Tag Archives: Judaism

Day 19 – five watercolors and the Pats lose

Day 19 a Lady in Blue by Jane Dever, watercolor, 8" x 6", $150
Day 19 – Lady in Blue by Jane Dever, watercolor, 8″ x 6″, $140 unframed
SOLD to Joan Janek

What a great day it was, except that I didn’t get to mass at my parish today.  The day ended with five water colors,

Still physically exhausted, still not recovered from the all nighter (painting) on Friday/Saturday. I lounged until eleven, shopped for groceries, had a cup of great coffee at Angelina’s, packed a paint-at-home kit at the Studio so I could watch the Patriots play Denver, prepared our dinner in advance, then settled onto the couch to try my hand at water colors while watching my team get pummeled on the field. Thank God I painted, because I’d otherwise be very upset.

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Red Buoy, watercolor, 8″ x 6″, $125
Tunnel vision by Jane Dever, watercolor on 140 lb paper, 8" x 4", $100
Tunnel vision by Jane Dever, watercolor on 140 lb paper, 8″ x 4″, $100
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Spiritual Path by Jane Dever, watercolor, 8″ x 6″ $125
Day 19 a Upset in the Garden, watercolor, 8" x 6", $150
Day 19 a Upset in the Garden, watercolor, 8″ x 6″, $100

I was going to paint in oils and paint myself into one, as I posed and took “selfies” this morning after seeing myself with my towel — I had the Madonna veil drape going on with my waffle patterned oversized bath towel positioned perfectly over my wet hair. Of course I took photos to go by, if and when I want to paint realistic Madonnas… Or for a mixed media project (Painting over my photos… Or painting and collage). Relating to the holy Mother is what this is about, in a sort of “I honor the god in you and you honor the god in me” way; so one will be a self-portrait soon.

I was irritated this week, after getting harassed for being Roman Catholic by a family member who suggested that it was contrary to pro women attitudes to practice a faith that used Mary as a the poster child for its abuse and disregard for women in a patriarchal hierarchy. While I understand where all that may come from, AND after personally leaving the church for a variety of reasons myself (for years), including the bad judgement of then hierarchy during the Mussolini era and the “conversion” and mistreatment of the Jews (my family). It isn’t that I have been blind — Added to all of that, I’ve also blamed the Church for guilt complexes of mine and others’ (family genetics is responsible on this point, though). I loved it on a purely personal level at age 11 on, my first exposure to it (being raised at the First Congregational Church in Bristol. I was treated so well by the nuns at St. Philomena School, my first exposure (other than my grandmother) . I also loved Mary enough from the get go, that I got ejected from the protestant church my folks attended, after asking the pastor over and over (in front of the others) if he/his church had a problem with women for constantly breezing over Mary.

Later, much later, after college, I found out that my father’s side was Jewish — my grandmother Nunes was a Schumann at birth — ridiculous that nobody knew. Dramatic, she handed the Star of David to my aunt from her deathbed, apparently, after holding it clenched in her hand. I thought at that time, “No wonder I’d been invited to Hillel so many times; it makes sense now.   Mary and Jesus were Jews. I love Jews. And Catholics. And Hindus. And All people. I love God. And I think there’s only one.

I am not and have never been the ideal “church lady” because of my wild streak and my rebellious side;  but if im a good church member, the church will be stronger!  I love the confession — just like the fifth step in detox programs — doing life with a clean slate makes life new again. RE-creation, embracing change, forgiving and allowing people to change is part of life.  So, its the same with a church, made up of people — letting go of past to move forward. I do, for whatever reason, feel comfortable in the Catholic mass, as it is what I converted to at 20, after a nine-year love affair with the church. I fell away later on, after my divorce; and now, after a period of reflection and an annulment my ex ordered, I started going again.

I  also developed a serious affinity with Mary when I started painting Madonnas for no apparent reason… I honestly thought about going to Temple and may at some point, to explore that side of who I am, as I feel a draw to Judaism, too. Is that messed up? No, I don’t think so. I would make a great Jew, just as I think I make a great (eyes wide open’ and trying to be an exception to the rule). Is my current church bad? Not bad.  Has it been? YES, the sex scandals involving children, political corruption, etc. — yes, that sucks! But if I am a member and forgive The art, so we can work toward a healthier future in the church, so be it. The new pope seems better. I have an aunt who is a deacon at her Protestant Church AND is a trustee at the synagogue, so maybe that’s where I’m headed, too. It will be all good, if that happens.

