IF Jump

Jumpin' In!
Water Soluble Pencil on 9x12 140# Canson Watercolor Paper
©2012 BEDeuel/Bronson Hill Arts

The topic for this week's Illustration Friday is "Jump". And, with summer (hopefully) coming, thoughts turn to water, fun, even a little freedom from the humdrum.

While I've never had the opportunity, nor, likely,the nerve, to swing over a body of water and just jump into it, it's one of those images that defines summer and childhood in my mind.

No fear, no constraints. Uninhibited joy in a moment of daring. No hesitation in pursuit of happiness.

Full awareness of bodily injury, or even death, would make it impossible for me to possibly contemplate this type of stunt. Age can be self-perpetuating: physical safety tends to allow one to continue to age. Not a bad thing, really.

But, what about taking that sense of abandon to our emotional and mental endeavors? Why not look for a challenge and "jump" on it? No fear, no constraints. No hesitation in pursuit of happiness.

While there's no guarantee that I won't be one of those 80-year-old ladies who decide to skydive before they leave this earthly life, for now, I think I'll settle for some mental gymnastics over the physical ones. Mind challenges can be just as stimulating if you truly put yourself out there!

Enjoy the week, friends!

Monday Artday "Tiny Things" and Fascination

Fascination with Tiny Things
Graphite Sketch/Computer "Paint"
©2012 BEDeuel/Bronson Hill Arts

While doing some minor reorganizing in the livingroom, I came across a sketch journal I had started about 2 years ago. This drawing was in it. I only had 3 sketches in the journal that, I suspect, were all done on the same day. That's me, though: dive in headfirst at full speed only to lose momentum quickly.

It's never a question of just stopping. It's generally a question of distraction. I'm like a bird attracted to shiny objects. I am constantly pursuing more activities that catch my eye, that fascinate me.

You might think that by a certain point in life, i.e., solid middle-age, the desire to try new things or try doing old things in different ways would wane. But, it really hasn't. That desire has actually increased.

I'm not sure why it is that way. I think when we're kids, we're always seeing something new as the whole world is new to us. However, I also think that, when we're established in our lives- careers, housing and families are mostly settled- we are looking to reconnect with all the things we'd put on hold during those years we took to establish ourselves.

So, now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and dabble in something else that's just peaked my interest! Oh, look! a shiny thing! Wonder what I can do with it...

Check out the Monday Artday Challenge for "Tiny Things"!

IF Heights

Height of Imagination
Softlead Colored Pencil on 6x12 Smooth Bristol #100
©2012 BEDeuel/Bronson Hill Arts

Busy week ahead, so just a short post today. Illustration Friday's topic this week is "Heights".  Monday Artday's topic is "Tiny Things". And, I came across an older journal with a quick sketch of a toddler playing with something on the ground. All of these brought me back to the amazing time in life called "childhood". When the world was conquerable and nothing was impossible.

And, though we may be a little more humbled by life experiences, it's good to remember this: With a bit of work, a little hope and a lot of imagination to keep you moving, never underestimate the heights you can reach!

Have a "super" week, super people!

Magical Musical Memories

Of course, I never thought my music would be the core programming on an oldies station. None of us ever do. If my music is considered an “oldie”, then that means, I might be considered-yipes! - an “oldie”, too!



Ice Fog #1
©2011 BE Deuel



I was, oddly, very saddened a couple of weeks ago when Phil Collins, icon of the 1980s music world, announced that he was retiring. Retiring! Rock stars never retire! If he’s old enough to retire, that means, well, that “old” thing could apply to me again! But he is. What I think truly makes me sad, though, is that I have some incredibly wonderful memories connected specifically to Phil and his years leading Genesis. And if he is no longer in the picture, per se, it lessens some of the happiness of those memories. At least, initially, that’s how it feels to me.

And those memories are important. I don’t know about you, but don’t you almost time-travel when you hear the songs from your youth?

