My parents did not want me to go away to College so I went to the local extension of William and Mary. It was a little more difficult getting around than they had anticipated. I ended up having to walk from one side of campus to the other carrying a bag full of my books. For the most part the professors were helpful, and would lend me a book to use in class. One English professor wanted us to carry the New Oxford Dictionary with us. I found a paperback that was lighter weight. He refused to let me use it. Later because I miss spelled three words he gave me a poor grade on my final exam. All the other teachers could not have been nicer.
I always seemed to be in a hurry and more often than not I was slightly late for some of my classes. I finally learned to schedule classes so that they were all close together, or allow a break so that I could make it to class in time. There were steps up to many of the classes that were held on the second floor. The English Building had an elevator which really helped. When I think about it now, I am amazed that I did so well. The students were very helpful as well. There was one young man who was in a wheel chair and his fellow students could be seen carrying him chair and all up the stairs.
I was so happy to be able to study art and take some other classes that I was interested in. I took Basic Design early in the morning with Charles Sibley as my Professor. Sibley was one of my Dad's good friends. I was not impressed with the exercises that we had to go through. I persisted, but I really did not understand the value of the class until much later. The Art Department was on the second floor of the Fine Art Building, there were open stairs to the second floor and an outside hallway. I had my Art History and my Fine Art Classes in that building, as well as the Language Classes.
Some of my Art History Classes were held at night. My mother had never finished her college education so she decided to audit some of these classes. The night classes were once a week lasting all evening, three hours at a time. To break up the time we all donated a certain amount at the beginning of the year and took turns in being responsible for the nights dinner break.
I dated a local boy during the first couple of years. We had a good time together. He treated me very well taking me to shows, out to diner, and to the movies. I was never serious about him, however he was more serious than I was. After I realized that he wanted to marry me, we broke up. I was not ready for a serious relationship.
I did join a sorority on campus. They encouraged us to be active in school. I ran for Vice President of the senior class and was elected. It was serving in this duty that I met Tom (Tink) Trimble. I had to help sell tickets to the senior class dance. I remember being reluctant to do this. I went into the student center at the time, set up a table with my sign and sat down concentrating on a drawing I was doing for my studio art class.
That was when a young man came up and asked if he could sit down. I said certainly. He asked how long had I been going to the school. I said for four years , that I was a senior. In turn I asked him the same question. "This is my first year," he said. "Are you a freshman?" I asked. "No, I am a teacher." Whoops. All ended well he asked me to go to a student show that evening and to a fraternity party later that night.
The fraternity party was held in an old house behind my father's art gallery. So, we parked in his parking lot and walked through the back to the frat house. There was a puddle blocking the way I was worried about my crutches slipping. He picked me up and carried me across the puddle. That night he kissed me good night as he left. My heart jumped a beat and I melted.
He had asked me out the next day to go sailing with him. I had my GRE exams that morning. My mind was not on the exams. When we went sailing, he again picked me up in his arms an put me in the small sailboat. Later when I told my mother of both instances, she had a funny look on her face. She revealed that she had had a dream not long before that a young man had picked me up and carried me away. In the dream she said that she was not worried but had felt good about it. She felt as though she had dreams about future events, some of her dreams had not been so pleasant.
I had applied for being an aid at the Arrowmont School in Gatlinburg Tennessee run by my Sorority, Pi Beta Phi, in conjunction with the University of Tennessee. I was awarded a scholarship instead. This was the first time, that I had ever lived away from home. I took classes in pottery making and in enameling on copper.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Early Memories and Polio
Some people remember things that go way back into their childhood and some do not recall much of their early years at all. I have some early memories that stand out in my mind. The earliest memory that I had to was that we were going to have a new baby in the family. I remember exactly where we were driving while my parents discussed what they would name the new baby. Don, after my Dad if it were a boy, and Donna, also after my Dad if it was a girl. I remember getting out of the car in the driveway at my grandparents, where we lived. My mother's favorite yellow climbing rose was blooming on the white picket fence in my grandmother's back yard. It is interesting how little things will stick in your mind.
I remember my mother going into labor. The next day my grandmother, Nana, sitting at the phone talking to my Dad about the new baby ....A Boy! I asked my grandmother what he looked like she said he was red all over. I said," like an Indian? Does he have a Feather behind his ear?" I was so excited I wanted to see my brother right away. But, I had to wait, Donnie was born on December 13, (our family's lucky number 13). He was my Christmas present. I loved him from the start.
The next memory that I had was of everyone taking his photo and asking me to move over so they could get a picture of the baby. I still remember feeling left out and a little jealous. Mother must have noticed this because she let me poise for the next picture with my baby brother in my arms. In the photo you could see how pleased I was.
Later that year in the summer, we had a rain storm and the water at the corner was deep enough for the kids on the block to play in. I wanted to play there too, but mother said that I could not. There was a lot of polio going around, and she did not want me to catch it. I could not play in the gutter like the other kids.
Everyone was worried about an out break of polio. At that time there was nothing that could be done for polio except to pray, and hope that nobody in your family got it. There was a big out break of the disease in neighboring North Carolina. They had actually closed the border between Virginia and Carolina just below where we lived in Norfolk, VA. In spite of all mother's precautions, I got polio at the age of four in 1948. First I had the measles. It must have been German Measles, because they kept me in a darkened room, for fear of the light effecting my eye sight. Sometime shortly after that I had a strep throat. My parents had gone out for an evening. I hurt so bad, I remember crying for my mother. My Nana tried to comfort me. The next morning, they called the doctor to come. He examined me and asked me if I could walk. I remember saying that I could not, but that I could crawl. "Just put me down on the floor and I'll show you."
My Dad picked me up carried me to the car. Mother held me in her arms, and we hurried to the hospital. Here they gave me a spinal tap to see if I had polio. I remember screaming. No one had ever hurt me like that. Mother heard me, but they would not let her come to me. They put me in isolation. When she could mother sat in the room with me for hours on end and read to me. She said at one point she was afraid that I might die. After a while they put me in a room with a glass window on one wall. They wrapped my legs and arms with hot wet wool to keep my muscles from contracting. The smell of wet wool made me feel sick well into my thirties. Mother was upset with my paternal grandmother, because she did not come to visit for fear of germs. She did stand on the other side of the window and waved at me. She had been through this before as my dad's older brother also had polio as a child. He had no visible effects for polio and even serve in the army during World War II.
My mother hated to leave my side, so my Nana (maternal grandmother), and good friends took turns during the day taking care of my brother. I missed him and wanted to go home. They transferred me from Norfolk General to De Paul Hospital, to their children's ward. There were a lot of beds with lots of children in a large room. The Nuns, Sister's of Mercy, worked wonders there. They were nice. Some of the nurses were not. One Nun asked me if I were Catholic, and some how at four years old I knew to say that I was Methodist.
In the ward with me there were children in iron lungs. Without these they could not breath. When there were thunder storms the electricity would go out. All the men would take turns cranking a generator in order to keep the iron lungs working. Without these devises the children in them would have die. There were others that came into the children's ward too. There was a little Chinese girl, whose mean brother had put her in a box and put fire to it. She was terribly burned. there was an older girl who had fallen off a horse while riding and had a metal plate in her head. There was one small boy that I was particularly fond of. He had polio too. It effected his arm. We actually met again after I had married.
The Doctors were very nice. One young doctor did paper cuttings for the children. I met my Doctor for the first time there, Johnny Van. He was a young Doctor who walked with a limp. It turned out that he had contracted polio as a child. The smell of alcohol permeated the air as you moved about the hospital. This smell also bothered me for a long time. I was in De Paul for months. One day my mother asked me as I pleaded with her to stay,"What would you like me to bring you tomorrow?"
I answered, "Please bring me a fairy."
Oh dear, my Mother thought. She did not want to let me down, but a fairy. How on earth was she to find a fairy for her daughter? That evening she worried and thought. The next day she she came in carrying a very small doll with wings made out of a man's shirt collar decorated with sequins and a soft gossamer dress. I knew that this was just a doll, but mother had a story that went with the doll.
She and my Dad had pulled the car into the drive and from the garden area she heard a tiny cry like a tingling of a bell. She walked over to discover a tiny fairy who was caught up in a web. My father reached down and freed her and lifted her up. Mother told her that her young daughter had been very sick and was still in the hospital. Her only desire was to have them bring her a fairy the next day. Would she go to the hospital with them? "Oh....I can't," she said, "It is way too dangerous, I might even die if I go. But, I will help you." At that she took out some fairy dust and turned a small doll into a fairy doll. "Tell your little girl that it was not possible for me to come, but I will visit you and tell you some stories of the fairies. "Mother was ready with stories that she had made up and written down to read to me. For years I thought that there were fairies in the garden at my grandparents home.
There was one definite high light to my hospital stay. The nurses gathered all the children that were able to be moved into a solarium room for the much anticipated visit of Jean Audry, the famous singing cowboy. I was able to brag about this for years. As another special treat they gave us was hot dogs for our lunch. We all felt very special.
