Looking at some of the work I've done lately, decided to see it all on my blog. So here they are...
The Nun
Saturday, December 14, 2013
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Our Family's First Thanksgiving
For our family, one of the most enriching aspects of living in many different countries has been to participate in local holidays and special traditions. Our favorite adopted traditional holiday is Thanksgiving. What is unusual about this is that we are an Argentine family who began celebrating an American tradition in Tokyo.
The first time we lived in Japan, our eldest daughter Natalia, then two years old came home from her playgroup at the American School and wanted to know what we would be eating for Thanksgiving.Her teacher had told her that it was a very special holiday and that it was celebrated by eating turkey (not that she was quite sure what a turkey was all about) and all sorts of other delicious things. As I began a complicated (for a two year old) explanation about how we did not celebrate Thanksgiving because we were not American, I thought to myself, "so what!" and made an instant decision to have a celebration. My husband would be away on a business trip at the end of November so that would leave just the two of us to participate in the festivities. Her baby brother Steven was nursing at the time so he would not really be one of the diners. Well, not directly although we did place him in his bassinet at the table.
Natalia helped me to decorate our dining room table for two plus baby with fine china and lovely wine glasses - she insisted on those for her apple juice. We shared mini portions of mashed and sweet potatoes, cranberry relish,and the piece de resistance was a Cornish Hen which I told her was a "baby Turkey!" She was very satisfied with our dinner and more delighted yet when I told her years later about our experience that first Thanksgiving together.
Since then, Thanksgiving dinners have included more and more family members. Her brother Steven grew to look forward to our celebration and was joined by sister Marisa who was born a few days after Thanksgiving in 1977 making it an even better reason to celebrate. When we moved to New York in 1978 and a few years later our only American born baby Alexandra joined the family, we were glad that we had acquired some experience in the celebration of "her" holiday. Their father never went away for Thanksgiving again and while he didn't do much cooking, he always made sure that we had a few bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau for this lovely harvest festival and insisted on going out for a chilly walk after we had consumed massive amounts of food.
Every year, we go around the table and everyone shares what they're thankful about. As my children and our guests make their speeches, I often think of that first time. I think about how enjoyable it was when we all lived together in New York. The holiday was preceded by a visit to Arthur Avenue with Fran to stock up on all the food for our respective celebrations and while the kids watched the Macy's parade on TV I cooked like a fiend and delighted in the wonderful smells emanating from my kitchen. I remember our Thanksgiving partners Margie, Paul, Joanna and David. I remember the sights and sounds and I am filled with gratitude for having had the best possible partner anyone could wish for and for having invited these four children into our lives. Now I am thankful for their partners and their families and the beautiful babies they've brought into the world to delight us all.
Our family has grown and so have our turkeys since that first miniature one in Tokyo. For us, an adopted tradition has acquired a very special significance. We claimed it as our own without letting minor details like nationality or origin discourage us from celebrating the true meaning of this special day which belongs to everyone.
The first time we lived in Japan, our eldest daughter Natalia, then two years old came home from her playgroup at the American School and wanted to know what we would be eating for Thanksgiving.Her teacher had told her that it was a very special holiday and that it was celebrated by eating turkey (not that she was quite sure what a turkey was all about) and all sorts of other delicious things. As I began a complicated (for a two year old) explanation about how we did not celebrate Thanksgiving because we were not American, I thought to myself, "so what!" and made an instant decision to have a celebration. My husband would be away on a business trip at the end of November so that would leave just the two of us to participate in the festivities. Her baby brother Steven was nursing at the time so he would not really be one of the diners. Well, not directly although we did place him in his bassinet at the table.
Natalia helped me to decorate our dining room table for two plus baby with fine china and lovely wine glasses - she insisted on those for her apple juice. We shared mini portions of mashed and sweet potatoes, cranberry relish,and the piece de resistance was a Cornish Hen which I told her was a "baby Turkey!" She was very satisfied with our dinner and more delighted yet when I told her years later about our experience that first Thanksgiving together.
Since then, Thanksgiving dinners have included more and more family members. Her brother Steven grew to look forward to our celebration and was joined by sister Marisa who was born a few days after Thanksgiving in 1977 making it an even better reason to celebrate. When we moved to New York in 1978 and a few years later our only American born baby Alexandra joined the family, we were glad that we had acquired some experience in the celebration of "her" holiday. Their father never went away for Thanksgiving again and while he didn't do much cooking, he always made sure that we had a few bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau for this lovely harvest festival and insisted on going out for a chilly walk after we had consumed massive amounts of food.
Every year, we go around the table and everyone shares what they're thankful about. As my children and our guests make their speeches, I often think of that first time. I think about how enjoyable it was when we all lived together in New York. The holiday was preceded by a visit to Arthur Avenue with Fran to stock up on all the food for our respective celebrations and while the kids watched the Macy's parade on TV I cooked like a fiend and delighted in the wonderful smells emanating from my kitchen. I remember our Thanksgiving partners Margie, Paul, Joanna and David. I remember the sights and sounds and I am filled with gratitude for having had the best possible partner anyone could wish for and for having invited these four children into our lives. Now I am thankful for their partners and their families and the beautiful babies they've brought into the world to delight us all.
