Unfinished…and Eternity

I continue to gradually dig through and sort through old photos and other things I’ve kept over the years– re-organizing, discarding or gifting certain items. I think that as we age, it is good to gradually do this to make sure that one day the stuff which might be of some value to those left behind would be more apparent.

The above image has a finished sea shell, unfinished wildflowers, and an unfinished painting of Asters that I have recently finished. Back in March, I grouped them together in the photo. (I have subsequently finished the painting of the Asters).

As an artist, my most primary love language is gift-giving. And obviously, I gift things which I have personally created.

It can make me sad to know that my artwork may not be looked upon or valued by those closest to me in the way that some of my creative works (for others) are highly cherished keepsakes of many sorts. Maybe I’m overthinking things, or wrongly interpreting some things, and I realize that when we are too close to something there are a variety of potential distortions of feelings, thoughts, intentions and values…

In life, sometimes we are also too close to the present to consider the future, or to integrate the present and the future with the past. With age, brings a number of deepening perspectives.

Generally, younger generations seem to view a number of tangible items that older generations would have “made space for” as excessive clutter.

There’s a humorous saying that “God put me on earth to accomplish a certain number of things. Right now I’m so far behind I may never die!”

Anyone who knows me should be able to understand why I think that is funny. Daily I look around at all the “unfinished” things here that are “in progress” (and not simply artwork but needful tasks and other valued pursuits) and I get overwhelmed and frustrated. I have so many “blog pieces” (worthy of finishing) started…stories started…projects started…organizing started…so much.

I am a person who generally finishes (if very slowly, step at at time…) things I start. But honestly, I will probably die someday with a plethora of unfinished things. As we all will…

And maybe that is not a bad thing. In my thinking, it is better to aim high and fall short, than to aim low and succeed. While I like things to feel under control as much as the next person, at the end of the day there is no prize for having everything exactly “in order and under control.”

The mark of a life well-lived should be that a human being actively does the things they feel called to and are gifted for right up until the day they die. Through that lens, someday dying amidst many (worthy) unfinished pursuits is a good thing. I am not sure how this will ultimately pan out for me, but my stated life goal going forward is to create as much art and beauty in the world as possible with whatever life I still have. And by this, I am not simply talking about literal artwork.

As far as I’m concerned, the magnum opus of a mother is the legacy to her children and to her children’s children’s children…just consider the ending of Charlotte’s Web… (I searched “Charlotte’s Web magnum opus” and this particular scene came up…but I “think” in the story she speaks of her final web/eggs as her “magnum opus” if I recall correctly…)

Before this expression continues, some readers may enjoy a pause for this beautiful song:

Back to the idea of the “unfinished.”

One day we will each die and leave behind a number of unfinished things…

Maybe I will die in the middle of eating dinner alone…and my meal remains unfinished…
Maybe I will die at Thanksgiving table surrounded by others…and my meal remains unfinished…
Maybe I will die outside alone at night doing chores…and my work remains unfinished…
Maybe I will die painting in my studio at midnight…and my painting remains unfinished…
Maybe I will die while in prayer for my sons and my children’s children…and my work will remain unfinished…
Maybe I will die in my sleep…and my to-do list for the next day will remain unfinished…
Maybe I will die picking flowers…and my bouquet will drop from my hand…unfinished…

Among things I found in my file folders from years ago (I have gradually scanned anything worth saving and then I shred up the old “paper” stuff and make cat litter with it) were two colored pencil drawings (just on paper, not matted) that I recall doing while my young family was at the beach house on Long Beach Island. If I were to date these, I’m thinking they were done around the year 2000 or so…which would make my oldest son, Zach, to be around eleven years old and my youngest son, Jonathan, to be around six years old.

(Correction: as I eventually photographed a colored pencil drawing of the beach house as part of this piece, I see a signature with 1996 date. These other colored pencil drawings of the shell and flowers are from that same trip; I am fairly certain.)

I was doing a lot of calligraphy around that time and wanting to put illustrations with things. I was also teaching art. In the year 2000, we had got our first computer along with a good scanner and fine art printer and I was excited at using/learning Photoshop and scanning artwork to be used multiple times.

Just like these days, I always wanted to create the “originals” for sale as well.

The digital age we have now entered has many benefits, but a drawback is that people don’t always fully appreciate what it means to own a piece of original artwork. “Original” in this sense is not simply the state of being unique, but it is owning something that the artist directly touched and worked on.

