Quicken,” articulates the restless dissatisfaction and the sense of “dare I hope that things can be different?” characteristic of us in our human state. Those feelings have only been amplified by the strangeness of the past year and its restrictions, imposed because of the pandemic.
I’ll bring my unsettled, uncentered self, to you. This week it’s all ‘the holy’ I have. Emotions scattered, resolves shattered, not because of anything, it’s just well, everything, and I don’t want it to go back to the way it was. Not entirely. There. I said it. Whispered it our into your silence.
Can this atom of, I don’t know – hope? be enough for you to split and quicken me back to life?
The word “split” in Laurel’s poem opened the visual door for me. I thought of the way a germinating seed splits to let out new life. But in the process it dies. Yes, that too is part of the gospel message–a part that makes this dark Friday “good.”:
“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain” – John 12:24 NKJV.
In the end, I opted to portray a bulb instead of a grain of wheat, with a sprout that has just split open its white shroud.
So, Lent is past. But stay tuned. Easter is just around the corner!
We are in the season of feasts—Passover and Easter. Isn’t it wonderful that God instituted landmark feasts—meals of special food filled with the ingredients, tastes, colours, and smells that bring spiritual realities to mind?
As we’ve been reading through the Gospels at our supper table, I was moved a few weeks ago when we came to Mark 14 where Jesus told his disciples to prepare the feast (the Passover) that we now call “The Last Supper.” It made me smile to think of this assorted crew doing kitchen duty. My thought was to create a sort of still life of the supplies for the Passover meal gathered on a counter after a shopping trip. That is the inspiration for “Prepare the Feast.”
Laurel responded to my art prompt by taking it home, literally, with her poem “Do This” about the wonderful meals of remembrance that we’ve all experienced—weighty with spiritual and emotional significance. Because of pandemic restrictions, we’ll miss eating an Easter meal with our loved ones this year. It has made us appreciate such memorable occasions all the more.
Is God involved in the tiniest details of our lives? I think so.
It was Laurel’s turn to start the conversation this week with a poem. When I hadn’t heard from her by last Tuesday, I emailed and asked if she had a poem for the week. It turned out she thought she had sent it, and promptly did.
When I read “Still Life,” I thought immediately that something simple, like a pencil sketch, would suit Laurel’s humble expression of faith. The thing was, I had done a couple of pencil sketches the very night before. The clincher that my sketches were the right response to her poem—she speaks of light in her poem, and one of the things I happened to sketch was a light bulb!
I challenge you—be on the lookout to notice how God is making His presence known to you in the details of your day!