Love the one you're with… You know the song…. I have questioned that one for as long as I’ve known it. Because, growing up, my mom always told to me, “Don’t settle.”. And well, that song always sounded to me like settling; settling for what’s convenient versus searching for what is exceptional. I bring this up because I’ve discovered a different take on Stephen Stills’ lyrical advice.
Last Saturday night a friend and I were discussing (complaining) about the passage of time; damnit, if it doesn’t just keep speeding up! He and I agreed that one day, and it won’t be long, we will be looking back to the “good ole days”, ones like that very moment we were in, in our late thirties, when we got together with good friends and drank too much and laughed too loud. We don’t always realize when the “good ole days” are “these days”, when everything we truly need and want in life is right there in front of us. Take stock. Take notice. Look around. These are the good ole days.
My dad brought me to this place. He led me here even though he isn’t here anymore. The truth is, my dad is closer to me now than he ever was before. It’s true. I have felt him with me since the day he left. And, I get it. I understand why he’s still with me because I am a parent, too. I could never just jump ship and leave my children behind. I will be with them always and in similar ways that I always had been. But, it would be easy to miss that, to not recognize his presence, to not believe it even when I sense he’s near.
He and I had a good relationship, but if I’m being honest, we weren’t crazy close. That doesn’t make his loss any easier though. He was my daddy, and he was a really good one, too. Truth is, neither of us have ever been especially skilled at small talk. I’m the worst about using the telephone to stay in touch with anyone. Sometimes we would go weeks without speaking, but when we did, talking to him was the most efficient conversation ever. No beating around the bush, just getting to the point; brief check ins and then back to our individual rhythms. I look back to the days when we worked as neighbors, when our relationship had repetition. After I moved back home after college, my first studio in Mobile was right next door to his office, and in those days, our routines effortlessly overlapped. And, after I moved out of that studio to work at home, I saw him less often, but something about our natures kept us overlapping; passing in the car and running into each other at the drug store. We were both guilty of not putting solid effort into keeping up. I wish we had met for lunch or just a drink more often, but even without trying we continued to cross paths. We remained connected by nature. We were continuously right in front of each other in a way that could not be ignored.
I miss him being here, like in the flesh- here. I miss the comfort of his solid presence in a room and his firm and confident beliefs. I miss his hand on my back. I think of his hands all the time. Those are the missing pieces I can’t get from our new connection. But, these days we share many more moments. There are wordless conversations happening between us throughout each day. And, that just makes sense. That part is similar to what it was, and it’s comfortable. He never needed more than a few sentences to say what he wanted to say, anyway.
I’ve used my art as a means of therapy to process grief, to “self heal” if that’s even a thing. I decided I’d have to be open to anything in order for it to work. I opened my heart and mind up to whatever kind of art wanted to came along during this season. Nothing was off the table, not even representational art. As I painted, I began to feel one clear epiphany after another, always coming through music. Through music I was able to realize that everything I ever needed in order to make art is right in front of me. The scenery of this coastal city where I’ve spent the majority of my life is full of color and light. True color and constant light. Hope and joy, love and spirituality. I have lived here most of my life, but I feel like I’m looking at it with brand new eyes. I have been painting for over 20 years, but it feels like I just discovered the power of paint. The first thing my dad did for me from his new point of view was encourage me to open my eyes and see what surrounds me, what I am looking right at every day; real Color and true Light.
He’s saying: Raise your head up and look around. You’re missing it, and it is right in front of you. You’re in it; in the thick of it; the good ole days. There is color and light all around you. Look up. You wanna paint something pretty? Look up!
The first day I gave into the pull, the one that was begging me to paint this scenery, I kid you not, a red cardinal sat at my studio door and watched me paint. He wasn’t there to eat anything or gather anything, he was looking inside and watching me. I have a picture to prove it. He left periodically and then he would came back. And, he continues to come back often. He’s checking in. It’s a brief interaction like when my dad and I waved as we passed each other on Old Shell Road or when he’d come to my studio or gallery, make a few observations, give a little nod, a handful of wise words, a pat on the back and then, adiós. This red Cardinal lets me know my dad is still around. When that tiny red speck appears, I notice it. When the cardinal comes it feels like one of those quick pop bys.
