Waving Fields

In some ways I've been given a unique opportunity in this life. I've been forced to face mortality on two fronts. First my own when doctors were completely baffled by my symptoms and my health slowly declined over a 3-year period. Death was a very real possibility. Secondly, the sudden passing of my husband earlier this year in a traffic accident. The range of emotions I've experienced and my need to understand them have given me great insight into myself. Facing my own mortality went a long way in preparing me emotionally before losing my husband. I honestly don't think I would have survived it with my sanity intact if I hadn't already learned that I had emotional strength (I had previously thought myself weak). I had hope. I had a belief that not only did a future exist, but a future where I could be happy again.

I initially thought that my lesson was to appreciate the NOW. To take each day as it came and make the minutes count. I still think this is valid, but for me personally, I need more. I could drive myself crazy worrying about time wasted and only succeed in making myself sicker in the process. Time where I could be doing something more important. Time where I could be making a difference. What I need is to continue to believe in a future. To work toward long-term goals. This is where I have always excelled and I believe it was my saving grace. It will also allow me be less obsessive about the day-to-day. I can relinquish control over each second of each minute. Though precious, those seconds can be grasped so tightly and infused with such importance that they lose their joy.

I've watched other people pass in and out of my life, floundering. Not knowing what they were meant to do. Not knowing what makes them happy or where their passion lies. I've always known and realized how fortunate I was to know. I was an artist. From a small child I worked to perfect my ability and made it my life's passion.

It was simple for me.
I am an artist.

When I was sick, I kept painting even when my hands shook so bad that the brush skipped over the board. It was a needed escape from the pain and worry. After Tom died, I kept painting. It brought joy back in the midst of loss.

A few years ago, I painted Tom standing on a tower of rocks looking across a vast, nearly barren plain. I called it "Looking to His Past." I believe you need to understand the past before facing the future. I'm glad Tom nor I knew the limited scope of his future. I am thankful for the time we had together. I will never forget it, but now I'm moving toward a new future, not the one that I had planned. I've been forced to adapt, but I CHOOSE to be happy.

In looking to my future, I'm assigning myself a task. I've decided to undertake a year-long project and focus on a single subject. This is an idea I've entertained before, but it seems to have more urgency now. I know I NEED to do this even if I can't explain the why in any sort of rational manner.

If you know my work, you might suspect that I get bored with a subject easily. I do. I bounce from landscapes, to florals, to animals to interiors and more, but there is once I keep coming back to...the grasses. They exemplify quiet and peace to me. Nothing is so soothing as standing before a field of endless wild grasses watching them sway in slightest breeze. Mesmerizing. They allow you to glimpse the wind. The patterns ever changing across their expanse. An ocean in their own right. I will paint the grasses and let their calm wash over me.

"Texas Textures"

-Granbury Area, Texas

Acrylic on Board

16" x 12"

note: dimensions are unframed size

price includes frame

$595

Wisdom of Age

Have you ever gone back and watched a movie that you loved as a teenager…10 to 15 years later only to wonder, "That was terrible. What was I thinking?" It's only natural that our tastes would change as we mature and learn more about ourselves and the world around us. Then there are the movies that are truly timeless, but your perspective has changed. You relate to the characters and themes on a completely different level each time you see the movie.

I ran across one of those movies this past weekend…The Big Chill. This is the third time I've seen this movie. Once in my 20's, then 30's and now at the age of 43. If you have somehow managed to go through life without seeing this film, the plot is as follows. A group of close college friends who have drifted apart reunite after 15 years due to the suicide of one of them. Virtually the entire movie takes place in the home of one couple where everyone is staying. The characters themselves are in their mid to late 30s.

Various conversations take place over the course of several days. Discussions of how idealistic they were and how they were going to change the world versus what they've actually become. Marriages, affairs, one woman desperate to have a child with no prospects on the horizon and of course the suicide…the topic they dance around and finally all confront as a group.

The first time I saw this movie, I did appreciate and like it, but really couldn't relate to the experiences of the characters. They were so much older. I was in my 20s. Very much still in the idealistic phase. My life an open book before me waiting for the pages to be filled. Living on dreams of what the future would hold. I thought, "how could people get so far off track and compromise their ideals?" "How could things get so bad that one would even contemplate suicide?" I was naive and didn't know it.