One of the visits that I particularly looked forward to was that of my Uncle Billy, Nana's brother. Every time that he'd come to visit he would bring me bubble gum. One time I asked him where did he get all that bubble gum. He told me that he had a very special bush in his backyard that had gum as it's fruit. At the time I had trouble believing this, but I persisted. Could I see this marvelous bush. One day after I had recovered we went to visit, and there in his back yard was a bush with gum hanging all over attached with scotch tape. He had gone to a lot of trouble to make a little girl happy.
I was finally able to come home for a visit, and then at last home for good. Mother had to do physical therapy to try to keep my legs limber. They had always told me that the polio had effected me from my shoulders down. Some how I never thought that it had effected my arms. That was until I went to be tested for Post Polio Syndrome. Suddenly I went from being a paraplegic to being a quadriplegic.
.After I had polio and was home. I remember learning to walk with crutches. This was an adventure. Although in the beginning I had braces on both my legs and a corset on my back I remember being able to swing off a curb. I felt like I was flying. I was the poster child for the march of dimes in the Norfolk, Va. area when I was six or seven. There was a picture of me walking with crutches that was blown up to life size and it appeared in a window of a store on the main street in downtown. For years we kept this in our attic.
After I had been home from the hospital for a while, Doctor Vann decided that it would be a good idea if we went to Warm Springs GA. to the facility there where President Roosevelt had gone. The Warm Springs Foundation was know for their work with rehabilitating people who had polio. He wanted to make sure that I was getting the best care possible.
We got into our car to travel all the way to Georgia. My uncle Judd had married Helen Matthews, she joined us on our trip. Along with Helen came her new cat, Tandy, a beautiful Siamese kitten with big blue eyes. During the night stay in a motel, Tandy decided to play with the light attached to the head board. She walked the head board and batted with her paw at the chain that dangled just above my Dad's head. He was not overly fond of cats and remained asleep as we held our breath.
When we got to Georgia, we stayed with Helen's family. It was there that I saw a TV for the first time. It was small and almost round. The black and white picture on the tube was very fuzzy. It was interesting and memorable to a little girl. Helen's family were very nice to us and a lot of fun. I think it was her sister that told me that they used to make dolls out of corn husk, using corn silk for hair. It was there that I discovered that there was such a thing as yellow watermelon.
When we stayed in Warm Springs, the streets in town had wooden sidewalks, and the water in the hotel tasted terrible. The doctors at the foundation said that Dr. Vann was as good a doctor as any one that they had on staff, and that I was very lucky to have him as my doctor. We visited the little White House where President Roosevelt stayed when he visited there for treatments. We made two trips there and they get mixed up in my memory, but on the last one I believe I had my first loose tooth. I wiggled it all the way there and all the way back home. We even tried the trick of tying a string on the tooth and a door nob, slamming the door....but of course it did not work.
The Appalachian Mountains, run all the way into Georgia. We visited a State Park in the mountains. In a general store my parents bought me my first pair of blue jeans, and a toy monkey. On the way back we listened to the radio play "the Tennessee Waltz." I also remember the kudzu that had taken over large areas along the road side in Georgia even covering homes. At that point it was out of control.
Due to going to Warm Springs, and operations to keep my limbs straight, I could not attend kindergarten. Mother ordered books from the Calvert School for kinder garden. I had a operation and my body was in a cast from my waist down encasing both legs. One of the things that I remembered was that we made a model of a farm. With little plastic animals including ducks that mother made a pond for out of a mirror.
They did all sorts of things to keep my mind busy. They ordered an ant farm. Where the ants built their community between two sheets of glass.
Several girls would come by to play. One of these was one of my best friends today, Polly. She came up from The Dominican Republic, where her father was a British Banker. Her grandparents lived down the street from my grandparents, when she was in town they brought her by to visit. We played with clay making all sorts of things like rabbits, turtles, cats and dogs as well as food for them to eat.
I was able to start real school in first grade. I went to Ferebee's School, a little private school run in the Sunday school area of Saint Andrew's Church around the corner from our house on Graydon Avenue in Norfolk, Va. To keep my legs warm Mother dressed me in my wool coat and leggings. This was a fine and dandy until I had to take the leggings off and put them back on. I remember sitting on the landing of the stairs struggling to get them on and off. I was always behind. Finally I just told mother that I was not going to wear the leggings any more. We bought high socks for me to wear in the colder weather and that solved that problem. I still remember the coldness of wearing dresses in the winter.
The first time that I realized that I was some what different was while I was in school there. Some child, that I did not know, asked me why I walked with crutches. I knew that I walked with crutches, but my good friends accepted me as who I was. To my mind I was normal, I just used crutches to get around. I have never viewed my self as handicapped in any way. With the aid of my crutches I could do anything the other kids did. I played on the playground, climbing up the slide, swinging on the swings, climbing the monkey bars. I even remember standing on a merry go around thing that was kid powered, falling and knocking my breath out just like any other kid.
While I was at the Ferebee School my mother helped to pay for my tuition by acting as the art teacher for the school. I am sure that it helped pay my way, but it also served as a way for her to keep an eye on me.
The school was not quite a block from our house on Graydon Avenue. Mother either walked me home from school or some one in the family would pick me up. One day they were late. So I took it upon myself to walk home on my own, after all I knew the way. The thing was that I wanted to experiment. I decided to take the long way home. I went down the street that crossed Graydon over to the street that ran behind the house Westover Avenue. There was a field that had overgrown behind my grandparents home. I decided to walk back through this field. This took much longer than I had expected. When I got home hot, tired and dirty. Both my mom and my Nana were frantic with worry. Boy, did I get it. I never did that again. The fascination with the field behind and next to the house continued. My friends and I would explore the trails and the fields. We would pick the wild blackberries and my mother or grandmother would make a blackberry pie. We would pick great bunches of the wild flowers especially in the fall to carry into the house. Once I picked a bunch of golden rod for my paternal grandmother, who would not take them because she thought that she was allergic to them. I have always loved going into the wilds.
We put on a show for our parents at the end of each year. We would march in to the tune of " the Animals on Parade." We would stand on the stage and sing at the top of our voices. After the second grade, I graduated to the public elementary School, Walter Heron Taylor School. My teacher Mrs Sills did a good job of keeping us all in line. We put on a show "Jack and the Beanstalk." I was a magic Harp. There were several of us girls in party dresses holding paper harps covered with Aluminum foil and yarn for strings.
That year Dr. Van said that I was going to need to have another operation. I was not happy about this at all. But of course we went ahead and proceeded with the operation. The day that I arrived at the hospital there were a couple of small boys racing around in the big wicker wheel chairs that were standard then in hospitals. One boy had an operation for a club foot, the other a broken leg. There was a little girl with a hair lip. The morning of the operation the nurses forgot to get Mother to sign the release form. So the doctor came into the operating room and said that they were going to have to wait until they found mother. She had gone to the coffee shop to get a cup of coffee. While they were waiting on the signature, he proceeded to tell the nurses exactly what he intended to do. When he finished, I repeated his instructions to the nurses. I have claustrophobia, so when the nurse went to put the mask for the ether over my nose, I resisted. The nurse who was not as kind as she should have been said. If you don't like it just count backwards. I fought that thing until I passed out with the ether.
There was a sweet little girl my age in the adjoining room she would come into my room to visit. She had anemia and later died. There was not much hope then for children with that type of cancer. Thankfully now there is bone marrow transplants, that have saved children like her.
They took me home from the hospital in an ambulance. I needed to be in the cast from my waist down again for a couple of months. Mother did things to help me past the time. We got a parakeet. I named him Jojo. We tried to teach him to talk. He did not say much; however one time he looked at my Dad and called him stupid. He would use my cast as a landing pad and skid from one end to the other. When Mother would pin her patterns to cut a piece of material he would pull the pins out and drop them over the side of the bed where she was working. The funniest thing that happened occurred when my brother, who was a little over four at the time decided to pretend to go hunting. He had a pop gun with a cork attached with a cord. He put the gun over his shoulder and walked around the apartment saying, "Where is that bird? I'm going to get me a bird." We all started laughing. He could not understand why. Jojo was perched on the end of the gun he had slung over his shoulder.
When it came time to take my cast off. Doctor Van came to our home to cut it off with a cast saw that was designed to cut off when it hit something soft. The cast was lined with cotton and a stocking material. The saw made a lot of noise. and produced a lot of heat. It scared me but did not hurt. The pin that held one leg in place did hut when he pulled it out. We had a maid that when out back and started praying. Poor Doctor Van bent over to work on cutting off the cast and threw his back out. He said that he had to sleep on the floor for at least a week.
