Magical Moments

I’ve always looked for the magic in life, even during the darkest most troubling times. They are always, always there, though fleeting. As if entering another realm for just a while when time seems to stop and life and joy and the wonder of a child lift our hearts and laughter resounds like bubbles in the air. And it’s real. These moments are real. I’ve always reached for them and now, as I move through this time of recovery from last year’s events and health crises including a lot of anxiety and some depression, I’ve been reaching for them even more. And they are there. Opportunities to experience so many new and different and wonderous things are always available to us. Sometimes we have to ask for help to get there, or make extra accommodations for ourselves in order to make the experience physically possible, and sometimes we simply want friends along for the journey to go seek the joy with us.

This photo was taken on one of those days recently when I went with friends to a Fairy Festival. There were bubbles, castles, music, fairy houses, flowers, magical forest paths, and even a Fairy Queen. As is the case with many things I do these days, it took so much for me to get there and by the end of the day my energy was beyond depleted, which is how my days go. I only have a small window of activity before I need to rest, so I choose my activities wisely and carefully. I almost didn’t make it this day and even the day before tried to give the ticket away to someone who I knew wanted to go. Thankfully she had other plans at that point, so I mustered everything I had and my friends made it easy, as they are aware of my limitations. I am blessed to have people like this in my life.

The bubbles were fun. We posed in front of the bubble machine and I held the camera on top of it so it wouldn’t get soapy and took many photos, hoping at least one or two would capture our joy as we laughed while bubbles floated around us and even hit us on our cheeks or noses. It was wonderful!

Despite how I felt physically that day, I can look back at this photo and remember the joy and the magic. I remember feeling much more before the strokes… and yet as blank as I might feel a lot of the time, I know when I enjoy something. I see it in pictures. Like this one.

Hooping is Healing

I am so grateful to know some extremely talented people in the arts and the healing arts. One of them is my friend and mentor Emily Eisen who visited me recently. Thanks to Emily for her encouragement and support to do something I love which also helps me to recover physical abilities. With the physical issues I deal with day to day, it can be a struggle to get motivated. But the hoop helps me and I enjoy it so much.

Here's what Emily posted on my social media page with the videos she took of us hooping. She had never seen an LED hoop before so it was a blast showing her and having fun with the hoops. Emily wrote: "My soul sister Robyn turned me on to led hoop flow dancing! Soooooo much fun. Robyn is so graceful and beautiful and knows wonderful movements to create these light designs. She originally learned it as part of her movement rehabilitation after 3 strokes! This is a woman who has a passionate zest for life and finds her way to meet her challenges. These strokes were close calls and dramatically changed her life as she knew it….she continues to inspire me…..still dealing with the effects of her strokes on so many levels….she carries on with grace and commitment." 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻👍🥰

That made me cry, in a good way. Bless her heart! Thanks to Emily also for the photos and video. She's an amazing person in so many ways (including a gifted artist) and teaches and empowers many through her work BrainWorksPlus. Please look her up - she will inspire you! Emily's website: https://brainworksplus.com/home

Sea, Sand, and Wind Carrying me Forward

Yesterday I walked almost to the end of the beach where the sand is covered with water when the tide is high. And I walked without the cane… slowly and with arms out for balance. It was wonderful! The air felt so glorious and being out there on what felt like my own little island was so peaceful and exhilarating at the same time.

Sand is easier for me than floor or pavement when I walk. Despite some intense arthritis pain that has developed over the winter (perhaps post-covid which I had last September), I get up and do the best I can to continue recovering from the strokes. It is a long recovery, but I see glimmers of progress as I move along through my days.

I always want to live near the sea, always. It is so healing for me... the feel and fragrance of the salty air, the sound of the waves, the colors of sea and sand, and the sight and sounds of the gulls as they soar, dive, and dance in the air around me. It’s a different world at the beach. Yesterday was mild and even warm, hitting the mid-70’s and yet the wind is so much stronger at the beach that I had to wear my coat. But the air was comfortable without a chill.

This is my favorite beach. It is a harbor that leads out to Long Island Sound which leads to the Atlantic Ocean and I like it because when I swim there in the summer, the waves are gentler than they are at ocean beaches. And I don’t need to have smooth white sand like the beaches on the south shore, as soft as it may be. The rocky north coast beaches are fine with me and allow me to build little stone circles and moats when I spend time there in warmer months. I like stones.