My dad liked to take credit for my creativity. He always said I got it from him. He is so proud I took his suggestion to look up and paint the beauty of the earth and sky, and he’s letting me know it. And the truth is, I probably wouldn’t have taken his suggestion had it come from him on Earth side. I took a lot of his advice, but never about art. He knows that, too. I can picture him smirking at me with one eyebrow raised. All this is to say: these are his landscapes. He is painting this art with me. It turns out, he knew a thing or two about color and light, but now more than ever.
Birds have captured my attention. They’ve ushered my eye to the sky. The hawks prepared me for this shattering loss. They taught me the power of perspective and had me ready to look up and out. They led me to see the vast amount of love and light that goes far beyond the end of the earth. And, then the cardinals, they keep me remembering that although he is in a distant place, he’s also very near.
On December 30th a flock of geese landed on Mobile Bay. I gasped when I saw them from inside the bay house. I’ve never seen that before. Robert and the kids and I went out and watched them. I took pictures. It felt momentous and symbolic… of what?…. I did not yet know. But, it was my birthday, and the geese felt like a gift.
That night my dad took to the sky, but not before leaving me with that gift, a lasting keepsake, a sign, one that even sounds like his nickname fore me; “goo”.
I’ve seen the geese since then. Two flew over me honking recently. I was coming home from a walk with a friend. They were literally impossible to miss, maybe 15 feet above our heads and honking. I burst into tears at the sight. Seeing a goose is not at all typical in my neighborhood. When these geese cross my path, I know it’s a gift sent just for me. It felt momentous and symbolic because it was. It is.
If I needed you would you come to me?
Would you come to me for to ease my pain?
If you needed me I would come to you
I would swim the sea for to ease your pain
Well, the night's forlorn and the morning's born
And the morning's born with the lights of love
And you'll miss sunrise if you close your eyes
And that would break my heart in two.
(Don Williams and Emmylou Harris)
I look to the sky throughout the days. I watch for the flying ushers to lead my eye up, and I wait for the sky to preform for me. I look at the landscapes around me like I’m seeing them for the first time. I’m taking in every little detail, and at the same time, I’m observing the vast, enormity of it all. I paint what I see in order to honor it. I don’t paint landscapes from pictures. I paint from moments in time. The moments when I sense: that Heaven and Earth are more overlapped than I ever realized, that the skyline is the seam where the two meet, that Color and Light are more than just color and light, that the “good ole days” are “these days”.
When we open our eyes to what’s right in front of us, when we use what we see, when we trust how we feel and love who and what we’re with, we are honoring a moment, showing gratitude, and by doing so, we overlap with the fullest picture of it all. We get a momentary glimpse at what is impossible to fathom. Like the arc of color that periodically appears in the atmosphere, nature is as mystical as it is real.
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
And may you stay
Forever young
(Bob Dylan)
May you stay forever in awe, as if it was the first time you opened your eyes. May you recognize what’s right in front of you. May you remain present, even through the tough years, realizing that even the days that are far from perfect could still turn out to be “the good ole days”. All you’ve ever wanted could be closer than you realize. I hope that my newest series of art inspires you to look up, not just literally, but figuratively, too; stay hopeful. Keep your head up and your eyes open. I hope you are inspired to trust what you feel and give yourself permission to believe in it, too. The heart knows what the head can’t begin to comprehend. Color and Light is only color and light until it has truly been seen, until it has been fully witnessed.
So I changed my mind about “Love the One You’re With”. It doesn’t have to mean settling. No, it’s more like this: There’s no need to keep searching if you're already looking right at it. Now that song talks to me about looking up to what is already there, your most natural resources; what you have and where you are.
And, if you do hear the call to seek out something spectacular, by all means go for it, but be sure the voice you follow has seen what you already have.
I went up to the mountain
Because you asked me to
Up over the clouds
To where the sky was blue
I could see all around me
Everywhere
Sometimes I feel like
I've never been nothing but tired
And I'll be walking
Till the day I expire
Sometimes I lay down
No more can I do
But then I go on again
Because you ask me to
Some days I look down
Afraid I will fall
And though the sun shines
I see nothing at all
Then I hear your sweet voice, oh
Oh, come and then go, come and then go
Telling me softly
You love me so.
The peaceful valley
Just over the mountain
The peaceful valley
Few come to know
I may never get there
Ever in this lifetime
But sooner or later
It's there I will go.
(Up to the Mountain, Patty Griffith)