September 11, 2001 ushered in a new, dark era for my country. We were injured, and out of our injuries, we lashed out at those who we thought caused us pain. That war is still going on – in Afghanistan, in remote parts of the world, and within the hearts and minds of the American public.
It goes without saying that mistakes were made.
Overzealous politicos overplayed their hands, and we went way beyond righting wrongs. We perpetrated wrongs ourselves in the name or righting wrongs caused by others.
Now, our leaders are paralyzed to act when other purposes arise. We played the classic “Boy Who Cried Wolf” with the Iraqi War, and now, no one believes it when our president sees a need for world action.
I cannot say that I understand the current crisis facing our world’s leaders with the horrific actions of the Syrian government against its own people. I also cannot say where I stand on President Obama’s call for military action in Syria.
I CAN say that it causes me great sadness that there is so much mistrust and anger that our country’s leaders, and other world leaders, are completely incapable of acting when a need arises.
How do we get to a place where Americans act out of reason instead of anguish? How do we move beyond partisan politics and work towards collaborative solutions of our country’s and the world’s problems?
How do we let there be peace?
I still believe it is possible.
Today, I recommit myself to letting it begin with me.
I used to awaken in the middle of the night sometimes, and when I did, I would look over and see Slick sleeping soundly next to me. Sometimes she would be on my pillow, and on chilly nights, she would be under the covers snuggled behind my knees. If not next to me, she would always be somewhere close by.
She’s not there anymore.
After 18 years of being my constant companion, she has left this world and returned to her Creator’s world of spirit.
I am deeply grateful that I was gifted with her presence for so long. Nonetheless, I am really kind of lost without her.
Not the “I’m not able to function” kind of lost. Not the wandering about aimlessly kind of lost.
The “I lost my sweet girl Slick” kind of lost.
Yeah. You know what I am talking about. It is indescribable – only felt.
When a pet leaves us, we try to cheer ourselves with stories of the Rainbow Bridge and other tales of perfect bliss that could come to an animal. Who knows what really happens?
All I know is that there is still a deep connection between human and animal that does not die.
Slick came to me after being rescued from a riverbed where an oil spill had sullied the waters. I imagine that her perfect bliss would somehow involve trees and grass and clean rolling waters.
But the thing she enjoyed the most was having her cheeks and chin scritched. I hope her heaven includes that somehow.
When the original Beezie passed on, I found comfort in the many paintings I had created of her through the years. I salved my grief over her loss by painting a wooden bridge and placing it over her grave.
When I lost Bub a year later, I buried him next to the bridge marking Beezie’s grave. Bub was Slick’s best buddy, and was never quite replaced for her by any of the cats in my current brood.
I buried Slick’s body next to the bridge as well. The small cemetery is in Dellroy, OH behind a cabin in which we once lived. Although I do not live there now, my previous landlord has kept it undisturbed, and he welcomed me to bury Slick there.
I don’t know if it makes any real difference, but it does comfort me to know that they are all together again.
I have painted many commemorative pet portraits of animals that have left a hole in their humans’ hearts when they passed away. I always feel a deep responsibility when painting these portraits, because I know how very special it is to keep the memory of that relationship alive.
Now, I have had to take a taste of my own medicine. It is bittersweet, but the painting above, the last one that I painted of Slick while she was still alive, is the most wonderful thing in the world to me.
When I lost Beezie and then Bub, my world was crushed. I did not think I could get over it. What I learned over time was that I got through it, if not over it. New cats in my life did not replace the old ones, but they brought new joy to my world, and they comforted the pain.
Now, I look to the place where Slick used to sleep next to me, and it is empty. My other cats seem to respect that, for now, it should stay that way. But they have found their own places next to me, and they are bringing much comfort in their own ways.
Slick, I miss you so much my little girl. Brewskie, Okey, Noah and Who do too. We will make it, but you sure made our world wonderful, and it just is not the same without you.
We still love you and we always will.
Now go enjoy your next adventure, and make sure to meet us on the other side when it is our time.
A friend posted a status update on Facebook recently that expressed frustration about the way some artists and public art projects are marketed. Her annoyance stemmed from the “hype” over a public art project that made her feel “marketed to”.
I wondered about the specifics of the project that had sparked her ire, so I asked her about it. She never gave me the specifics, but she did share this unsolicited compliment:
“I appreciate the way you personally try to connect with your audience and community, BZTAT — because of your blog and your social media pages I do feel like you “practice what you preach.”
I wasn’t seeking a compliment about my own social media activities. I was simply curious about what had annoyed her so much. I was gratified, however, to hear that my own social media presence was having the intended impact upon those who follow me.
Authenticity is very important to me in the process of sharing and promoting my art business. The notion of marketing is only palatable to me if it is done within the context of real life experience and true creative inspiration.
I try to engage honestly with those who enjoy my art instead of “marketing to” them. “Personally connecting with my audience and community” makes my work more desirable to people I think, so the hard sell is not necessary.
Authenticity has its consequences though.
I am sure that I have missed out on sales of artwork because I declined to pitch it in more aggressive ways. I also know that being accessible and approachable defies the myth some people have about artists being remote and mysterious, thus leading them to believe I am not a “serious” artist.
The consequences of being inauthentic would be worse, however. I am not good at being fake.
I guess I am lucky that personal and authentic connection with my audience works for me. It’s the only way that I know how to be, and I thrive on the enrichment I receive in the process.
Thanks for following along, and thanks for bringing me that enrichment.