And the sea is truly healing. The salty water. Swimming here in summer is a joy and if I am having any kind of stress or physical pain, the cool salt water takes it all away. This is the topic of one of the entries in my book “Memoirs of a Little Ghost”. One summer years ago when I was recovering from physical pain (it may have been when I was first diagnosed with arthritis or after I had been bitten by numerous deer ticks and became extremely ill), I remember going to the beach as often as possible to find relief. It worked every single time and then a gorgeous sunset would be a perfect ending to the day. I always want to live near the sea.

As I walked yesterday, I thought of the water and its power, which I greatly respect. I thought of my ancestors who came here on ships from different European countries and thanked the water for holding them up on their long voyages, for keeping them safe. These are just some of my thoughts as I walked along almost to the end, which I never walked to before.

Thank you to my dear friend for taking this photo and sending it to me afterward. Seeing this photo helps me to remember. This is why I love photos, especially taking them. Photographs are like a visual diary. This one in particular is a reminder to me of so much - it is a reminder of my love of life, of my strength of spirit, of my healing process, and of my perseverance.

Make Your Own Parade

With the arrival of Spring, naturally my spirits are a bit lifted and heart is lightened. This is a big thing, considering all that last year brought and the remnants that are still present to be moved through as they come. I am remembering many things, particularly moments and experiences over the course of the last twelve years or so when my creativity was given an opportunity to shine and when I was able to rise to an occasion to present my most bright and colorful self to the world. A secondary but equal benefit was the hope that whatever it is I did or was involved in would somehow make a positive impact on the world around me. Would touch people’s hearts.

I didn’t organize the parade I led the day this photo was taken. My dear friend Ginger Balizer-Hendler wrote a book titled “The Adventures of Gingerella” that became a musical theatrical work, and also an installation in Riverhead, NY. Ginger’s book is absolutely heartwarming. With a hint of “The Little Prince”, she wrote characters in the form of animals, except for the main character Gingerella. The story is about Peace. When she asked me if I would like to contribute to her installation in Riverhead, I didn’t hesitate to say yes! I created a few floating beings which were incorporated into her installation (one image can be seen here on my website on my Mixed Media page) and Ginger also asked if I would lead a parade from the gallery to the local organic community garden, leaving the costume and presentation up to me. It was such a joy to be there and when I saw this photo that my dear friend Renata took, and saw that people had been following me… yes, indeed I was leading a parade!… it warmed my heart so much!

When I look at my home movies, I’m a ham, I ran around in circles, danced and pranced and posed for the camera, and had so much energy! It was always in me. In my dysfunctional family, I wasn’t seen so eventually I became invisible, or so I thought. That was then. How I made it from there to here is, really, a miracle!

When I was a child, I wanted to sing and thought I could but it was made clear that it was better and safer to stay quiet. I loved dancing but clearly that was out too. So I turned to visual art. It was quiet and I could do it any time, even in the comfort of my own room without anyone knowing. Same with writing. But art saved me, really saved me through so much of my life. It still is and ART will always be my first love. But honestly, I go in many directions, creatively-speaking.

In 2012, I learned I could sing when I joined a choir and have been singing on my own and even writing songs ever since. When I was drawn to butoh dance in 2010 and then began busking up in town, people’s reactions told me I could, and that I was making a difference. I had to reach out to discover myself. I had to put myself in new situations to see what would happen. I had to “make my own parade”. Then people saw me! I was invited to dance at events and was even paid for some. I was invited to do photo shoots, like the creative shoots I did with the talented Alex M. Wolff. Those were fun and really helped me embrace my love of costume and drama and the end result were photos I can look back on that tell stories. I had to put the ball in motion by putting myself out there and there was a chance I would be laughed at, or worse… not seen at all. But I was seen, and acknowledged, and invited to continue. So I did, whenever I could.

When I was in my 20’s a family member knew the well-known Civil War artist from my home town, Mort Kunstler and introduced me to him. Mr. Kunstler invited me to his beautiful home and he and his wife were so gracious and down to earth. He gave me advice as a young artist. He told me to show my art wherever and whenever I could because we never know who will notice us and what it will lead to. I remember that day vividly and have taken that advice as one of my life’s mottos.