When I found these two very simple drawings, the seashell was finished but the collection of wildflowers was not. I decided to matte and frame each piece and gift to each of my sons. At Easter, I got to give Jonathan his gift in person. And I’ve also given Zach his gift at his house about a month ago.

I decided to pencil in the word “Unfinished” on the wildflowers. As mothers, we are always looking for teachable moments, even when our children are fully grown adults. Time is a precious gift, and we demonstrate what we value most by our actions, priority setting, sacrificial love and care and time management.

This is a truth that permeates our lives and every relationship–whether with God, with our partner, with our family and children or with our community, friends and neighbors.

The seashell can be a symbol of eternity and timelessness, or so I’ve heard at some point…and in this, I communicated another aspect of my maternal love to my youngest son, Jonathan.

Below I have put in some other images. The original drawing of the sleeping child is my son, Zach. I was experimenting with getting back into artwork when he was about 18 to 24 months in that drawing and I did not get a perfect likeness but I clearly remember that little jumpsuit he used to wear, sleeveless in those hot summer days…mothers behold their sleeping little ones with deep love and affection. I know that sometimes when each of my grown sons has spent the night (whether here or when I was in Alabama) I would look upon their sleeping, grown faces…if I happened to wake up before them and take a peek into the room to see if they were awake yet.

I would especially notice their beards or scruff.

There is a book called I Will Love You Forever, and here is a YouTube version.

There is also a poem called The Dash which I will put at the end, along with another quotation I love, concerning Time.

Time is a precious gift, and I know it can be challenging to prioritize others and especially our parents. I will also link the famous Cat’s in the Cradle song in the end. Sadly, for many people there seem to be no other ways for them to learn deep truths about life (lack of teachableness) until it is too late to change anything about their choices and behaviors.

When we lose a parent, or lose a spouse or a sibling or a friend, we understand. No one can do the inner work required for another person to change any process that is off base. We will not live out “I’ll Love You Forever” by coming in at the very end as some kind of hero. In that story, a natural and gradual cycle of reciprocal love and gratitude is portrayed.

Also below, I am including a recent portrait I did of my sons in honor of my youngest son’s 30th birthday this past January 3rd. I am keeping the original but have written a message on the back of the canvas stretcher bars indicating that this original is to go to Jonathan when I die. Meanwhile, I had two smaller canvas reproductions made for each of my sons. I gave Jonathan his when I saw him at Easter.

Last Friday Zach was here very briefly and I had given him the framed piece of him napping as a child and his canvas print, though I noticed he accidentally left them behind on the living room chair but did take the other items he needed.

(Above) The Beach House–Surf City, NJ, 1996, colored pencil

(Above) Surf City, LBI, 1994

(Above) LBI, 1992 or (possibly) 1993…

(Above) Painting called “Zachary’s Nest” – 1989, watercolor – baby Zach asleep in the Slifer cradle

(Above) Painting in honor of Jonathan’s 30th Birthday
Read more about the creation of this piece here:
PAPARAZZI CHILDREN

(Above) Zachary napping, around 1990/1991…(original charcoal drawing)

(Above) Zach wearing the little overalls that he is wearing in the charcoal “nap” drawing

(Above) Zach and Jonathan in red wagon at beach house
(Below) I attempted in 2010 to do an oil painting based on that photo…

(Above) Jonathan and I in North Carolina, 1996 or 1997

(Above) Zach climbing a huge tree at The Lost Colony in Manteo, NC on our first trip to see their grandparents in 1993. I was pregnant with Jonathan at the time.
(Below) The same tree photographed in 2009 when I took my teenage sons as a single mom on a trip to the Outer Banks to visit their grandparents. We noticed one of the huge branches had been cut with a saw.

Further below is a watercolor pencil drawing I did of this tree called “Tree at Twilight.”

(Above) Tree at Twilight

(Below) Photos taken at Kitty Hawk, NC in 2009

(Above) Watercolor pencil drawing of Kitty Hawk, NC

(Below) Jonathan and Zach at Kitty Hawk, NC, 1997

(Above) Sand castle built by my sons on a 2008 trip to Long Beach Island, the last time I have been to that place and (Below) Jonathan building a “dribble castle” during that same trip.

(Above) From one of my contemplative Facebook posts in 2016 and (Below) some artwork finished up a couple years back using those photos along with a calligraphy quotation I hand-wrote and painted…

(Below) some photos from a hike in 2015 with my son, Zach, with wildflowers in bloom…

(Above) My son Jonathan with his children Arlo Henry and Zola Lynne, from a trip up to Maine this past Easter. So proud of him and to hear these babes calling him Papa…how beautiful!