I am a romantic, I guess I've always been one. I remember pining away for my hero and next door neighbor, Dumpy. I was only eight years old. He was a whole year older and could do no wrong in my estimation. He lived with his parents and grandmother next door. We had moved from my grandparents home to an apartment across the driveway from Dumpy's house. When I had my operation for polio, he rigged a walkie talkie from their kitchen to my bedroom. When I think about it we had sort of an "Our Gang" time. He was the hero and my brother and I were his followers. We had wonderful made up adventures. We slipped through the window to their basement, only to be scared of being discovered. Being scared made it that much more exciting.
We explored the back of our apartment and one time the garages behind us were left open and the three of us explored the interior. These garages were used as storage unites, we walked through looking, but not touching piles of furniture and assorted things. It was spooky and fun. Our imagination took all sorts of turns figuring out stories about the pieces. Now that I think about it, this was perhaps one reason that I like finding old things.
One time he climbed up unto the roof of one of the garages. I wanted to join him up there. But there was no way for me to get up unto the roof. There was a tree that grew next to the garage. I could do a lot of things, but I did have the sense to know when I was beat. Well, not to give up I could live vicariously. I told my little brother exactly how to climb up unto that roof. Unfortunately once up there he became very scared and started to cry. The only thing for me to do was to fess up and get my mother to help him down. Oh yes, I was in big trouble.
I new that I was in love with Dumpy as a little girl, that was my first love.
I had many crushes and was some what devastated when one of my girl friends started dating Dumpy, now using his real name, Harry.
The year that I graduated from grade school we had a school dance for graduation. I was a grown up twelve year old. At that dance one of my friends, who was also a boy gave me a kiss. Never having this happen before, and not knowing what to do, as well as having seen too many old Judy Garland movies I believe that I slapped his face. I really would love to apologize to him now. I am really sorry.
After graduation from grade school and because the junior high school and high school had too many steps, for me with a long leg brace and crutches, my grandparents helped my parents send me to a private school. This was a private all girl school that taught the classics. The Graham School, in Norfolk Va., was the center of my life as a young girl. It was an institution or maybe a relic from the Victorian era. This was a school for young ladies. When I attended the school, there were about sixty five to seventy students total in grades seven through twelve. These young ladies received a classical education. We were required to take six full years of Latin. I never really understood what taking a dead language would do for me. However, while majoring in Art History in College I learned that I could read a lot of Italian when studying Renaissance Art. I also realized that my scores on the English S.A.T.'s were greatly improved by those six years of Latin. At the time I would have rather done something else. Especially at exam time. I think I tried to memorize Cesar's Gallic Wars in English in order to just pass Latin. One of my favorite classes was ancient history. We also took three years of French.
Our English courses required a lot of writing and reading. All those book reports helped me be able to write and think as well. My math teacher Miss Batten was Walter Reed's granddaughter, she never mentioned this. The school was run by two old maid sisters the Misses Grahams. Miss Sarah was the oldest and the head mistress, her sister Miss Cary taught lower grade English. I remember what a stickler she was for grammar. I had a tough time with grammar in seventh grade, but it was very necessary for Latin to know English grammar. The one thing lacking was science. They added this for our class in ninth grade, due to some parents complaining. For art we would go to take Saturday classes with a local artist in his studio. My dad was just as happy not to have me be too influenced by other artist's style.
While I was in school there, I did the same sort of things that other girls did. I took classes in ball room dance with the other girls. I could dance slow dances but not the fast ones. It was at this time that I probably had more problems with being handicapped. The old adage, " Boys don't make passes at girls that wear glasses," is even worse for those who have crutches. I did not feel like I dated much; however, when I look back I realize that I did have a fairly good amount of dates. While at Graham School, I dated a brother of one of the girls in my class for about two years. He even asked me to his Senior Prom. I turned him down. Which I realize was not very nice. I had gone to one other dance with him at his school I did not know anyone there. I ended up sitting at a table all night. I did not want to do that again.
There were only twelve of us in my class and I was a good student but not the highest achiever. I've always been able to brag that I was in the top 10 of my class, only to admit that that was not such a great feat since there so few in our class. In fact there were several very high achievers in the class I would have been lucky to have been in the top half of my class.
My senior year we all started applying to colleges. I really wanted to go away to school; however, my parents decided that it was too dangerous for me to be away from home. Seeing that they made some sense coupled with the fact that there was a college in town, I gave in. I applied to and was accepted to The Division of William and Mary in Norfolk, which became that fall Old Dominion College.
I remember my mother going into labor. The next day my grandmother, Nana, sitting at the phone talking to my Dad about the new baby ....A Boy! I asked my grandmother what he looked like she said he was red all over. I said," like an Indian? Does he have a Feather behind his ear?" I was so excited I wanted to see my brother right away. But, I had to wait, Donnie was born on December 13, (our family's lucky number 13). He was my Christmas present. I loved him from the start.
The next memory that I had was of everyone taking his photo and asking me to move over so they could get a picture of the baby. I still remember feeling left out and a little jealous. Mother must have noticed this because she let me poise for the next picture with my baby brother in my arms. In the photo you could see how pleased I was.
Later that year in the summer, we had a rain storm and the water at the corner was deep enough for the kids on the block to play in. I wanted to play there too, but mother said that I could not. There was a lot of polio going around, and she did not want me to catch it. I could not play in the gutter like the other kids.
Everyone was worried about an out break of polio. At that time there was nothing that could be done for polio except to pray, and hope that nobody in your family got it. There was a big out break of the disease in neighboring North Carolina. They had actually closed the border between Virginia and Carolina just below where we lived in Norfolk, VA. In spite of all mother's precautions, I got polio at the age of four in 1948. First I had the measles. It must have been German Measles, because they kept me in a darkened room, for fear of the light effecting my eye sight. Sometime shortly after that I had a strep throat. My parents had gone out for an evening. I hurt so bad, I remember crying for my mother. My Nana tried to comfort me. The next morning, they called the doctor to come. He examined me and asked me if I could walk. I remember saying that I could not, but that I could crawl. "Just put me down on the floor and I'll show you."
My Dad picked me up carried me to the car. Mother held me in her arms, and we hurried to the hospital. Here they gave me a spinal tap to see if I had polio. I remember screaming. No one had ever hurt me like that. Mother heard me, but they would not let her come to me. They put me in isolation. When she could mother sat in the room with me for hours on end and read to me. She said at one point she was afraid that I might die. After a while they put me in a room with a glass window on one wall. They wrapped my legs and arms with hot wet wool to keep my muscles from contracting. The smell of wet wool made me feel sick well into my thirties. Mother was upset with my paternal grandmother, because she did not come to visit for fear of germs. She did stand on the other side of the window and waved at me. She had been through this before as my dad's older brother also had polio as a child. He had no visible effects for polio and even serve in the army during World War II.
My mother hated to leave my side, so my Nana (maternal grandmother), and good friends took turns during the day taking care of my brother. I missed him and wanted to go home. They transferred me from Norfolk General to De Paul Hospital, to their children's ward. There were a lot of beds with lots of children in a large room. The Nuns, Sister's of Mercy, worked wonders there. They were nice. Some of the nurses were not. One Nun asked me if I were Catholic, and some how at four years old I knew to say that I was Methodist.
In the ward with me there were children in iron lungs. Without these they could not breath. When there were thunder storms the electricity would go out. All the men would take turns cranking a generator in order to keep the iron lungs working. Without these devises the children in them would have die. There were others that came into the children's ward too. There was a little Chinese girl, whose mean brother had put her in a box and put fire to it. She was terribly burned. there was an older girl who had fallen off a horse while riding and had a metal plate in her head. There was one small boy that I was particularly fond of. He had polio too. It effected his arm. We actually met again after I had married.
The Doctors were very nice. One young doctor did paper cuttings for the children. I met my Doctor for the first time there, Johnny Van. He was a young Doctor who walked with a limp. It turned out that he had contracted polio as a child. The smell of alcohol permeated the air as you moved about the hospital. This smell also bothered me for a long time. I was in De Paul for months. One day my mother asked me as I pleaded with her to stay,"What would you like me to bring you tomorrow?"
I answered, "Please bring me a fairy."
Oh dear, my Mother thought. She did not want to let me down, but a fairy. How on earth was she to find a fairy for her daughter? That evening she worried and thought. The next day she she came in carrying a very small doll with wings made out of a man's shirt collar decorated with sequins and a soft gossamer dress. I knew that this was just a doll, but mother had a story that went with the doll.
She and my Dad had pulled the car into the drive and from the garden area she heard a tiny cry like a tingling of a bell. She walked over to discover a tiny fairy who was caught up in a web. My father reached down and freed her and lifted her up. Mother told her that her young daughter had been very sick and was still in the hospital. Her only desire was to have them bring her a fairy the next day. Would she go to the hospital with them? "Oh....I can't," she said, "It is way too dangerous, I might even die if I go. But, I will help you." At that she took out some fairy dust and turned a small doll into a fairy doll. "Tell your little girl that it was not possible for me to come, but I will visit you and tell you some stories of the fairies. "Mother was ready with stories that she had made up and written down to read to me. For years I thought that there were fairies in the garden at my grandparents home.