These are the paintings today, in order… I tried watercolor and LOVED it! I seemed to be in a “flow”, although the images are too pale and the body parts are not scaled proportionately today… YOUNG moms and big-headed babies…

Please hit the follow button below, as I have only ten followers and many likes on FB. I share on Facebook — and if you share each post with your friends, that would help, too. I need as many followers as possible, in order to get the funding site to take on my project. Finishing the movie for that tomorrow (hopefully). It takes a long time to plan a project like this. Goodnight.

Day 6 – “Holding On” (for dear life) 1.6.2014

Holding On_1.6.14

Day 6 – Holding On_Acrylic on Masonite board

Thankfully, my studio is a warm and inviting oasis on this rainy slushy, warmish but damp, dreary day in RI.

After a busy day of Mom-related errands on her only chance to go outside without ice this week, with job search work, Chamber of Commerce sales calls, time spent sorting through old paint tubes, and organizing my studio a bit, I finally settled in to paint this painting. I chose a VERY “sunny” palette today, probably to counter the dreariness of the day and youthful (to me). Brightness and cheery yellow is so NOT what the sky offers New Englanders this week, with the sun socked away behind rain clouds. I once wrote in a poem that “I want to shine before the final coat of varnish is applied” (referring, back then to my hormonal urges of the early 40’s, of course) and am reminded of that by these lively colors.

I painted this without a plan, as I always do. I like the playful colors, the graceful femininity of the mother, and the trace of a worried expression on her face. While I positioned the child in her arms, it brought back memories of my own children and the various ways a mother holds onto a squirmy child. Holding babies, my own, even when squirmy, is what I consider to be the best role I ever had (an odd choice of words, but they don’t give out manuals, so I played the part as best as I could). Was I a natural? Yes, in some ways, and in others I was challenged and am still, apparently (A is for ANXIOUS in my world, even when bad news comes by phone).

I was not exactly calm a lot of the time; much the opposite, I was high-strung and always worried that they would get hurt. One thing I was not, also, was strict or well-disciplined in keeping rules for them (I found them funny or was a total pushover when nagged) so our house was a fun house, too. We always had a lot of neighborhood children around, sometimes checking my fridge for snacks before my daughter made it off the bus (I could never understand the audacity of that one). Both of them were active and both had wild moments, like the baby I painted here –“Squirmy worms”.

vovo
Maria Carolina d’Oliveira

When I painted the Blessed Mother’s hand (at center), I remembered my mother’s “vice grip” fingers that could hold our little fingers very still when we were getting our nails clipped my mother wasn’t tough in any other way, incidentally; she rarely got mad and her only corporal punishment was the threat of the wooden spoon; and we were all twice her size, so we giggled when she took it out, knowing it wouldn’t be painful if she ever used it.

I also saw that it really looked like the hand of my maternal grandmother, Maria Carolina d’Oliveira, who had a shrine of roses on her bureau for her “Santinos” and the Blessed Virgin.  She was a lovely woman with long, soft, beautiful hands and she prayed non-stop with her rosary beads in hand much of the time. I inherited both sets of hands, I think, as well as my Vovo’s sharp wit and the ability to make a face that spoke a thousand words (both a blessing and curse). She used to call the elderly folks in her complex “Sheep” for their white hair… when she was 95 (and colored her hair until she was 96) and she could look disgusted with a person in a way (with the tilt of her head) that could make me cringe.

Some favorite memories of “Holding on” to sometimes squirmy babies:the kids in the front yard

My daughter Addy was always a sweet, cuddly baby, fairly calm, mostly well-behaved with a (very) quick wit and wild sense of humor.  My youngest, she loved bath time and would race around the house after with undies on her head to be silly (with her still contagious laugh). She could lob her baby bottle high over the pews/heads at church, got into occasional scuffles with the “naughty” boy in pre-K at “Mount Caramel” (Mt. Carmel), played hide and seek under clothing racks in department stores (with her brother in the lead;  scared me to death, and once refusing to play with a neighbor who was the same age but as she put it “Clearly a young three” (verbatim/best friends later).  She is still a perfect daughter — beautiful, hysterically funny, an amazing artist and friend to those lucky enough to have her, smart and squirmy.