Our family has grown and so have our turkeys since that first miniature one in Tokyo. For us, an adopted tradition has acquired a very special significance. We claimed it as our own without letting minor details like nationality or origin discourage us from celebrating the true meaning of this special day which belongs to everyone.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
A little more doodling...
Thought I'd try the doodling with acrylics this time and this is what happened
And then I got seriously crazy and made her with some help from The New York Times
Finished my doodling with this crazy one entitled "Traffic"
Finished my doodling with this crazy one entitled "Traffic"
Summer Fun
A little wiggle here and another there...some shading...more wiggles and then...this is what happens
Followed by more and more wiggles and giggles and cramped fingers and obsession
I couldn't stop and just went on to draw these two...
...and this one
I had a lot of fun as you can see. For me summer in Miami this year has meant some time in my studio, some at the beach and the best part of all, some time with my children and grandchildren.
Followed by more and more wiggles and giggles and cramped fingers and obsession
I couldn't stop and just went on to draw these two...
...and this one
I had a lot of fun as you can see. For me summer in Miami this year has meant some time in my studio, some at the beach and the best part of all, some time with my children and grandchildren.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Sunday, October 14, 2012
My Meditation
When I walk into my studio I have to control my self-diagnosed ADD. The stimulation is a little overwhelming and as I leave the calm of my house and walk into the studio, zen is replaced by wild colors in a couple of rooms of creative possibilities. My living space is more suitable for calm and peaceful meditation. For me, my working space is more conducive to meditation itself! I open the door and consider... should I paint today? Make mobiles? Finish up yesterday's project or start a new one? Oh my, so many choices. I could drop the whole painting thing for a day and dye some cloth...but then, I have this idea for a series of little paintings... In any event, whatever I decide to do, once I'm actually doing it, the calm returns and I'm immersed in my project as visions of Kahlo's workplace, which I visited while in Mexico pass through my mind. Then I hop over to Japan and my mind wanders over there for a while. In fact, my mind wanders to Japan a lot.
Los Angeles based psychologist Robert Maurer, who studies creativity, compares crafting to another practice with proven health benefits: meditation. "When the midbrain is engaged by the repetitive movement involved in many crafts, the temporal lobe is unable to focus on worry or stress," he says. "The cortex -which controls conscious thought - becomes quiet and peaceful" he adds. "Then concentrating on a pattern you're required to be so present in the moment that you can't worry about the future."
So I guess I'm on the right track and my choices are many - it just has to depend on my mood. Here are some meditations I've done lately.
Los Angeles based psychologist Robert Maurer, who studies creativity, compares crafting to another practice with proven health benefits: meditation. "When the midbrain is engaged by the repetitive movement involved in many crafts, the temporal lobe is unable to focus on worry or stress," he says. "The cortex -which controls conscious thought - becomes quiet and peaceful" he adds. "Then concentrating on a pattern you're required to be so present in the moment that you can't worry about the future."
So I guess I'm on the right track and my choices are many - it just has to depend on my mood. Here are some meditations I've done lately.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
On the Street Where I Lived
I was born in Buenos Aires on a hot February day on the bed where I was probably conceived. I walked by that house yesterday on the same sidewalk where I rode my tricycle…then my bike. Where I used to play with my friend Jose Manuel. I could almost see him at the door just like when he used to come over to invite me to join him on a new adventure.
I remember his mother just as well as I remember mine. I probably ate as many meals there. Mrs. Lemos was a strong influence on me in those days and I adored her. She was a wonderful cook and home keeper. She made a red beet salad that I can almost taste and I always wished it was part of lunch. Sometimes it was. The table was always perfectly set and lovely. Her house was peaceful and cool in the summer. She used to lower the shades and the whole house was dark and comforting. Like all houses, it had its own smell. And I loved it. I can see her making her delicious “Zapallos en almibar” which is a typical Argentine desert of candied squash and preserving them in large glass jars. My mouth watered and I couldn’t wait for her to offer me some which of course she always did.
Jose Manuel (aka Pepito) and I would take a break from our outdoor activities and just hang out in the living room of his house or mine (mostly his cause I preferred it that way) and plan the rest of the day in a few hours of shady, cool peace. Then we’d go out and run around hosing each other or playing in the sprinkler in the garden before we started our afternoon game of bike polo with the rest of the neighborhood kids. I spent a lot of time outdoors and was only instructed to be home when it got dark outside. We were in and out of each other’s houses all day long. Maria Isabel was a little older and only occasionally joined in our games and plans. I admired her greatly and thought she was wise and sophisticated.
We had a gang of sorts us kids. We lived and played on a couple of blocks of our road and “the mean kids” lived a couple of blocks away. We’d plan strategy of what we’d do and say when we saw them outside. We never became friends despite the fact that bike polo needed their participation, We thought we were definitely better and maybe we were cause we certainly played a lot. Pepito couldn’t have a pet because his sister was allergic to them so he loved coming over to play with my dogs.