There was one definite high light to my hospital stay. The nurses gathered all the children that were able to be moved into a solarium room for the much anticipated visit of Jean Audry, the famous singing cowboy. I was able to brag about this for years. As another special treat they gave us was hot dogs for our lunch. We all felt very special.
One of the visits that I particularly looked forward to was that of my Uncle Billy, Nana's brother. Every time that he'd come to visit he would bring me bubble gum. One time I asked him where did he get all that bubble gum. He told me that he had a very special bush in his backyard that had gum as it's fruit. At the time I had trouble believing this, but I persisted. Could I see this marvelous bush. One day after I had recovered we went to visit, and there in his back yard was a bush with gum hanging all over attached with scotch tape. He had gone to a lot of trouble to make a little girl happy.
I was finally able to come home for a visit, and then at last home for good. Mother had to do physical therapy to try to keep my legs limber. They had always told me that the polio had effected me from my shoulders down. Some how I never thought that it had effected my arms. That was until I went to be tested for Post Polio Syndrome. Suddenly I went from being a paraplegic to being a quadriplegic.
.After I had polio and was home. I remember learning to walk with crutches. This was an adventure. Although in the beginning I had braces on both my legs and a corset on my back I remember being able to swing off a curb. I felt like I was flying. I was the poster child for the march of dimes in the Norfolk, Va. area when I was six or seven. There was a picture of me walking with crutches that was blown up to life size and it appeared in a window of a store on the main street in downtown. For years we kept this in our attic.
After I had been home from the hospital for a while, Doctor Vann decided that it would be a good idea if we went to Warm Springs GA. to the facility there where President Roosevelt had gone. The Warm Springs Foundation was know for their work with rehabilitating people who had polio. He wanted to make sure that I was getting the best care possible.
We got into our car to travel all the way to Georgia. My uncle Judd had married Helen Matthews, she joined us on our trip. Along with Helen came her new cat, Tandy, a beautiful Siamese kitten with big blue eyes. During the night stay in a motel, Tandy decided to play with the light attached to the head board. She walked the head board and batted with her paw at the chain that dangled just above my Dad's head. He was not overly fond of cats and remained asleep as we held our breath.
When we got to Georgia, we stayed with Helen's family. It was there that I saw a TV for the first time. It was small and almost round. The black and white picture on the tube was very fuzzy. It was interesting and memorable to a little girl. Helen's family were very nice to us and a lot of fun. I think it was her sister that told me that they used to make dolls out of corn husk, using corn silk for hair. It was there that I discovered that there was such a thing as yellow watermelon.
When we stayed in Warm Springs, the streets in town had wooden sidewalks, and the water in the hotel tasted terrible. The doctors at the foundation said that Dr. Vann was as good a doctor as any one that they had on staff, and that I was very lucky to have him as my doctor. We visited the little White House where President Roosevelt stayed when he visited there for treatments. We made two trips there and they get mixed up in my memory, but on the last one I believe I had my first loose tooth. I wiggled it all the way there and all the way back home. We even tried the trick of tying a string on the tooth and a door nob, slamming the door....but of course it did not work.
The Appalachian Mountains, run all the way into Georgia. We visited a State Park in the mountains. In a general store my parents bought me my first pair of blue jeans, and a toy monkey. On the way back we listened to the radio play "the Tennessee Waltz." I also remember the kudzu that had taken over large areas along the road side in Georgia even covering homes. At that point it was out of control.
Due to going to Warm Springs, and operations to keep my limbs straight, I could not attend kindergarten. Mother ordered books from the Calvert School for kinder garden. I had a operation and my body was in a cast from my waist down encasing both legs. One of the things that I remembered was that we made a model of a farm. With little plastic animals including ducks that mother made a pond for out of a mirror.
They did all sorts of things to keep my mind busy. They ordered an ant farm. Where the ants built their community between two sheets of glass.
Several girls would come by to play. One of these was one of my best friends today, Polly. She came up from The Dominican Republic, where her father was a British Banker. Her grandparents lived down the street from my grandparents, when she was in town they brought her by to visit. We played with clay making all sorts of things like rabbits, turtles, cats and dogs as well as food for them to eat.
I was able to start real school in first grade. I went to Ferebee's School, a little private school run in the Sunday school area of Saint Andrew's Church around the corner from our house on Graydon Avenue in Norfolk, Va. To keep my legs warm Mother dressed me in my wool coat and leggings. This was a fine and dandy until I had to take the leggings off and put them back on. I remember sitting on the landing of the stairs struggling to get them on and off. I was always behind. Finally I just told mother that I was not going to wear the leggings any more. We bought high socks for me to wear in the colder weather and that solved that problem. I still remember the coldness of wearing dresses in the winter.
The first time that I realized that I was some what different was while I was in school there. Some child, that I did not know, asked me why I walked with crutches. I knew that I walked with crutches, but my good friends accepted me as who I was. To my mind I was normal, I just used crutches to get around. I have never viewed my self as handicapped in any way. With the aid of my crutches I could do anything the other kids did. I played on the playground, climbing up the slide, swinging on the swings, climbing the monkey bars. I even remember standing on a merry go around thing that was kid powered, falling and knocking my breath out just like any other kid.
While I was at the Ferebee School my mother helped to pay for my tuition by acting as the art teacher for the school. I am sure that it helped pay my way, but it also served as a way for her to keep an eye on me.
The school was not quite a block from our house on Graydon Avenue. Mother either walked me home from school or some one in the family would pick me up. One day they were late. So I took it upon myself to walk home on my own, after all I knew the way. The thing was that I wanted to experiment. I decided to take the long way home. I went down the street that crossed Graydon over to the street that ran behind the house Westover Avenue. There was a field that had overgrown behind my grandparents home. I decided to walk back through this field. This took much longer than I had expected. When I got home hot, tired and dirty. Both my mom and my Nana were frantic with worry. Boy, did I get it. I never did that again. The fascination with the field behind and next to the house continued. My friends and I would explore the trails and the fields. We would pick the wild blackberries and my mother or grandmother would make a blackberry pie. We would pick great bunches of the wild flowers especially in the fall to carry into the house. Once I picked a bunch of golden rod for my paternal grandmother, who would not take them because she thought that she was allergic to them. I have always loved going into the wilds.
We put on a show for our parents at the end of each year. We would march in to the tune of " the Animals on Parade." We would stand on the stage and sing at the top of our voices. After the second grade, I graduated to the public elementary School, Walter Heron Taylor School. My teacher Mrs Sills did a good job of keeping us all in line. We put on a show "Jack and the Beanstalk." I was a magic Harp. There were several of us girls in party dresses holding paper harps covered with Aluminum foil and yarn for strings.
That year Dr. Van said that I was going to need to have another operation. I was not happy about this at all. But of course we went ahead and proceeded with the operation. The day that I arrived at the hospital there were a couple of small boys racing around in the big wicker wheel chairs that were standard then in hospitals. One boy had an operation for a club foot, the other a broken leg. There was a little girl with a hair lip. The morning of the operation the nurses forgot to get Mother to sign the release form. So the doctor came into the operating room and said that they were going to have to wait until they found mother. She had gone to the coffee shop to get a cup of coffee. While they were waiting on the signature, he proceeded to tell the nurses exactly what he intended to do. When he finished, I repeated his instructions to the nurses. I have claustrophobia, so when the nurse went to put the mask for the ether over my nose, I resisted. The nurse who was not as kind as she should have been said. If you don't like it just count backwards. I fought that thing until I passed out with the ether.
There was a sweet little girl my age in the adjoining room she would come into my room to visit. She had anemia and later died. There was not much hope then for children with that type of cancer. Thankfully now there is bone marrow transplants, that have saved children like her.
They took me home from the hospital in an ambulance. I needed to be in the cast from my waist down again for a couple of months. Mother did things to help me past the time. We got a parakeet. I named him Jojo. We tried to teach him to talk. He did not say much; however one time he looked at my Dad and called him stupid. He would use my cast as a landing pad and skid from one end to the other. When Mother would pin her patterns to cut a piece of material he would pull the pins out and drop them over the side of the bed where she was working. The funniest thing that happened occurred when my brother, who was a little over four at the time decided to pretend to go hunting. He had a pop gun with a cork attached with a cord. He put the gun over his shoulder and walked around the apartment saying, "Where is that bird? I'm going to get me a bird." We all started laughing. He could not understand why. Jojo was perched on the end of the gun he had slung over his shoulder.
When it came time to take my cast off. Doctor Van came to our home to cut it off with a cast saw that was designed to cut off when it hit something soft. The cast was lined with cotton and a stocking material. The saw made a lot of noise. and produced a lot of heat. It scared me but did not hurt. The pin that held one leg in place did hut when he pulled it out. We had a maid that when out back and started praying. Poor Doctor Van bent over to work on cutting off the cast and threw his back out. He said that he had to sleep on the floor for at least a week.