The second time I saw this movie, I had already compromised myself. Allowing another person to tell me what to think, how to act and who I should be rather than who I actually was. All of this in the guise of love. Feeling I wasn't good enough for anyone else and lucky that I at least found this person willing to be with me, though I didn't deserve him. I had given up my art and almost everything else that brought me pleasure in life. Why? I don't have a great answer. Low self-esteem, a belief I was weak and couldn't make decisions on my own. Constantly criticizing myself with that infernal internal voice. I wasn't that naive anymore. I knew intellectually what was going on. That it was wrong. That what he was doing was not love, yet it was still difficult to leave to reach out for help; admit I needed the help.

Now not only do I have the same perspective as the characters, but also of one other I hadn't yet mentioned…the widow. She was not part of the college group, was quite a bit younger and compared to the rest, unsophisticated. She sits quiet for most of the movie listening to what is being said around her about her late husband. Learning things she never knew. This was the one way I related to her. Listening to people talk about their past with Tom. The past that took place before me. I could easily see myself in her eyes. I felt like I had been dropped into the movie. She didn't find the stories sad. Neither did I. I could now understand the regrets of the others. Time passed that can't be retrieved or altered. Paths seemingly so deeply rutted that one could never climb out to change direction. I could understand them, but do not share them. I believe you must learn from the past, but not dwell in it. I choose to move forward.

I find myself coming full circle. My life an open book before me once again. All directions open, but this time I have the wisdom that comes with age, an understanding of the mistakes of the past, the knowledge that I am not weak as I had believed for so long and finally that I am deserving of a love that doesn't compromise my true self but instead embraces it.

The painting:

"Can't See the River for the Trees"

-Brazos River, Texas

Water-Soluble Oils on Canvas Board

24" x 18"

Pronouns

I...we...my..ours...

Pronouns. Some of the simplest and most basic words in our language. It's how we relate information about ourselves to the world and likely some of the first words ever grunted by humans. They've gained a disproportionate power over me in the past few weeks. I'm stumbling over them. I find myself answering a question about something in my personal life and by default use the plural form and realize that, technically, it's incorrect. I am no longer a plural. It stopped me in mid-sentence and I felt compelled to explain why while standing in the middle of a public restroom. I knew the person I was speaking to would understand the distinction.

How many of you remember diagramming sentences in school? I was (still am) a geek. I enjoyed it and perhaps it was the first inclination of a love for written words. Yes, it is and perhaps I am, a bit neurotic in my quest for accuracy, but it's more than that. I frequently have a secondary dialog running in my head as I am speaking to others. It's like I am hearing what what I'm saying from their point of view or sometimes just critiquing myself unnecessarily and harshly. I realize that my word choice could remind them of my widowed status when I refer to we and our. It changes the way the other person relates to me at that moment. It is occasionally nice to have a conversation in which Tom is never mentioned. Where I can forget, even if it's just temporary.

The other day I was enjoying lunch with a friend and the subject of dogs came up. I was asked, "you guys have how many dogs?" I was suddenly ripped from my upbeat mood with the mention of the plural, but also having it used in the present tense' "you guys have." There is only me now. Only I have. There was no intention to hurt, but at that moment, I wanted to be seen as an I, not a we. I considered saying, "I have 5 dogs" with a little too much emphasis on "I," but that would have been mean and again, I realized that the person meant no harm. I have a hard enough time myself knowing which to use. I know that for a split second my facial expression changed. I tried to hide it and just answered the question, but am unsure if I was successful. I truly did not want them to feel badly.

I changed the message on my answering machine Sunday. I decided it was cruel to others to keep his voice on it. Perhaps I was torturing myself unnecessarily too. "This is Tom and Rebecca. If you'd like to, please leave a message." He sounded so upbeat, but I am no longer a plural.

I just giggled out loud. It occurred to me that two of the parrots say 'hello.' Perhaps I need to change the message again...

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The painting just finished tonight is "High Tide Morning on Fripp Island"

36" x 24" acrylic on board

The first morning in South Carolina at the beach house I rented for our vacation in November

The Dark and the Light

I know it's not a 'pretty picture'...a dying cedar tree. If you look at my work, the majority falls within the generally accepted realm of what is beautiful or pleasing. If you form an impression of what you think I'm like in person based on it, you may end up pretty far off the mark. In my life I have often been drawn to things that are not pretty in the traditional sense. I see beauty in the ususual. I have a fondness for reptiles and kept large lizards for many years. I love bats. I used to grow carnivorous pitcher plants and was recently thinking of getting more. I'm fascinated with the biology and psychology of mental illnesses. I like to understand the motives behind what people do or say and take little at face value. I think medical examiner would be a pretty cool job.