And here I am… still dealing with chronic illness (walked with a cane in 2009, symptoms eased then cane again in 2012, symptoms eased, then cane again now) and the strokes of last year and still I am painting! I put myself out there in the ways that I can. And truthfully I go much slower than I’d like and need to rest much more often than I would choose to, but it is necessary. This is not just age. This is not age. This is chronic illness and as I write, I am acknowledging to the depths of my heart my immense bravery, fortitude, and strength of spirit. As I look over the photos of the performances I have done, often I did not know if I could get there until I was there. Occasionally I did not make it and had to let someone down, but it was met with compassion and I was much harder on myself than anyone else could have been because I really, really want to do so much. Life is absolutely beautiful. It can be ugly but we choose what to focus on. Good to stay aware and balanced and not all “head in the clouds” but it is so necessary to know when to turn it all off and go shine someplace.

Dance and movement are something I am working my way back to, and ART is ever-present and holds me up every day. The smell of a room that is used for oil painting is home for me. I am doing all that I can and still, if I had perfect health and lived a hundred years, there still wouldn’t be time enough to do all the wonderful things my heart pulls me toward. I try to stay in touch with it all because as I recover from the strokes and the depression and anxiety that have followed, it’s so important for me to remember the things I CAN do, to remember the things I have done, the things that light me up from the inside, the things that make me forget about the concept of time, and the things that make me feel more than okay. And… at any time, on any day, knowing that I have the power to reach for one of these things and make my own parade.

Downtime and Zigzagging

Been having to take a lot of downtime lately in between art and art show things. Sometimes playing my flute for a bit, or resting in quiet with my cat Gracie nearby or by my side, which she is starting to do. Or lying down listening to music as I'm doing in this photo.

The strokes really changed my brain. Speaking is one of the most strenuous things for me, and listening. And oddly enough, even though I've forgotten a lot of my Spanish, I have an easier time speaking it with local Spanish speakers than I do English. Foreign language feels like music, perhaps connects that way in my head. Often even over the phone I have to ask people to please slow their speaking or to repeat what they say. Must say I feel a bit stupid but I know that I am not. It just feels that way.

Overall I've found a lot of kindness and compassion through this time. Except from one lady at a bank who continued to berate me for taking a parking space she wanted, one space away from the one she got. She saw me with my cane. I told her it was easier for me to be closer to the entrance. Absolutely no compassion in her eyes, only coldness. In front of everyone, calmly I looked at her and repeated, "Thank you for your compassion," hoping to get through. Sometimes it doesn't happen. Maybe it happened later, where her heart opened just a little. Who knows. It had nothing to do with me. So I go on, being whatever I am right now. Speaking up when it feels best to. Mostly, so many people are immensely kind and will give me time to walk, to talk.

This Sunday at my opening, no idea what I was thinking but I wanted to talk about my art, so that's what I'm planning to do - a short talk. I'll do it anyway and if I find it too challenging, I'll sing or write and let it evolve into something else, perhaps let others talk and let it be interactive.

Zigzagging is great, it's something my dear friend Con taught me. It is helping me a lot right now. When things feel too much, it's important to let ourselves zigzag. See all the options, pinpoint the priority, move toward it, and let the rest go.

The Anniversary of My Passing

A poem by Robyn Bellospirito 1/19/23

A salt lamp’s amber glow lights up my darkened room

before the dawn, before the sun has risen

and I lie in bed thinking of that day almost a year ago

when I was struck a blow that left half my body paralyzed.

It happened quickly, I was alone, and my roommate was away

but I managed to make a call to her while my body was beginning to fray.

I knew she’d understand my slurred speech and where I was

and would be able to send help my way.

They carried me out the door, out into the cold, into nineteen frigid degrees

so my roommate kindly placed her warm woolen red plaid scarf over me.

They drove so fast, I knew the way, sirens blaring, they got me there that day

to the help I needed, to where I had to be,

to where I’d be restored, to where they saved me.

I had a choice, the doctor said, of the drug that they could use.