I am a romantic, I guess I've always been one. I remember pining away for my hero and next door neighbor, Dumpy. I was only eight years old. He was a whole year older and could do no wrong in my estimation. He lived with his parents and grandmother next door. We had moved from my grandparents home to an apartment across the driveway from Dumpy's house. When I had my operation for polio, he rigged a walkie talkie from their kitchen to my bedroom. When I think about it we had sort of an "Our Gang" time. He was the hero and my brother and I were his followers. We had wonderful made up adventures. We slipped through the window to their basement, only to be scared of being discovered. Being scared made it that much more exciting.
We explored the back of our apartment and one time the garages behind us were left open and the three of us explored the interior. These garages were used as storage unites, we walked through looking, but not touching piles of furniture and assorted things. It was spooky and fun. Our imagination took all sorts of turns figuring out stories about the pieces. Now that I think about it, this was perhaps one reason that I like finding old things.
One time he climbed up unto the roof of one of the garages. I wanted to join him up there. But there was no way for me to get up unto the roof. There was a tree that grew next to the garage. I could do a lot of things, but I did have the sense to know when I was beat. Well, not to give up I could live vicariously. I told my little brother exactly how to climb up unto that roof. Unfortunately once up there he became very scared and started to cry. The only thing for me to do was to fess up and get my mother to help him down. Oh yes, I was in big trouble.
I new that I was in love with Dumpy as a little girl, that was my first love.
I had many crushes and was some what devastated when one of my girl friends started dating Dumpy, now using his real name, Harry.
The year that I graduated from grade school we had a school dance for graduation. I was a grown up twelve year old. At that dance one of my friends, who was also a boy gave me a kiss. Never having this happen before, and not knowing what to do, as well as having seen too many old Judy Garland movies I believe that I slapped his face. I really would love to apologize to him now. I am really sorry.
After graduation from grade school and because the junior high school and high school had too many steps, for me with a long leg brace and crutches, my grandparents helped my parents send me to a private school. This was a private all girl school that taught the classics. The Graham School, in Norfolk Va., was the center of my life as a young girl. It was an institution or maybe a relic from the Victorian era. This was a school for young ladies. When I attended the school, there were about sixty five to seventy students total in grades seven through twelve. These young ladies received a classical education. We were required to take six full years of Latin. I never really understood what taking a dead language would do for me. However, while majoring in Art History in College I learned that I could read a lot of Italian when studying Renaissance Art. I also realized that my scores on the English S.A.T.'s were greatly improved by those six years of Latin. At the time I would have rather done something else. Especially at exam time. I think I tried to memorize Cesar's Gallic Wars in English in order to just pass Latin. One of my favorite classes was ancient history. We also took three years of French.
Our English courses required a lot of writing and reading. All those book reports helped me be able to write and think as well. My math teacher Miss Batten was Walter Reed's granddaughter, she never mentioned this. The school was run by two old maid sisters the Misses Grahams. Miss Sarah was the oldest and the head mistress, her sister Miss Cary taught lower grade English. I remember what a stickler she was for grammar. I had a tough time with grammar in seventh grade, but it was very necessary for Latin to know English grammar. The one thing lacking was science. They added this for our class in ninth grade, due to some parents complaining. For art we would go to take Saturday classes with a local artist in his studio. My dad was just as happy not to have me be too influenced by other artist's style.
While I was in school there, I did the same sort of things that other girls did. I took classes in ball room dance with the other girls. I could dance slow dances but not the fast ones. It was at this time that I probably had more problems with being handicapped. The old adage, " Boys don't make passes at girls that wear glasses," is even worse for those who have crutches. I did not feel like I dated much; however, when I look back I realize that I did have a fairly good amount of dates. While at Graham School, I dated a brother of one of the girls in my class for about two years. He even asked me to his Senior Prom. I turned him down. Which I realize was not very nice. I had gone to one other dance with him at his school I did not know anyone there. I ended up sitting at a table all night. I did not want to do that again.
There were only twelve of us in my class and I was a good student but not the highest achiever. I've always been able to brag that I was in the top 10 of my class, only to admit that that was not such a great feat since there so few in our class. In fact there were several very high achievers in the class I would have been lucky to have been in the top half of my class.
My senior year we all started applying to colleges. I really wanted to go away to school; however, my parents decided that it was too dangerous for me to be away from home. Seeing that they made some sense coupled with the fact that there was a college in town, I gave in. I applied to and was accepted to The Division of William and Mary in Norfolk, which became that fall Old Dominion College.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Art....Complilation of my writings on Art
Art in My Life
Ever since I can remember art has been a piece of my life. There have been times that it has been all consuming. Other times when I've not been able to produce any work. I have always thought of art, and the craft of putting things on paper or canvas. I remember having small children and looking at leaves and mountains, mentally figuring out how to go about painting these things that I loved.
I majored in Art History with a minor in Studio Art and English. My father Donald Sykes Lewis Sr. ran an Art Gallery, Auslew Gallery, in Norfolk, Virginia. I was eight when he opened the gallery. Both my parents painted. I was surrounded with art my whole life.
When I was four years old, I contracted polio. My mother used art to entertain both my younger brother and myself with crayons pencils and paper. She even used the old card boards out of my Dad's shirts, that had come back from the laundry. We would have drawing contest. No one lost . She would always find some way to encourage us. Awarding everyone a prize of a treat. This was a way of keeping me busy and happy when the other children were running around out side. Not to be done in, I too did my share of running around, playing hide and seek, and climbing trees. I did this even with crutches and a brace on my leg. Because we were both brought up creating art works, we never gave up our art work.
While I was in College, I studied under Charles Sibley. Charles was a good friend of my father's. Dad carried some of his paintings in his Art Gallery. I remember that one day when we were still children, my brother came into the gallery. He stood in front of one of Charles' paintings. He said quiet loudly,"Who'd want to buy that, the people look dead buried and dug up." Charles was standing there for the full effect. In spite of this remark, he and my brother later became good friends.
While attending Old Dominion University, I took courses in water color, and printmaking, for some reason I did not take oil painting. Another course that I took was basic design. We disdainfully called it early morning cut and paste. Little did I know that this was one of the most valuable courses that I would ever take. It seemed too much like play. It was only many years later when working on my own paintings, that I realized how very helpful early morning cut and paste actually was.
I was able to take on balance, color, design, and depth perception without much difficulty. I also have to give credit to hanging around my Dad's Art Gallery. Dad had let a studio in the Gallery out to a portrait painter, Ted Tevis. Mr. Tevis took me under his wing and gave me instructions in perspective. He went to great pains to show me the vanishing point using strings to extend lines well off the paper where I was drawing. I was about fourteen and thought that he had gone way far to extreme; however, it was a lesson well taught. I learned about aerial and atmospheric perspective in my Art History classes by observing older paintings and having my Art History Professor, Parker Lesley, point this out in Renaissance Art.
One weekend with my family that I particularly remember, Dad brought in easels, oil paints, and the whole family painted together. We used photos from National Geographic Magazine to paint from. I painted a Greek fishing boat on a beach. Dad took time to instruct. We all enjoyed the process and being together.
I also remember a time even earlier when I was recuperating from one of my operations. Mother gave me paper a pencils and had me draw a china cat that my grandfather had given me, She showed me how to look a something that I wanted to draw on paper. After trying very hard and with much erasing, I turned out a nice drawing of this cat licking his paw. I still have that drawing somewhere. It was hard won. I was about eight years old. I was proud enough to put it in my scrap book. One other thing that I tried as a young child was painting by numbers. I failed miserly, because I could not just fill in the spots. I had to do one better. The vase of flowers ended up to be not a paint by numbers, but a Leigh original.
Charles taught me to be free with my art. I took water color from him. I learned to let the paints flow, and that there happy circumstances that happen in art. You take advantage of these rather than trying too hard to control the paint. I have not done water colors for years, but when I start my oils I am able to use my brush work casually almost abstractly in the early stages. The tough part is knowing when to quit. It is so easy to over do a painting.
Well after college, Charles spent a weekend in the country with just my brother and myself. I believe that I used water colors that weekend. I sketched some with water color crayons applied water and let it run. My colors were bright and fresh.
I drew the flowers from the garden. This led me to doing several free water colors of fresh flowers. I'd plant my gardens with my paintings in mind. Dad told me to studying the flower paintings by the impressionist artist, Henri Fantin-Latour. He was known for his flowers. I copied his work in order to learn how he did his flowers. Another thing that aided both my brother and myself in our painting skills was the fact that we both did restoration of oil paintings with my Dad in his Gallery. In order to do in painting, you have to be able to match your strokes to that of the artist. You learn a lot about painting doing restoration.