Before Pepito I had a girlfriend for a while whose Dad was a construction worker in a house across the street. He’d bring his daughter to work and she and I became friends. The friendship probably lasted till he finished his work in the construction site. It was brief but intense. I think my parents were a little concerned about that friendship mostly because they knew it was going to be short-lived. Her home was far away and we were very young, probably around 4 or 5 years old. I don’t remember her name but I called her “la amiga de mi” which is incorrect Spanish literally translated to “the friend of me”…bad English too!
There were azaleas in the spring and amazing yellow flowers that we used to pick from some neighbor’s yard to give to our mothers. Sometimes we ventured around the block where we were not allowed to go and as we grew we even crossed Libertador (which is a big busy road) to see the widest river in the world the Rio de la Plata or River Plate also the name of my favorite football team. We had television at one point but never watched it. The grownups watched more than we did.
Yesterday I stopped in front of the house where I was born and looked at my parents’ bedroom window and those images of my early days passed right before my eyes. I imagined that the room at 2AM would have been softly lit. My sisters’ windows would have been lit as well as they knew a baby was being born in the house. My mother was 42 years old and had been quite shocked that she was pregnant again. My brother at 19 and my sisters at 10 and 11 years old were delighted to welcome a new little member of the family.
Standing infront of the house yesterday I felt enormous happiness as I saw the little girl I was and thankful for those first years of her life in that house, on that street, at that time. When I was 11 my family moved to New York only to return 5 years later to a new home in the city of Buenos Aires. I never saw Mrs Lemos, Pepito and Maria Isabel again. They live in my memories and yesterday they were very much alive.
I remember his mother just as well as I remember mine. I probably ate as many meals there. Mrs. Lemos was a strong influence on me in those days and I adored her. She was a wonderful cook and home keeper. She made a red beet salad that I can almost taste and I always wished it was part of lunch. Sometimes it was. The table was always perfectly set and lovely. Her house was peaceful and cool in the summer. She used to lower the shades and the whole house was dark and comforting. Like all houses, it had its own smell. And I loved it. I can see her making her delicious “Zapallos en almibar” which is a typical Argentine desert of candied squash and preserving them in large glass jars. My mouth watered and I couldn’t wait for her to offer me some which of course she always did.
Jose Manuel (aka Pepito) and I would take a break from our outdoor activities and just hang out in the living room of his house or mine (mostly his cause I preferred it that way) and plan the rest of the day in a few hours of shady, cool peace. Then we’d go out and run around hosing each other or playing in the sprinkler in the garden before we started our afternoon game of bike polo with the rest of the neighborhood kids. I spent a lot of time outdoors and was only instructed to be home when it got dark outside. We were in and out of each other’s houses all day long. Maria Isabel was a little older and only occasionally joined in our games and plans. I admired her greatly and thought she was wise and sophisticated.
We had a gang of sorts us kids. We lived and played on a couple of blocks of our road and “the mean kids” lived a couple of blocks away. We’d plan strategy of what we’d do and say when we saw them outside. We never became friends despite the fact that bike polo needed their participation, We thought we were definitely better and maybe we were cause we certainly played a lot. Pepito couldn’t have a pet because his sister was allergic to them so he loved coming over to play with my dogs.
Before Pepito I had a girlfriend for a while whose Dad was a construction worker in a house across the street. He’d bring his daughter to work and she and I became friends. The friendship probably lasted till he finished his work in the construction site. It was brief but intense. I think my parents were a little concerned about that friendship mostly because they knew it was going to be short-lived. Her home was far away and we were very young, probably around 4 or 5 years old. I don’t remember her name but I called her “la amiga de mi” which is incorrect Spanish literally translated to “the friend of me”…bad English too!
There were azaleas in the spring and amazing yellow flowers that we used to pick from some neighbor’s yard to give to our mothers. Sometimes we ventured around the block where we were not allowed to go and as we grew we even crossed Libertador (which is a big busy road) to see the widest river in the world the Rio de la Plata or River Plate also the name of my favorite football team. We had television at one point but never watched it. The grownups watched more than we did.
Yesterday I stopped in front of the house where I was born and looked at my parents’ bedroom window and those images of my early days passed right before my eyes. I imagined that the room at 2AM would have been softly lit. My sisters’ windows would have been lit as well as they knew a baby was being born in the house. My mother was 42 years old and had been quite shocked that she was pregnant again. My brother at 19 and my sisters at 10 and 11 years old were delighted to welcome a new little member of the family.
Standing infront of the house yesterday I felt enormous happiness as I saw the little girl I was and thankful for those first years of her life in that house, on that street, at that time. When I was 11 my family moved to New York only to return 5 years later to a new home in the city of Buenos Aires. I never saw Mrs Lemos, Pepito and Maria Isabel again. They live in my memories and yesterday they were very much alive.
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