Nothing appeared on the scan just yet, but likely it was ischemic

and if they were correct, the powerful drug had a chance

of restoring my abilities, so I said yes, without a doubt in my mind

even though there was a chance I could bleed out and die,

a deeper faith than I already had said to trust,

so I did, and within hours I could smile, move a finger, a foot

and as movement slowly returned, tears streamed down my face.

I had fallen, was helped back up, and in a state of gratitude and giddy grace.

That night in the ICU, my room had a painting on the ceiling

done by artists from Splashes of Hope who had painted the tile for a reason.

The colorful sunset on the beach hand-painted in the most beautiful way

brought me great comfort and a sense of the promise of a brand new day.

The next morning, I sat quietly in my sky blue room with the sunlight streaming

onto my hand, which was now gracefully ‘hand dancing’ in the air.

A miracle had been given to me, after having been struck down the day before.

I have been restored, a birth of sorts, taken for a walk down the corridor.

For six days, everyone I met along my journeys from room to room,

who wheeled me from my bed to tests and back to my bed again,

through doorways and hallways on many floors, elevators up and down,

were from everywhere, all over the world, and even from my home town.

Helpers with clip boards and kindness, expertise and many chores,

keeping cool through the chaos, they managed to hold the balance

as they handled me with care and delivered me to safer shores.

Now one year later, gratitude still fills my heart.

I’m brought to tears when I think of what could have been,

I was a lucky one, and Blessed I say. I was carried that day.

Though I am restored, I’m not without my losses –

a stroke a perfect word for what it was – I was hit hard, and

though I can move, still not quite back into my groove.

Walking with a cane, balance off and talking with apprehension,

aphasia stops words in their tracks, delays comprehension.

At least I am moving forward with each day of precious life

and I am so grateful to the helpers, Blessed are the helpers,

the deliverers, the care giverers, the drivers and readers of tests,

Medical pros who are in service by the profession they chose.

Awe struck at their strength and willingness to run, to save, to heal.

That day was the day I passed from one life to the next,

to the one I am in now, not quite knowing who I am now, yet.

With gratitude at the forefront of my heart, always –

for this and for every moment of every single day.

A Healing Heart

This photo is of me painting "Heart Birds" in early 2020. It is a painting about healing the heart and will be included in my show at The Gallery @ opening on January 22nd in Huntington, NY. The day of the opening marks one year and a day after my first stroke last year, so the reception will be a celebration of life. Hard to see all the colors and metallic gold of the background, but the photo shows its size.

I needed to paint this. With so much loss in my my life (and much more since), I had to paint a healing heart, one protected by the heart birds as I call them, a sign of something Divine, protecting my heart. The heart has been a subject in my art since the mid 1990’s when I was diagnosed with a rare heart issue. One in a thousand people in the world have it, I was told. Then in the last ten years I was diagnosed with another heart issue. Arrhythmias are just a part of my life but I never get quite used to them. Back in the 90’s, I painted so many…. “In My Heart”, “Broken Heart”, “Heart Mountain”, “Garden Heart” (which I gifted to my cardiologist at St. Francis Hospital), “Umbrella”, and I even created a large wooden sculpture that I painted in oils titled “Melting Heart”. One lady who saw it dubbed it “anatomy on a stick”, which was kind of funny and okay with me, since that’s what it looked like.

At least I’m painting a healing heart now, although I don’t think the heart is immune to pain, no matter how hard we try to protect it. Things will happen in the world that will hurt us that we can’t control. People will be cruel and unkind and we can’t control that, we can only control how we respond to it. The best we can do is go easy with ourselves, especially when we do the best we can with every day. We can do our best to stay away from situations and people who aren’t healthy for us, those who bully us, make us feel bad, hurt our hearts. The world may not be kind but we can choose to treat ourselves kindly, especially if we are conscious of how we are in the world. If we’re good people. If we treat others with kindness, compassion, and respect. If we are a presence of goodness in the world, even if it is the little bit of world around us. Go easy on ourselves and our hearts, especially if they’ve been through enough. I know mine has.