My younger brother Donald Sykes Lewis Jr. actually started painting after he finished College long before I was able to begin. He encouraged me to pick up the brush and canvas. But it wasn't until my youngest son Lewis was in school that I decided that I could go back to painting.
I wanted to paint in oils. I had no training in oil painting. I needed to understand the basics of the medium as well as the process. I decided to go back to school to study oil painting. At the time I was living in Williamsburg at the time. I ended up picking up a class at the College of William and Mary. My doing this was not quite far to the other art students also taking the class. I was able to devote a lot of time and thought to the class as it was the only one I was taking. I was also raising three sons and running a gift shop, although I did have ladies working for me at the shop.
When I do my paintings I paint from photographs. I like using them as a guide not a bible. Photographs are not true to life. If you copy a photo, your paintings will be too surreal or photo realistic. I use photos as a jumping off place. I like my art to have atmosphere and express my feelings about the subject that I paint.
One time years ago, a friend of mine looked at one of my paintings and said that the background to the still life that I was working on seem to have movement to it. The atmosphere around us is not still. Why should the atmosphere in a painting appear flat? A flash of light, a passing cloud, a breeze all cause motion. I now rarely do still life painting preferring do Landscapes. Painting landscapes Plien Air, is difficult because you are constantly chasing after a fleeting moment only to have another flash before your eyes. When I paint from my photos, I am able to take these flashing moments and compile them into an impression of the time.
I have studied nature and the world around me for great lengths of time. Sitting in the passenger seat of a vehicle, I have glazed upon clouds and mountains, fields and rivers, gaining a perception of the way things are, and how nature works. I learned to see what is really there. If you really look you will see the orange glint off of the trees as the sun sets, the sparkle of flowing water and the haze lying close to the shore line or shrouding the mountain top. I remember being with my grandparents and hearing my mother's father say as we looked at sunset over snow, "The Heavens declare the glory of the Lord, and the firmament showeth His handiwork." I suppose that somehow I am trying to pay tribute to the beauty of our world and to the heavens. I love nature. When I could still walk I took great joy in walking up into the woods and hills, beaches and shores. I loved the woods of Vermont and Virginia. I have been privileged to have live in two of the most beautiful states. Also have been blessed to be able to have traveled across our country.
So, sometimes you just have to push yourself to do your art. No excuses, just do. I once said I thought that if God has given you a talent that you should not waste it. That it might even be a sin if you waste a God given talent. I need to practice what I preach.
To get going with my paintings, I get out the paintings that I have been working on, and set them against a piece of furniture across the room where I can critique them. Getting away from your work always helps. My studio at the moment is a drawing table in my bedroom. I always back up and look at my work as I paint. A funny thing that I do is to squint at my subject matter and at the painting in progress. I used to be near sighted, and never used glasses when I painted.
After studying my paintings, I'll pick up the painting and be able to adjust a little something here and there until I get it to look the way I want. I usually do this with all my pieces. These are the final touches that make a painting. This also keeps me from over doing. Knowing when to stop is an art. A painting can go from nice to over done in an instant. Unfortunately this can still happen to me.
I remember meeting one of my good friends for the first time. We started talking and discovered that we both pursued the art of painting. I told her that I was an artist. She replied that she was a REAL ARTIST. This took me back. I can imagine that my mouth hung open. Was she insinuating that I was not a real artist? Now that I think about it some 15 years later, what she meant was that she took art seriously as a full time pursuit, not just some hobby to be replaced with another. There are so many people who play at art. Neither she nor I played at our art. It was serious business that we both pursued with a passion.
We have grown with our art in very different ways. I have tried to continue painting no matter what my circumstances are. There have been times when I could paint with out interruptions as a full time job. During this time, I grew and produced a great number of works. There was a show in Richmond where we both took our paintings to be displayed. The show was judged and awards were given. I only received one ribbon during that time. I'm not sure that my friend received any. It did not matter. The shows were once a month,and we continued to try. This gave us the incentive to paint more and more. We are as different as night and day, but we are and continue to be REAL ARTIST despite all odds.
I've been in an artist block for a while. Blaming being busy or not being able to concentrate, but maybe the truth is that I have not made time for doing what I love. I have been having difficulty starting and even sustaining an art project. Painting has taken me through some really tough times. It helped me get through my divorce and raising three sons as teens alone. Art is my Salish. It has been my refuge from problems. It has allowed me to regain what sanity I could garner in troubled times. It has kept my calm. To paint one does need a clear mind. I have never before had to contend with a crowed mind. Recently I've been thrashing around mentally trying to find myself with my art. I have problems keeping on track. Because I need to keep track of what is going on with life, taking care of my mother and working at our shop. Some times I get brain overload. After work and after dinner when I could possibly find time to paint, I tend to have no energy or creativity left. Writing definitely helps. I can share ideas and memories this way. I have not been able to find something to paint that I can get inspired about. I've been toying with the idea of doing something that is more modern than the impressionist landscapes that I have done of our area. I keep failing with abstract paintings. They are not easy to conceive. I tend to be a perfectionist. I guess after conquering the color green, which in itself is a real feat, I am just sick and tried of green and trees. I needed a new challenge. Lewis suggested icebergs. Wow, why didn't I think of that.
Once I start painting something that I love from nature, I become fascinated. I can not wait to get home and finish fixing dinner, so that I can work on the next painting. I have done several paintings of snow in the past and icebergs were not that different in concept and color.
Having a mission really gets me going.
I've been collecting pictures on line of icebergs. In the news there has been a lot about the fact that with the warming, the glaciers seem to be calving off icebergs at a phenomenal rate.
So with the idea fresh in my mind I got on line and ordered new or at least more and newer art supplies. Among these several colors that I felt necessary to add to my palette for painting Icebergs. Just writing about it makes me feel cool. Everything arrived a while back and I started my first painting.
Looking up photos of Icebergs on line just fuels my the enthusiasm. There is such a wide variety of forms, shapes and colors. Daylight, night, even northern lights, what inspirations to draw from.
For the last few years I have concentrated on taking care of my Mother and on our business. Between these things and trying to manage a home that has some sort of order, I have found very little time for myself. Recently Lewis, my youngest son, suggested that I start painting a series of paintings of icebergs with the idea that I would prepare for a show of my work. Now, I have a purpose for doing my art.
I ordered canvases and fresh paints, as well as a few good brushes. My art has always paid for itself, ever since I first started painting. I remember sending one of the first paintings to my Dad's gallery to be framed. He called me, and said, that a lady had come in and had loved my painting could he sell it to her. I was amazed that someone would actually buy one of my paintings. This happened at a time when I was recuperating from surgery and going thru a divorce.What a boost to my ego.
I should have remembered that my art work had gotten me through the trauma of my divorce. It had allowed me to clear my head, and relax. Why I had failed to make time for my art? It was beyond me. Maybe having a new purpose to paint was a way for me to remember that art is one of the best therapies available. It's cost was off set by rewards both physical and mental. When I practice my art I relax totally concentrating on the task at hand of rendering my subject onto the canvas. I have realized that my work is spiritual as well as physical. I am putting down the subject, but also I am projecting part of my spiritual feelings unto to canvas or board with my paints.
Painting Icebergs....Who would have thought that would get me excited about my art again. I went on line and found all sorts of images of icebergs, ice flows and Glaciers. I took the images and had them blown up to a manageable size. I used these as a jumping off point for my paintings. These were my inspiration. I can not always go to the locations, where I want to get my photos that I work from. I am limited because of my mobility. I have always been a keen observer of nature.
My advise to anyone wanting to paint is to start. The first steps must be taken in any endeavor. You have to start or you'll never do anything. Once you start it is amazing what can be done.
Ever since I can remember art has been a piece of my life. There have been times that it has been all consuming. Other times when I've not been able to produce any work. I have always thought of art, and the craft of putting things on paper or canvas. I remember having small children and looking at leaves and mountains, mentally figuring out how to go about painting these things that I loved.
I majored in Art History with a minor in Studio Art and English. My father Donald Sykes Lewis Sr. ran an Art Gallery, Auslew Gallery, in Norfolk, Virginia. I was eight when he opened the gallery. Both my parents painted. I was surrounded with art my whole life.
When I was four years old, I contracted polio. My mother used art to entertain both my younger brother and myself with crayons pencils and paper. She even used the old card boards out of my Dad's shirts, that had come back from the laundry. We would have drawing contest. No one lost . She would always find some way to encourage us. Awarding everyone a prize of a treat. This was a way of keeping me busy and happy when the other children were running around out side. Not to be done in, I too did my share of running around, playing hide and seek, and climbing trees. I did this even with crutches and a brace on my leg. Because we were both brought up creating art works, we never gave up our art work.
While I was in College, I studied under Charles Sibley. Charles was a good friend of my father's. Dad carried some of his paintings in his Art Gallery. I remember that one day when we were still children, my brother came into the gallery. He stood in front of one of Charles' paintings. He said quiet loudly,"Who'd want to buy that, the people look dead buried and dug up." Charles was standing there for the full effect. In spite of this remark, he and my brother later became good friends.