The same can be said listening to Phil’s “Man on the Corner”: I can see and hear him performing that piece at the Nassau Coliseum in November, 1981. I’m there and I’m 19 in my heart and mind again. “In the Air Tonight” always conjures a vision of a ’64 Mustang and a recording of the drum riff, about 18 times consecutively, played on the installed tape player. And, my best friend from those days is right there again with me.

Ice Fog #2
©2011 BE Deuel

There are a lot of other memories attached to not only Phil, but to other random artists and songs. When I hear a certain Glenn Miller song (yes, he’s really more my parents’ memory, but we were musically without prejudice), I am transported to a then-earth-shattering first kiss at a friend’s birthday party. The truly intriguing part of this is that I can actually feel the sensations of that moment when I hear that tune. And the last “first kiss” memory can still electrify me when I hear “Thrill Me”.  Whew! Just thinking about that last song gets the current going!

Songs can bring me sad memories, too. But it’s not quite the same. It evokes sadness and, possibly, tears. I just never feel as if I’m back in the moment, though. I’m not sure why; it just is. It might be that happy memories create lightness in the soul that allows the sensations of time-travel to pour through. Sadness drags a heart down, like quicksand can.

But often those sad thoughts turn to thoughts of loved ones past. And that can be wonderful in so many ways, too.

Ice Fog #3
©2011 BE Deuel

Music can be magical. It can revive your heart, keep your thoughts tender, and, best of all, bring a bit of your youth back to you. Isn’t it great? While Phil may not produce any new works now that he’s physically retired, he will never really be gone. Just like memories. Might not remember where I left the keys an hour ago, but I will always remember-and feel- that night at the Coliseum.

Looking everywhere at no one,

He sees everything and nothing at all-

When he shouts, nobody listens;

Where he leads, no one will go.

He's a lonely man, there on the corner.

What he's waiting for, I don't know.

But he waits everyday now,

And he's just waiting for something to show.

Nobody knows him,

and nobody cares,

'Cause there's no hiding place.

There's no hiding place- for you and me.  -Phil Collins

Ah, Home of My Heart!

I rediscovered a world that I had inhabited decades before like a bear in his den in winter. It has been there all these years just waiting for the prodigal daughter to wander back to her woods. And, I did. And I was enthralled once again, just as I had been way, way, way…well, you get the idea…back.

I rediscovered the public library.

Oh, Such Joy! Let's Frolic!
Spring from the Honey Bunnies Collection Notecards

It’s not a “wow” for everyone, but it always has been for me. My mother had taught me to read before I entered school and it’s been a passion ever since.

I lost the passion for a few years as it seemed I simply didn’t have the time to read. I got into a rut of buying my books because it could take me half a year to read one; I allotted no time for this undeniable pleasure. But it became a quandary as I went along because if I didn’t care for a book, I couldn’t bring myself to give up on it: it cost me money and I was going to get the whole product! That attitude cost me even more as I got bored with the stories and almost gave up on books completely.

My mom has been an avid reader and patron of her public library system for as long as I can remember. She kept after me to just follow her lead. I was concerned, though, that I would have all sorts of late fees and wouldn’t be able to get to the library with my schedule.

It dawned on me a couple of weeks ago that I drive right past our local branch 5 days a week…twice. The hours are great and renewal is simple. There went all my excuses! It was almost breath-taking stepping back into that world, into that part of my life again.

When something that’s an intricate part of who you are resurfaces after years of dormancy, there’s an actual sense of rebirth. It may not last long, nor make the rest of your life new again, but an invigorating moment like that can give you back a small amount of the joy just living can bring.

What Gifts Are Before You?
Autumn from the Honey Bunnies Collection Notecards

What do you think would give you that sense of joy? Would you be able to reopen a chapter in your life that would have a positive effect on your current life? If so, why not do it? I’ll bet your excuses would be moot if you looked at it honestly. Don’t lose the parts of your life that make you happy. Keep them active and keep your being alive!