Perhaps I need beauty in my art. The light to balance out darker side of life in general, but you can't have one without the other. Ignorance may truly be bliss, but I choose to understand and accept that everyone has both dark and light within and to deny this is to not know yourself.

So this cedar tree with its octopus like tentacles reaching out in all directions is not so much an anomaly for me, as it is just another part of myself.

About the painting:

I used a glowing, orangey background to make the time of day less easily pinpointed as well as making the tree feel even more isolated since you can't see it's surroundings.

"Last Days"

-Near Sedona, Arizona

Acrylic on Board

8" x 10.5"

note: dimensions are unframed size

comes framed

$390

Currently accepting checks and PayPal

or pay in installments.

Contact artist for details.

View this painting on Rebecca's website

Read more of Rebecca's blog entries at rebeccazook.blogspot.com

See all Rebecca's work at www.rebeccazook.com

Painting with Plants

The miniature irises in my garden are the first to herald the coming Spring. From that point until the first freeze a battle ensues. My drive to paint pitted again a passion to dig in the dirt. My garden is an ever evolving living canvas. Plants are my paints. I play with their colors, textures and placement in much the same way. I have favorites that I come back to year after year, but new plants are explored with some succeeding, some failing. It's a learning process.

This past weekend I made my first nursery run of the year though I didn't intend to plant yet. Past experience taught me that waiting until the right time to plant often meant missing out on the best selection from those who were jumping the gun and buying too early. Particularly when it comes to the coleus that I always plant in my shaded bed. Right now they are filling the kitchen counter after the temperature dropped 30 degrees the day after I bought them (but I got what I wanted).

After I loaded up the two-tiered cart with plants at the nursery, I realized that I didn't have the strength to push it up an incline to go toward the area to pay. I get the most irritated at my illnesses when I'm caught off guard. I forget that I don't have the strength to do things I used to. The cart wasn't THAT heavy. An employee came by and offered help, which I accepted, though irrationally, I felt inept that an older woman was having to help me. I was compelled to explain that I had illnesses and was a little weak fearing that she might think I was lazy. I should have been able to move a stupid cart. She said that maybe the flowers would make me feel better. Flowers always make her feel better. Yes, I do love my garden and it definitely brings me joy.

This is when I came to a second realization of how my garden is a reflection of me. First, of course, it's another form of art. Another outlet for creativity. Secondly, the state of my garden also mirrors the state of my health. I thought about when we first moved into the house. The yard was wild, natural. Trees, yucca and cactus. Rock on the ground. No grass. I didn't want to tame it completely just provide some structure and places for plants that needed actual dirt to grow. I started excavating and building. Hauling rocks around. Bringing in dirt. Nothing could stop me. As I got sick, the beautiful garden I built suffered neglect. I'd try to work in it. At one point I couldn't last 15 minutes pulling weeds without total exhaustion. The summer I spent 6 weeks in the hospital, the summer I nearly died, my garden was drying up, brown with neglect, only the hardiest plants stood a chance. When I returned home, I was shocked at the change in the way it looked, but I also was unrecognizable to those who knew me. Even to myself. Slowly the garden and I are recovering. The damaged parts of ourselves regrowing together. Both of us flowering.

About the painting:

This piece, "Mum Shadows," is from a photo I took last Fall in my garden. The mums grow next to a sandstone boulder and I was attracted to the long blue shadows they cast onto the rock. They are of equal importance to this piece as the flowers themselves. I likely painted the first flower 5 different times trying to work out the best method of portraying the petals to stay true to the plant. Unlike the uniform, structured pots of mums that can be purchased each fall, I like to let mine grow back year after year so that they take on a more natural appearance. This piece will be on display

in the historic downtown square in Granbury, Texas for the Gardens of Granbury and Glen Rose painting and photography show April 27th through May 1st at Granbury Square Plaza. Stop by. I'll be painting both Friday and Saturday nights. I haven't signed it yet. I'm fighting with myself on whether it should horizontal or vertical

"Mum Shadows"

9x12

Acrylic on board

$325.00

See all of Rebecca's work at rebeccazook.com

The Science of Art

While flipping channels trying to find something to watch other than CSI or Law and Order...our defaults when nothing else seems to be on (and those shows are ALWAYS on), I ran across a news show that did a small piece on mirror neurons in the brain. I have a fascination with all things Science, so I was immediately drawn in. When you are performing an action, let just say bouncing a ball, certain neurons in your brain fire. Scientists discovered that if you watch someone else bouncing a ball, some of the same neurons still fire and if you even hear the sound of a bouncing ball those 'mirror' neurons fire in response. Our brains seem to be forming a simulation of the action in our minds. We experience it almost as if we were actually doing it. It's also been shown that if you watch someone getting poked with a needle, that this mirror system in the brain can cause neurons associated with pain to fire. You didn't actually get stuck. It may be all in your mind, but it causes a real physical response.