While attending Old Dominion University, I took courses in water color, and printmaking, for some reason I did not take oil painting. Another course that I took was basic design. We disdainfully called it early morning cut and paste. Little did I know that this was one of the most valuable courses that I would ever take. It seemed too much like play. It was only many years later when working on my own paintings, that I realized how very helpful early morning cut and paste actually was.
I was able to take on balance, color, design, and depth perception without much difficulty. I also have to give credit to hanging around my Dad's Art Gallery. Dad had let a studio in the Gallery out to a portrait painter, Ted Tevis. Mr. Tevis took me under his wing and gave me instructions in perspective. He went to great pains to show me the vanishing point using strings to extend lines well off the paper where I was drawing. I was about fourteen and thought that he had gone way far to extreme; however, it was a lesson well taught. I learned about aerial and atmospheric perspective in my Art History classes by observing older paintings and having my Art History Professor, Parker Lesley, point this out in Renaissance Art.
One weekend with my family that I particularly remember, Dad brought in easels, oil paints, and the whole family painted together. We used photos from National Geographic Magazine to paint from. I painted a Greek fishing boat on a beach. Dad took time to instruct. We all enjoyed the process and being together.
I also remember a time even earlier when I was recuperating from one of my operations. Mother gave me paper a pencils and had me draw a china cat that my grandfather had given me, She showed me how to look a something that I wanted to draw on paper. After trying very hard and with much erasing, I turned out a nice drawing of this cat licking his paw. I still have that drawing somewhere. It was hard won. I was about eight years old. I was proud enough to put it in my scrap book. One other thing that I tried as a young child was painting by numbers. I failed miserly, because I could not just fill in the spots. I had to do one better. The vase of flowers ended up to be not a paint by numbers, but a Leigh original.
Charles taught me to be free with my art. I took water color from him. I learned to let the paints flow, and that there happy circumstances that happen in art. You take advantage of these rather than trying too hard to control the paint. I have not done water colors for years, but when I start my oils I am able to use my brush work casually almost abstractly in the early stages. The tough part is knowing when to quit. It is so easy to over do a painting.
Well after college, Charles spent a weekend in the country with just my brother and myself. I believe that I used water colors that weekend. I sketched some with water color crayons applied water and let it run. My colors were bright and fresh.
I drew the flowers from the garden. This led me to doing several free water colors of fresh flowers. I'd plant my gardens with my paintings in mind. Dad told me to studying the flower paintings by the impressionist artist, Henri Fantin-Latour. He was known for his flowers. I copied his work in order to learn how he did his flowers. Another thing that aided both my brother and myself in our painting skills was the fact that we both did restoration of oil paintings with my Dad in his Gallery. In order to do in painting, you have to be able to match your strokes to that of the artist. You learn a lot about painting doing restoration.
My younger brother Donald Sykes Lewis Jr. actually started painting after he finished College long before I was able to begin. He encouraged me to pick up the brush and canvas. But it wasn't until my youngest son Lewis was in school that I decided that I could go back to painting.
I wanted to paint in oils. I had no training in oil painting. I needed to understand the basics of the medium as well as the process. I decided to go back to school to study oil painting. At the time I was living in Williamsburg at the time. I ended up picking up a class at the College of William and Mary. My doing this was not quite far to the other art students also taking the class. I was able to devote a lot of time and thought to the class as it was the only one I was taking. I was also raising three sons and running a gift shop, although I did have ladies working for me at the shop.
When I do my paintings I paint from photographs. I like using them as a guide not a bible. Photographs are not true to life. If you copy a photo, your paintings will be too surreal or photo realistic. I use photos as a jumping off place. I like my art to have atmosphere and express my feelings about the subject that I paint.
One time years ago, a friend of mine looked at one of my paintings and said that the background to the still life that I was working on seem to have movement to it. The atmosphere around us is not still. Why should the atmosphere in a painting appear flat? A flash of light, a passing cloud, a breeze all cause motion. I now rarely do still life painting preferring do Landscapes. Painting landscapes Plien Air, is difficult because you are constantly chasing after a fleeting moment only to have another flash before your eyes. When I paint from my photos, I am able to take these flashing moments and compile them into an impression of the time.
I have studied nature and the world around me for great lengths of time. Sitting in the passenger seat of a vehicle, I have glazed upon clouds and mountains, fields and rivers, gaining a perception of the way things are, and how nature works. I learned to see what is really there. If you really look you will see the orange glint off of the trees as the sun sets, the sparkle of flowing water and the haze lying close to the shore line or shrouding the mountain top. I remember being with my grandparents and hearing my mother's father say as we looked at sunset over snow, "The Heavens declare the glory of the Lord, and the firmament showeth His handiwork." I suppose that somehow I am trying to pay tribute to the beauty of our world and to the heavens. I love nature. When I could still walk I took great joy in walking up into the woods and hills, beaches and shores. I loved the woods of Vermont and Virginia. I have been privileged to have live in two of the most beautiful states. Also have been blessed to be able to have traveled across our country.
So, sometimes you just have to push yourself to do your art. No excuses, just do. I once said I thought that if God has given you a talent that you should not waste it. That it might even be a sin if you waste a God given talent. I need to practice what I preach.
To get going with my paintings, I get out the paintings that I have been working on, and set them against a piece of furniture across the room where I can critique them. Getting away from your work always helps. My studio at the moment is a drawing table in my bedroom. I always back up and look at my work as I paint. A funny thing that I do is to squint at my subject matter and at the painting in progress. I used to be near sighted, and never used glasses when I painted.
After studying my paintings, I'll pick up the painting and be able to adjust a little something here and there until I get it to look the way I want. I usually do this with all my pieces. These are the final touches that make a painting. This also keeps me from over doing. Knowing when to stop is an art. A painting can go from nice to over done in an instant. Unfortunately this can still happen to me.
I remember meeting one of my good friends for the first time. We started talking and discovered that we both pursued the art of painting. I told her that I was an artist. She replied that she was a REAL ARTIST. This took me back. I can imagine that my mouth hung open. Was she insinuating that I was not a real artist? Now that I think about it some 15 years later, what she meant was that she took art seriously as a full time pursuit, not just some hobby to be replaced with another. There are so many people who play at art. Neither she nor I played at our art. It was serious business that we both pursued with a passion.
We have grown with our art in very different ways. I have tried to continue painting no matter what my circumstances are. There have been times when I could paint with out interruptions as a full time job. During this time, I grew and produced a great number of works. There was a show in Richmond where we both took our paintings to be displayed. The show was judged and awards were given. I only received one ribbon during that time. I'm not sure that my friend received any. It did not matter. The shows were once a month,and we continued to try. This gave us the incentive to paint more and more. We are as different as night and day, but we are and continue to be REAL ARTIST despite all odds.
I've been in an artist block for a while. Blaming being busy or not being able to concentrate, but maybe the truth is that I have not made time for doing what I love. I have been having difficulty starting and even sustaining an art project. Painting has taken me through some really tough times. It helped me get through my divorce and raising three sons as teens alone. Art is my Salish. It has been my refuge from problems. It has allowed me to regain what sanity I could garner in troubled times. It has kept my calm. To paint one does need a clear mind. I have never before had to contend with a crowed mind. Recently I've been thrashing around mentally trying to find myself with my art. I have problems keeping on track. Because I need to keep track of what is going on with life, taking care of my mother and working at our shop. Some times I get brain overload. After work and after dinner when I could possibly find time to paint, I tend to have no energy or creativity left. Writing definitely helps. I can share ideas and memories this way. I have not been able to find something to paint that I can get inspired about. I've been toying with the idea of doing something that is more modern than the impressionist landscapes that I have done of our area. I keep failing with abstract paintings. They are not easy to conceive. I tend to be a perfectionist. I guess after conquering the color green, which in itself is a real feat, I am just sick and tried of green and trees. I needed a new challenge. Lewis suggested icebergs. Wow, why didn't I think of that.
Once I start painting something that I love from nature, I become fascinated. I can not wait to get home and finish fixing dinner, so that I can work on the next painting. I have done several paintings of snow in the past and icebergs were not that different in concept and color.
Having a mission really gets me going.
I've been collecting pictures on line of icebergs. In the news there has been a lot about the fact that with the warming, the glaciers seem to be calving off icebergs at a phenomenal rate.
So with the idea fresh in my mind I got on line and ordered new or at least more and newer art supplies. Among these several colors that I felt necessary to add to my palette for painting Icebergs. Just writing about it makes me feel cool. Everything arrived a while back and I started my first painting.
Looking up photos of Icebergs on line just fuels my the enthusiasm. There is such a wide variety of forms, shapes and colors. Daylight, night, even northern lights, what inspirations to draw from.