My son, Peter, terrorized adults with his unruliness got away with it because he had “Tweety-bird” eyes, and could wriggle out of any situation with break-neck speed to get to where HE wanted to be (he is still very direct and walks his own path well). He could outrun ANY adult to the dock at my folks’ (not funny), could breakaway to random neighbors’ doors to ring bells for popsicles (we made many a friend that way), or race to the church altar after communion when everyone was quietly praying. He acted out in church a lot: He’d also remove his pacifier to cry out (AUDIBLY WELL for age 2) a 4-letter word that starts with S and ends in T — during peaceful moments in mass (bobbing heads and gasps resulted). Raising children was stressful for me, honestly, and I was a screamer (and high-pitched at that), with my heart in my throat half of the time. He is and always will be a handful — alpha in every way, a totally unique, wise, music-making, loving son and father to my granddaughter.

kids in front yard

For all my worrying, they had few calamities as youngsters (these come to mind): Addy broke her wrist at the bus stop from a fall off an icy boulder — then sprained her arm after shoeless ballerina twirling on the kitchen island (in leotards); and Pete stepped on a nail once that went all the way through and didn’t hit anything major; and broke his finger (at two) by throwing a brick up in the air to have it fall on his own hand. Most of the damage was to other things.

I recall “Miss Mouse’s” unintentional Barbie Car mishap during which it (the car) sped out of control and hit the cellar wall, leaving the hamster a goner after he was thrown from the vehicle (lots of crying neighbor kids; funeral procession/backyard gravesite). I recall her very brief “dachshund painting” phase, too, with a stencil I helped make (me: what a neat project/so glad to help) that she used on the sidewalk(!); and most shocking at the time, her intentional nose piercing and tattoos (she wears them well). She rarely got into trouble.

Pete, on the other hand, did off the charts damage to things like painting his entire bedroom carpet black while we were trying to sell the house, spray painting the Christmas tree and all of our heirloom ornaments gold, and (at age 3 or 4) spraying the garden hose into the family room window for five minutes or so (he had been in the sand box when I left to see his cousins shoot hoops in the front yard) leaving the carpet ruined, the plaster falling off the walls, electrical appliances became shock hazards, the pull-out couch very absorbent. Dumping a bucket of water off the deck and onto the play date and mother that were coming to play in the sandbox on a beautiful summer day was memorable, too. He was into water!
photo cabinet collage of the kids
I may sound like I am complaining but I’m not. They are my children and I am as proud of their disobedience (when they are on their missions) as I am of their conformity (when it makes sense). I love shock value, anyway, (no surprise, to those who know me) and am just now (too tired, frankly) growing out of that. I am so relieved that they made it through, alive and well — and have grown up! Of course, I’d go back in time in a minute!

Living in my home town makes sense for now with my mom being 86 and before when my dad was sick (before he passed); and, while I am often envious of my ex, I am thankful that my children have their father near them (in Chapel Hill). I know that they are God’s, too, and I do believe that our parenting doesn’t always come from blood relatives. Friends, step-family, extended relatives, fathers, strangers — you name it; they’ve been there for me, so I am sure they are there for my children when I am not. That isn’t to say that I had (or have) an easy time with separation. I still worry and its sad, really, as they aren’t part of my physical world often; but Love is not lacking in either direction, a help.

“HOLDING ON” — holding onto babies, onto jobs, onto God, onto my best self, my sanity, my self-control, onto money (job search) holding onto sanity, friends in ne???????????????????????ed, someone who gives you a hand when you need it; whatever it is, we have to do it when its something important to us. There is a time for letting go, too, I guess. I’m not ready to let go of the Madonna theme. Maybe 2014 will be the year, not sure.

 
“First Night” oil on canvas

Wow, I went on and on again.  This last photo is the first Madonna I ever painted, “First Night”.