So what does this have to do with art. Many researchers now believe that the mirror neurons are responsible for our ability to empathize. Empathy is defined as the identification with and understanding of another's situation, feelings and motives. You saw someone stuck with a needle and feel badly for them and the pain they had to experience. I think that without empathy, art wouldn't have the impact it does. Great works of art can certainly run you through a whole gamut of emotional responses. Bold brush stroke or vivid colors in an abstract might make you identify with the artist and imagine them angrily painting. If the work is figurative, the facial expression or pose of the figure will cause you to identify with the subject of the painting rather than the artist.

The next time you are at admiring a piece of art, thank those mirror neurons.

About the Painting:-click here to learn more about this painting
"Wednesday's Child"
Acrylic on Board
16" x 24"
note: dimensions are unframed size
comes framed
$795

See all of Rebecca's art at www.rebeccazook.com
Read more blogs by Rebecca at rebeccazook.blogspot.com

Choose an option

painting $795.00 painting plus shipping $815.00 in Texas: Painting plus tax $860.00 in Texas: Painting, shipping and tax $880.00

Art As Language

I looked up videos teaching ASL (American Sign Language) online and came across this statement, "250 signs will cover 90% of what is commonly spoken." I was shocked and not entirely sure what to think. The vastness of our language gives us the ability to communicate such subtle nuances of meaning and emotion. I relish the nuances and the creative use of language. 250 signs? Well, I guess if all you want to accomplish is basic communication, some might see this as a good thing.

Art is similar. Anyone can pick up a brush and paints and given a little instruction and time come up with a pleasing piece. I think the best painters, though, aspire to much more. They are able to evoke a 3-dimensional space, movement or emotion from the viewer with deliberate brushstrokes. Small and tight or large and loose, each has the potential to draw you farther into the work or convey a specific emotion just like words in a novel. It's amazing to me to look at a flat 2 dimensional piece and have a response, to feel something. When I get a response like that from a stranger to a piece I created, it's truly the ultimate compliment.

Space, tone, texture, color, composition, balance, symmetry, movement...just a few tools that painters have at their disposal and of course each medium has its own inherent qualities to consider. Mastery of them can take a lifetime.

Keep exploring. Never stop learning. That's my plan.

About the painting:

"Late Lunch"

16" x 12" (art dimensions not including frame)

Acrylic on board

$1,200

A scene from a BBQ restaurant in Keller, Texas

See all of Rebecca's art at www.rebeccazook.com

Stop then Go

A friend I know in real life posted on Facebook that she was going to start painting again after a long hiatus. Glass had been her medium of choice for years and she was experiencing some trepidation about returning to painting. Most responses indicated not to worry...everything you do is great. Personally, I wouldn't find that very helpful. If you jump into it waving your paintbrush around like Harry Potter with his wand expecting some magical connection between your brain and brush, you're just going to end up turning yourself into a toad and wondering how things went so terribly wrong. Clear the cobwebs first and don't get disappointed if the first few forays aren't quite perfect. I went through this firsthand.

When I first started painting again after nearly 7 years of not painting, I was somewhat terrified. Questions plagued me. Can I still do this? What medium should I use? How big? How small? What style? What subject? What if I fail?

That was the real fear…what if I fail. I think my personal identity had become so entangled with my artistic skill that if I failed, who would I be? No matter what subject I became interested in as a kid, I was always still an artist whether I realized it or not. I wanted to be a marine biologist, so I read books by Jacques Cousteau and drew dolphins and whales. I wanted to be a veterinarian and drew all kinds of animals. I wanted to be an archeologist or anthropologist, so I drew hieroglyphics that I saw at the King Tut exhibit or drew the evolutionary stages of man. I loved the science, still do, but I loved drawing and painting more.

I had continued to work as a graphic designer or freelance illustrator, so it wasn’t as if I had stepped away from art all together, but staring at a blank canvas was not the same to me as staring at a blank computer screen with a given set of elements to work with…the product, the copy, the marketing goal. The blank canvas allowed for an infinite number of choices. Choices that were all mine to make. Making the wrong choice terrified me. You might be thinking, “there aren’t any wrong choices in art,” I wouldn't agree and in my mind every mistake is permanent, non-erasable. When I have made a mistake, I beat myself up more than anyone else ever could.