For the last few years I have concentrated on taking care of my Mother and on our business. Between these things and trying to manage a home that has some sort of order, I have found very little time for myself. Recently Lewis, my youngest son, suggested that I start painting a series of paintings of icebergs with the idea that I would prepare for a show of my work. Now, I have a purpose for doing my art.
I ordered canvases and fresh paints, as well as a few good brushes. My art has always paid for itself, ever since I first started painting. I remember sending one of the first paintings to my Dad's gallery to be framed. He called me, and said, that a lady had come in and had loved my painting could he sell it to her. I was amazed that someone would actually buy one of my paintings. This happened at a time when I was recuperating from surgery and going thru a divorce.What a boost to my ego.
I should have remembered that my art work had gotten me through the trauma of my divorce. It had allowed me to clear my head, and relax. Why I had failed to make time for my art? It was beyond me. Maybe having a new purpose to paint was a way for me to remember that art is one of the best therapies available. It's cost was off set by rewards both physical and mental. When I practice my art I relax totally concentrating on the task at hand of rendering my subject onto the canvas. I have realized that my work is spiritual as well as physical. I am putting down the subject, but also I am projecting part of my spiritual feelings unto to canvas or board with my paints.
Painting Icebergs....Who would have thought that would get me excited about my art again. I went on line and found all sorts of images of icebergs, ice flows and Glaciers. I took the images and had them blown up to a manageable size. I used these as a jumping off point for my paintings. These were my inspiration. I can not always go to the locations, where I want to get my photos that I work from. I am limited because of my mobility. I have always been a keen observer of nature.
My advise to anyone wanting to paint is to start. The first steps must be taken in any endeavor. You have to start or you'll never do anything. Once you start it is amazing what can be done.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Life is Always an Adventure
I have been privileged to be the care giver to my mother who will turn 92 in February 2013. She came to stay with me after she had taken a fall and had messed up her knee cap. After her hospital stay and a month in rehab, we decided that she needed more care and she came to live with me. Lewis, my youngest son, came to help me out as well.
After my father died, we noticed that mom's memory was diminishing and she seemed confused about some things. At first we thought that it was the shock of loosing my father. But then I remembered that one day dad shook his head and said, "your mother is crazy." I thought that he was referring to some idea or other that she had gotten into her head. Mom was sometimes a little ditsy.
Her memory had started to deteriorate. It seem to have gotten worse while she was in the hospital. They said that the drugs did not help. She never did remember how she messed up her knee, in fact she told the nurses in the emergency room that she was dancing on a table top. After the operation to repair her knee cap she tried to get out of bed and walk to the bath room. My daughter in law, Melissa spent the night to make sure she behaved. This must have been happening over a long period of time. I could look back and pick up on some instances, when I thought that she had made some comments that just did not seem logical at the time. I also remember worrying about her possibly having some memory problems since the mid 1990's. She refused to or could not remember her new phone number. All in all she was amazing at covering up.
She has dementia. I can admit that now and learning to deal with it is truly a challenge. First of all when someone has dementia, they are in denial. Everyone has a problem with exception of them. If I get frustrated and loose my patience, my mom will say,"What is the matter with you today."
There is a learning curve when dealing with people who have dementia. I think that I have a handle on it and then I mess up. The other night she needed to wash after an accident. She flatly refused to wash herself or let me help her. She stood us down for a good 45 minutes, finally we gave up. She even got belligerent. Looking back I realize that we did not handled the situation in the proper manner; however, we were worried about her health and welfare.
It is amazing how well she handles social surroundings. We take mother to work daily with us. She loves the children and the dogs that come into the shop. We have several customers who love to stop by to visit, many come to see mom. She has become a surrogate mother to a lot of my friends who have lost their parents. Usually people will understand that she has memory problems, but they love her anyway.
Some how it is those that love her the most, that take the mental beating. She resents me trying to take care of her wanting to help me continually. She is no longer able to do a lot of things, or to help without instructions. She is not able to follow directions, unless they are very simple. She is not able to understand reasoning or be reasonable.
Mother was always there for me if I needed her. Often times I did need her. Having had polio from the shoulders down I needed more help than the average person. However, I have always been a fiercely independent person preferring to keep trying to do things on my own. The fact that I have needed her in the past makes her want to help me even more. Since I have been in my power chair, there are a lot of things that I can do for my self, that in the past I would have had to have asked for help. I can now carry things. In the past I had to think out exactly how I was going to approach a task, planning out how I was going to do something simple like carrying something from one room to another. Now I just pick things up and move them. I can take my son a cup of coffee without spilling it all over. Mother does not understand that this is something that I could not do in the past and now I can. Some of these simple things actually make me feel good, giving me the pleasure of doing something that I had not been able to do in the past.
She resents not being able to help me. Years ago I had surgery for scoliosis. It took a long time to recuperate from that surgery. Mother was in her sixties then. She would make way too big a deal out of helping me. I tried to explain to her that it was drawing undo attention to me. She failed to understand. I'm not sure if she did not understand or if this was infringing on her ego. Early signs of dementia or ego? Is the resentment linked to the fact that she was so used to being there for me in the past? I do know now, that I have to tread very carefully not to make her mad. Little things can set her off. She will stamp off to her room. This results from a lack of reasoning.
My patience is not as good as it should be, especially if I'm tired. Above all I must remember that my mother at the moment is who she has always been, and in her mind there is nothing wrong with her. I love her for who she is and who she has been. I have to try to let her keep her dignity. I do this because I love her.
After my father died, we noticed that mom's memory was diminishing and she seemed confused about some things. At first we thought that it was the shock of loosing my father. But then I remembered that one day dad shook his head and said, "your mother is crazy." I thought that he was referring to some idea or other that she had gotten into her head. Mom was sometimes a little ditsy.
Her memory had started to deteriorate. It seem to have gotten worse while she was in the hospital. They said that the drugs did not help. She never did remember how she messed up her knee, in fact she told the nurses in the emergency room that she was dancing on a table top. After the operation to repair her knee cap she tried to get out of bed and walk to the bath room. My daughter in law, Melissa spent the night to make sure she behaved. This must have been happening over a long period of time. I could look back and pick up on some instances, when I thought that she had made some comments that just did not seem logical at the time. I also remember worrying about her possibly having some memory problems since the mid 1990's. She refused to or could not remember her new phone number. All in all she was amazing at covering up.
She has dementia. I can admit that now and learning to deal with it is truly a challenge. First of all when someone has dementia, they are in denial. Everyone has a problem with exception of them. If I get frustrated and loose my patience, my mom will say,"What is the matter with you today."
There is a learning curve when dealing with people who have dementia. I think that I have a handle on it and then I mess up. The other night she needed to wash after an accident. She flatly refused to wash herself or let me help her. She stood us down for a good 45 minutes, finally we gave up. She even got belligerent. Looking back I realize that we did not handled the situation in the proper manner; however, we were worried about her health and welfare.
It is amazing how well she handles social surroundings. We take mother to work daily with us. She loves the children and the dogs that come into the shop. We have several customers who love to stop by to visit, many come to see mom. She has become a surrogate mother to a lot of my friends who have lost their parents. Usually people will understand that she has memory problems, but they love her anyway.
Some how it is those that love her the most, that take the mental beating. She resents me trying to take care of her wanting to help me continually. She is no longer able to do a lot of things, or to help without instructions. She is not able to follow directions, unless they are very simple. She is not able to understand reasoning or be reasonable.
Mother was always there for me if I needed her. Often times I did need her. Having had polio from the shoulders down I needed more help than the average person. However, I have always been a fiercely independent person preferring to keep trying to do things on my own. The fact that I have needed her in the past makes her want to help me even more. Since I have been in my power chair, there are a lot of things that I can do for my self, that in the past I would have had to have asked for help. I can now carry things. In the past I had to think out exactly how I was going to approach a task, planning out how I was going to do something simple like carrying something from one room to another. Now I just pick things up and move them. I can take my son a cup of coffee without spilling it all over. Mother does not understand that this is something that I could not do in the past and now I can. Some of these simple things actually make me feel good, giving me the pleasure of doing something that I had not been able to do in the past.
She resents not being able to help me. Years ago I had surgery for scoliosis. It took a long time to recuperate from that surgery. Mother was in her sixties then. She would make way too big a deal out of helping me. I tried to explain to her that it was drawing undo attention to me. She failed to understand. I'm not sure if she did not understand or if this was infringing on her ego. Early signs of dementia or ego? Is the resentment linked to the fact that she was so used to being there for me in the past? I do know now, that I have to tread very carefully not to make her mad. Little things can set her off. She will stamp off to her room. This results from a lack of reasoning.
My patience is not as good as it should be, especially if I'm tired. Above all I must remember that my mother at the moment is who she has always been, and in her mind there is nothing wrong with her. I love her for who she is and who she has been. I have to try to let her keep her dignity. I do this because I love her.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)