Hey, That's My Name! IF "Dusty"



Lots of Fun with a Dusty Bottle!
Smooth Bristol Paper/Ink & Paint

The topic for this week at IF is "dusty". I'm very partial to the word.

A few years ago, I was tested for allergic triggers, because, obviously, I was having problems with reactions to almost everything. One of the conclusions was that I am allergic to a couple of the ingredients in hair dye.

This was a traumatic discovery. I had started turning gray when I was 28 and had been dying it ever since. I knew I was heavily gray under the color and dreaded letting it show. There's nothing as aging to a woman's appearance as gray hair.

With the help of a friend (who is also a masterful hair stylist), over about 2 years, the gray emerged, gracefully. I knew that it was permanent and, no matter how much I hated it, there was no realistic way of getting around it. Denial, rage, resignation, acceptance. I was grieving for my youthful-looking hair. Probably, for the youth in general, really.

About this time, I was becoming a texting fool and wanted a moniker that was me, but not ridiculous for a woman-of-a-certain-age. And, a song came to mind. It's called Dust On the Bottle. See where this is going? Here's the line that hit me:

"There might be a little dust on the bottle, but don't let it fool ya 'bout what's inside."

That was it; that was my needed, new handle. Dusty Bottle. It made gray hair fun. And a little saucy. Nothing wrong with a little saucy fun, ladies. Puts a bright twist on middle-age.

So, thank you, Illustration Friday, for the opportunity to illustrate my new nickname and to show how much fun a dusty bottle can be!



Revisiting the Reunion



<>

Between summer and fall



There's still a buzzing in my brain. I feel suspended between two existences these last few days: the fun simplicity of my youth and the reality of my life as it has become. The reunion I attended this past weekend has left me in this wonderfully, weird place. Both levels are intertwined to create this beautiful paradoxical phenomenon.

It started with a huge step back: back to the places, face and voices of another lifetime. Getting off the train my father used every working day and hearing my name excitedly called by a beloved, forever friend, with that accent so dear to my heart. And still knowing the countenance; a few fine lines showing her journeys, but just as lovely as I remember.



Friendship-Today & Yesterday



Then, the rest of the gang emerged, warm, loving, happy. Young. Yes, grayer in the hair, crow's feet circling the eyes, but the gang it was. The peoply who represented every struggle, every tear, every laugh, every triumph of my adolescence were here in front of me. A brightness grabbed me and chased away any daily drudgeries.

It continued as I was welcomed to become part of a friend's home. The simplicity of sharing it was that we were young and carefree and could devote our energies almost exclusively to each other and the events of the weekend. Responsibilities were few, like being teenagers again. The multitude of plans was not routine either, yet, there was an easiness about the gathering, the conversation, the company. Despite having lived a generation apart, our love for each other had stopped in time 30 years ago. It was an indescribable feeling to be able to wrap myself in that love again.

At the formal reunion, it was fun and challenging to pull faces off the memory board and try to match them to the names and faces now before me. There were some that took no effort. Others are still bothering me, because I know I missed a vital connection to the past and fear that I've hurt feelings in forgetting. There were a few old flames there. A couple were just nice to see as friends, others that still made a few butterflies reanimate in my stomach. Unfortunately, the peripheral friends I'd hoped to see did not make it. That was the only truly sad part of the event.

The most tremendous part of the whole experience was the connection that occurred with people with whom I'd had no relationship in high school. There was a pleasant sense of finding friendship. Feeling able to approach and being approached by so many people as if we'd always been friends was like being brought to your own surprise party. I'd never had a clue about the whole thing.

Which brings me back to the intertwining of different aspects of my life: I was painfully shy with those with whom I didn't have to function, especially, in high school. The shyness made me needy which also hurt a lot of the relationships I did have. The twists and turns of my life have made me able to step out and create relationships with almost anyone I choose. While the day-to-day of dealing with people can drag me down at times-sometimes so much that I really dislike people and the daily grind- it gave me the ability to jump into this microcosm of my past life and create a new link to both the past and the present.