Resilience

Here I am at 19 in Florida when I took a road trip with my best friend. I remember that beach filled with the most beautiful sea shells and how peaceful the day was and how perfect the weather. We went to visit my grandparents and had a lot of adventures on the way there and back to New York. It was a trip, in many ways. The best, BEST part was when we pulled into my grandparent’s driveway and saw them through the window as they got up from their chairs and rushed to the door to greet us. Then when we hugged! The love of family. I really miss them.

As many wonderful adventures I had when I was young, and with how many things I wish I'd done differently in my life, I honestly wouldn't go back in time for anything, unless on the inside I could be the me I am now after having so many lessons, learning about myself and my value, learning about my gifts, learning healthy self-love and self-respect, and learning about boundaries. Anyone who winces at these words hasn’t addressed this in themselves yet. It’s not about being arrogant or full of oneself, but knowing who you are, good and bad. Accepting all of it, being able to celebrate yourself as well as own up to the tough stuff inside and address it - that last thing is the most important part. To address it. A lot of it can come from trauma early in life and yet as we grow into adulthood, it’s still our job to make it right.

At 19, there are glimmers of who we are, but we can't fully see or understand until we get that life experience. I wish I had been able to see myself more clearly and I did probably know myself better at that age than most, but that age has its many blind spots. I had big dreams, learned languages, painted every day, got my college degree despite frequent hospital stays for asthma attacks and chronic bronchitis (while often working two jobs), I worked hard at my full-time jobs after college and loved it, and dreamed of traveling the world. My plan was to get my PhD and travel, write, teach, and curate. But plans often go awry. I wasn’t paying attention to my inner self, which was screaming for my attention. Health issues began at 15 with my first lung collapse, but that didn't stop me. There's a time to push. When you're young, you can push through almost anything and think you can conquer the world. I'm still a badass in so many ways, but I've had to temper it and pay attention to my mind and body.

Little by little, health issues came and I had to stop working a regular job before I was thirty. Several issues with my heart emerged over the years, and an unnecessary pacemaker was installed in my late 20’s that I never needed and still have, before I found a competent cardiologist who understood and correctly diagnosed the issues with my rare and uniquely shaped heart. For several years I experienced agoraphobia (which I have pretty much recovered from), then Epstein-Barre, tick-borne illness, then partial vision loss, and other things. This year, strokes.

I've had to pay attention to myself in deep ways and care for myself in a way I wasn’t taught to. With all the challenges, I've accomplished so much and many people think I'm fine physically when they see me, especially if I’m dancing. This year after the strokes, my physical challenges are more apparent, but I get up each day and do my best. Some days my best is very little and it can be difficult not to fall into self-judgment. Kindness and compassion, and knowing when to push and when not to is key now. And I still have big dreams, but they're a bit more manageable than the dreams I had at 19, well… most. Some are still big as it gives me a golden star to shoot for. Everyone needs that star and really I believe it can only come from within. And everyone needs love and compassion, and sometimes the only one you have to provide it for you is you. I’m blessed with friendships, old and new, that keep me feeling connected and held, but ultimately it is up to me how I choose to greet the world and be in the world, which is true for all of us. All these years later, years after this photo was taken at 19, I fully accept that there is still so much to learn and that I am a work in progress and I am okay with that. I also kinda wish I could step into that old photo and give a huge hug to the younger me and tell her not to push herself so hard and let her know it’s okay to let go of the reins a bit and enjoy her beautiful life. Let her know she’s more okay than she thought she was.

It's Okay to Be Sad, It's Okay to be Scared

A young, vibrantly creative woman of 28 sat in her hospital bed as a doctor who she later found out had no idea what he was doing was about to give her an unnecessary pacemaker and perform numerous unnecessary EPS procedures on her heart while she was fully awake. Her mother died less than a year earlier and her father, once caring but now aloof with grief, had just married one of her childhood friends. After the unnecessary pacemaker was installed, her left lung collapsed. Her grandmother who lived in another state, who she was very close to, was about to have open heart surgery and they spoke over the phone from their hospital beds. Her fiance, who didn’t drive, came to visit her every day by train. At least she had that connection. She had to stop working. She was also in the middle of a lawsuit where a public library banned several of her paintings the year before and when she challenged them, they canceled her show. Two years later she won the case in Federal Court and it set a precedent in the Eastern District of New York. But here she was, almost helpless not knowing what to do and so very sad for the losses in her life, and scared for her grandmother, and in need of support, and feeling so very alone. The sketchbook this drawing is in and these pastel drawings were her way to cope. That woman was me, in 1993. I am so strong and really see how strong I am when I think about all the things like this that I’ve been through and all the times when I’ve had to dig the deepest to find my inner core of strength, and I think f*uck yeah, I AM STRONG. But now…. so many years later, after strokes and other things….. some days I feel I just can’t do it anymore. I just cannot take one more thing. I love life so I will keep rising with every new day, every sunrise. But I just don’t know how some days to make my way.