I think much of my problem was that I always knew who I was. I never HAD to explore or try new things to figure out what I wanted to do. I had never really floundered in any part of my life. I had never spectacularly failed at anything. A painting professor I had in college told me that most of his students were like sponges, trying out all the styles or suggestions he offered, but I wasn’t. I integrated into my work what I thought fit and disregarded the rest. He was neither complimenting me or criticizing me, merely pointing out a characteristic I wasn’t consciously aware of. I really hadn’t been aware of this trait in myself and I think I missed out on new discoveries or personal revelations because of it.

I did finally choose a medium, realized that I hated canvas and preferred to paint on hard board, and decided not to limit myself to one particular subject. The fear of failure still hovers above me. It’s just part of my nature, I can never really banish it. I have discovered that the paintings I wanted to throw in the lake at some point during their creation are usually the ones people respond to the most. It seems that the more I push myself and do struggle the stronger the result.

I have learned more about myself through my art. Setting up a challenge and working through the struggle is how to grow as an artist and as a person. I try not to become complacent or paralyzed by fear. I’m learning to take chances. My art is still completely tangled up in how I perceive myself, but I think I like it that way.

About the Painting:
"Mini Iris 2"
Acrylic on Board
6" x 4"
note: dimensions are unframed size-comes mounted in black floater frame
$175.00
These miniature irises are blooming in my garden right now. The first sign that spring is on its way.

The Arts and the Brain

From cave drawings of animals to pots decorated with lifestyle scenes or abstract icons, to sculptures of mother earth figures, art was always an integral part of the human experience. Initially, most of these objects were for utilitarian use or to convey vital information for survival, but evolved to incorporate decorative or stylistic elements that could only be used to induce visual pleasure with no practical application and these are only the objects that have survived the ravages of time. Storytelling, music and dance were likely just as important to define us as a species in the ancient world as they are now.

One again budget shortfalls in Texas have brought to the forefront the old argument of the arts versus the sciences in our public schools and the arts always takes the hit. Why? Many believe the arts to be a frivolous pursuit that doesn't contribute anything concrete, tangible, or necessary to our everyday lives, but what we are learning in our modern technological age is that belief is very wrong.

Over and over studies show that art, music and dance directly link to our ability to process language, understand math and even enhance our overall memory. Actual, measurable, physical change takes place in the brain. This is especially important in the growth of the young brain when neural connections are being formed. Drawing, singing, dancing are natural activities for young children that allow them to process and connect the increasingly complex ideas they are exposed to. This doesn't change as we get older. There is a reason that art has always been with us.

Examples: These are just a few of many studies showing the act of engaging in art directly enhancing learning ability.

Students who took arts classes had higher mathematics, verbal and composite SAT scores than students who did not take arts classes. (More than 10 million American high school students were compared) Also, the more art classes taken, the higher the SAT scores.

Creating visual art increases the ability to form images of the real world or a fictional one in the mind's eye. A person with this ability can often quickly work through many possible solutions to a problem without needing to implement each one in the real world to see the outcome. Scientists James Watson and Francis Crick attribute this ability to visualize as directly contributing to their solving the mystery of DNA structure in the early 1950s with a huge impact on scientific study and subsequent break-throughs in disease treatment.

Listening to music for 10 minutes improved students ability to form mental images from physical objects and see patterns in time and space (known as temporal reasoning) for an hour afterward.

Spatial reasoning skills improved 34 percent for preschoolers who received as little as 15 minutes of piano instruction 2 times a week. Older students given 4 months of piano training scored 166 percent higher on proportional mathematics (fractions) than those with no music training. In another study, students receiving ongoing music training did twice as well in math overall and history and geography scores increased by 40 percent. Verbal memory improvement was found to be retained a year after students had stopped taking long-term music lessons.

Background music improves eye-hand coordination. Perhaps why artists often listen to music when they are working.

My generation saw the beginning of Sesame Street and had SchoolHouse Rock. To this day I can still 'sing' the pre-amble to the constitution and know 'how a bill becomes a law." Learning should be more than strict memorization of facts. I did well in school, well enough to receive a full academic scholarship to college and I attribute the fact that the arts were a huge part of my life from its earliest stages to my overall success. Now is not the time to handicap our children in an increasingly technological world. To succeed, they need a well-rounded, multi-disciplined background in school. Cutting the arts WILL do long-term harm and keep many students from reaching their full potential.

About the painting:

"Calm Grasses"

Acrylic on board

12" x 16" (unframed dimensions)

$445