I enjoyed having the confidence to accept these offerings of friendship from those from whom I had never wanted friendship. Feeling the butterflies made me realize that my standards were formed by these (now) men, the standards which guided me to my one true love when he came along 14 years ago.

And my friends, my beautiful friends, have reminded me that I can still be young, I can still enjoy life and people. Without the shyness of my teen years hindering me, it is even easier to enjoy all of these things. Even if it's just for a visit, I can still go home.

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Just a sample showing the process of developing a painting from a photograph. It's a photo Mike took while we were staying on the St. Lawrence Seaway several years ago. The glow of the sky offset by the deep shadows and silhouettes of the trees, make the color and texture of the lake pop. I'm struggling with some of the flow, but I'll be tackling it again this weekend. Will be keeping you posted as I move along on the painting.

Does This Match My Soul?

I've always been the queen of hand-me-downs. When I was young, it was hard for my mother to keep up with the rate my legs were reaching for the sky. There really wasn't enough capital to provide cover for my ankles for an entire school year. There was also the age-old issue of what a daughter thinks she should wear and what a mother knows her daughter should wear. Rarely did Mom and I agree on that point.

I came to rely on the kindness and quick-acting boredom of my friends. They woud pass a piece or two along to me as the whim took them. Once I learned how to make clothing, I became golden. The story was that if I didn't like an outfit, I would change it- literally. Change a neckline here, turn those now-too-short jeans into a skirt there, etc. The look was somewhat ragged, but it helped define my eclectic tastes and personality.

It also set the pattern for my style to be a season, or, even sometimes, a year, behind. And, I'm good with that. I've always felt that by not rushing into a trend of the fashion world, I was able to discern whether it would be something I could be comfortable with in my mind. Or, adjust it so that I could make it my own.

Oh, yes, and the deals! Impervious to potential personal health violations, I used to love to shop the Goodwill stores which are heavenly deposits of yesterday's fashion gold. With a bit of digging, I could come away with bags of items for pennies on the dollar, and support a wonderful organization. I could never fathom why people would spend hours rifling through the racks of T.J. Maxx or Marshalls to find more expensive clothes that had been tried on by more people than the stuff  at Goodwill could be, ever. Of course, there was also the joy of the seasonal clearances at the mainstream stores: Henleys for $2 each, long, flowing skirts for $5. Shear delight!

Unfortunately, as I've gotten older, I tend to be more cautious about buying clothes that have been handled be a lot of people. I'll bring clothes home to try just before I can jump into a shower. This queasiness has manifested itself in difficulty opening doors in public restrooms, refusal to buy any undergarments that are not factory-sealed, or raising the level as to where I purchase my clothes. Mind you, this cootie fever I have doesn't translate to my own home or vehicle. Those cooties are okay- they're family.

It has taken a great deal of spontaneity out of my style. Kind  of like all the other daily details of life that stop me from stepping out from the mundane. And I miss it.

But the other day, I couldn't hold out any more. I went into a dollar-style store to grab a puzzle book that I can locate only there. All last year, I'd been eyeballing the colorful scarves that were popular last fall and winter seasons. The folds of material added a certain grace to the tops they were paired with, and washed away a good deal of the winter drabness of those same tops. There they were: on clearance. At a dollar store. I had to do it. I did do it. And, I'm so glad that I did it.



Dancing the Dance



The brightness of the colors- the teals interwoven with the deep pinks and speckled with tiny sequins- combined with the lightness of the wispy material draped around my neck, lifted me. I returned to a younger, "fun-ner" time. I know the face in the mirror still looks like that of the middle-aged woman that I am. But my heart, my core said, no, no, you aren't. Not right now you aren't. And I believed.





With the constant drizzle of the last few days, the scarf has served some practical protection, but whenever I lace it over itself, I still get the floating sensation I felt the first time. With luck, I never lose it, never get bored with it. There are few tangible things that can bring you a feeling of youth, of hope. I intend on enjoying my magical scarf as long as I can.





The First Tree on "Paint"