Dancing with the Circle for Joy & Healing

The Circle is really big for me these days. After surviving strokes earlier this year, I am choosing hoop flow dance as one way to get myself moving, regain strength, heal my brain, and get back in shape. I can only do it for a short time before I get really tired and dizzy, but it's fun which inspires me to do it. Right now I haven't got the actual hula hooping down yet, but I will as I work on it while doing a lot of off-body hooping. At 58, I am an aspiring hoop flow dancer! This video was taken on my recent birthday when friends watched me practice a bit (thanks to Con for the video). I'm SO grateful for the people in my life! I'm so grateful for my life! It's been a really tough year with two strokes in January and a mini-stroke in April. The first stroke in January caused the entire right side of my body to become paralyzed and EMT's had to carry me out of my home. Thankfully I got to the hospital quickly and was able to receive the drug tPa which restored my movement, although my body has a lot of neurological effects that I am working on healing. I have certain forms of aphasia that come and go and it’s very frustrating. Recovery is a long process. I still walk with a cane in public and have balance issues, and some days I can't drive, but I am seeing progress in very small increments as I embrace movement again. Then a few weeks ago I lost my former partner/fiance in a tragic car accident (ironically he never drove). We parted as a couple in 2006 but remained friends. The shock and grief over losing him plus grief over losing my former abilities before the strokes was really heavy and I was getting depressed, which is not something I usually experience. When we get down, it's important to think of what will lift us back up. My people (they know who they are) are #1, the treasures in my life. My art has helped me when I began painting circles. Now the hoop has been saving me and music has too. I'm just a beginner but we all have to start somewhere and I figured, let me give it a try. I love dance and dancing with the hoop brings me SO much joy! This is a way for me to get back to doing what I love while healing my body, mind, and spirit. I am healing.

Starting the Year with a Jolt

As many people do, I had big plans for 2022. There were things I was going to build on that I had already started. There were things I was going to resurrect in a new way. There were things. Then on the morning of January 21st, I had a stroke. The right side of my body was becoming paralyzed, quickly. I kind of knew what was happening and reached for the phone, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to speak and move as I tried to reach out for help. Thankfully, I got through and help came.

Long story short, I made it to the hospital quickly enough to be administered the drug TPA which, in ischemic strokes, can reverse the effects. That’s exactly what happened while I was still in the Emergency Room and I remember the absolute joy at being able to move my hand again, smile, speak, move my leg. But, recovery takes a very long time. I walk very, very slowly and with a cane. My right hand is still a bit weak (one of the reasons I push myself to draw and paint as often as I can, to use my muscle memory to rebuild circuitry in my brain). Dealing with details is still challenging. In April I had another incident, this time a TIA, and it put me a few steps backwards. But I am recovering.

In February, not long after I got out of the hospital, I went to a friend’s art group on Zoom, not knowing what I would do, if anything, but just wanting to reach out and see what might happen. I drew a circle. I remembered the mandalas I was drawing in recent years that brought me so much peace. This time it was a mandala, but only looked like a circle. Even though the center appears to be empty, it is complete.

I began painting circles after that and you can see the ones I have created so far in Gallery 1 here on my website. In the video I made about them, I am speaking a bit better now than I was in the video, though there are days when the fatigue hits me so badly that my speech slurs. It will be a while before I recover fully, if I do. Here is a link to the video: https://youtu.be/a4ddKTg5InI

The circle continues to be my main subject matter. It is so many things. But, most of all, it is healing. It is a way to find peace in the present moment.

My Art at The Dolphin and a Starry Sky City

This month, April, my art is on display at The Dolphin Bookshop and Cafe in Port Washington, NY. There is a lot of new work in the show, including recently completed oil paintings, smaller watercolor works, and mandalas.

Last summer when I had my art at The Dolphin, it felt like a very different show. Back then I included “Primavera, Baby!”, my colorful Spring Goddess with a flower crown and sunglasses. The current show has work that has more blues in it, although not all. I’ve framed my smaller watercolors, some that are blue and starry, and also the mandalas.

There is a lot of work that I would love to show but no longer have access to, either because it has sold, or is being stored and is not available to me. So, I looked deeply into my closet and stacks of art to find work that hadn’t been seen that I might be able to include. There are a couple that I found that are older, in excellent condition, that had never been seen by anyone but me. Then there is work that was wet on the canvas two days before it was hung on the wall.

At this point in my career, I think of almost every solo exhibition as a retrospective of sorts. Of course it would be a dream to have a big studio space with lots of light where I could work as large as I liked, do completely new art for each show and have a place to keep the ones that don’t sell when the show is over. Isn’t this what every artist dreams? Ah… well, it’s my dream. One day, perhaps I will have that space. So much wants to be born from me… colors, images, shapes, and that blending thing I do when my brush has been loaded with different colors and some of each color remains trapped in the brush in layers until I press it onto the surface of a canvas. Then I blend, blend, blend and things come out… shadows and colors that have no name. I make it smooth, too. That’s just always been what I have preferred. It would be wonderful to be creating new art regularly, but that is not an option partially because of lack of space. So I show work from all periods of my life, and each exhibition is a glimpse of many years of my devotion to my art.

Hanging shows was always easy for me until recently, because of my health. I’ll get through this, my doctor says (and I believe him), but I knew I needed help and put the call out. My long-time friend and fellow artist Mike Stanko offered to help and was a HUGE help!!! I would have had great difficulty on my own and would have probably been there all day figuring out how to manage. A HUGE THANK YOU to my friend Mike!

Whenever I hang a show I bring more work than I need. I think this is probably the case with most artists. We can make a rough estimate as to how many paintings will fit in a space, but how they look side-by-side and how cohesive it is, is another thing. One of the paintings I hoped to show was the one I’m holding in this photo. It’s called “Night City”, and it’s a very deep, luscious dark blue painting with a floating city in a starry sky. This painting inspired me to write a children’s story years ago. I won’t give the story away, but basically it’s about having a safe place, wherever you are, where you can be who you are, have peace and quiet or run in the halls like a sillyhead, where no-one will tell you that you’re wrong for being who you are. It’s a good story, I think, and one that would be helpful for kids to read. Unfortunately, I didn’t include this painting in the show because it just didn’t work somehow with the rest of them. Years ago, I included it in another solo exhibition and a little girl of about ten years of age came up to me and said it was her favorite. That touched my heart, especially because of her age, and I wasn’t aware that anyone had actually seen it. She really saw it.

Peace,

Robyn

Eyes Open, Eyes Closed

Years ago I painted the painting above which is titled "Healing Spirit" as a gift for a friend. At the time whenever I painted a face, the eyes were always open. I enjoyed painting eyes, choosing the color, giving them light and roundness and a feeling of peace. 

During one of my shows someone remarked that the open eyes in my paintings were startling, unnerving, a little unsettling. I began to hear this every so often. One day when I was painting a face with the eyes open, they started bothering me too. It felt like they were glaring at me, so I closed them with a few strokes of my paint brush. After that I only painted closed eyes. To me it felt just as peaceful, like a sort of sleep, but without the stare.

Recently I was asked why I paint all my faces with closed eyes, so I told the story of how it was mentioned to me years ago that some people were disturbed by seeing the open eyes. One of my friends said she preferred the open eyes. "Really?" I asked, in excitement. Sometimes we just need one person to understand and accept what it is that we do, so that we feel okay about doing it, not that artists do their art for anyone but themselves, although some do and that's all right. But I don't, and by closing the eyes, even though it felt right to me at the time, now it feels a bit like I was backing down from a stare, so to speak. That's not like me at all.

Now I'm painting open eyes again and it feels really good. Here's looking at ya. :)

Peace & Blessings,

Robyn