Surprised by Joy

You might look at the date on the post just below and see a really long gap from then to now. If you've followed me for the past few years or even months, you'll know that those 6 years represent massive changes in how, where, and with whom I live life. And I have answers for you . . .

Mostly in isolation with a couple of forays into the big, wide world each week.

Still in Cortez, CO, but with more frequent visits to Buena Vista when the weather is nice.

Alone . . . except for my cat Jilly.

I don't want to dwell on me, but to offer you some random and perhaps pointless thoughts on how this all relates to my art and maybe your life as well. Don't worry. I'll try to keep it brief.

For many months before and after the passing of my husband in September 2023 (can it be that long??), I stopped painting. Completely and utterly stopped. (More about that next time.) I had no energy for it, no interest, no inspiration, and no ability to focus on something that felt just so . . . trivial. I even semi-retired that winter, which is a nice way of saying that I threw in the towel. Of course there were other factors, but grief was the biggest one.

But with all this new time on her hands, what's a girl to do? I found myself filling the days with busy work. I organized, I wrote (got a new book done and published this summer), I did several months of Swedish Death Cleaning (Google it. It's a Thing), I got rid of a third of my clothes (definitely needed), and I determined to visit Buena Vista more often and did. But none of these felt very inspiring or fun. So . . .

Eventually I found myself meandering through the pictures on my phone. I take a ton, mostly of family or painting subjects, and I found myself feeling twinges of ambition and actual joy! Not surges, mind you, but at least I was finally feeling something lovely. Next thing I knew, I had pulled out some small canvases and was playing around with simple subjects and actually enjoying it. And then, on this past July 31, I happened to see a text come through for the Open Award Show in BV, a show that I had entered for about 43 years since we first started our local art group in 1985 (I think).

And, lo and behold, the deadline just happened to be that day. So, of course I decided to enter it, since now I was visiting BV more frequently to see friends, but I had to choose immediately what to show. Good grief. Well, I got it all done - registered, finished two paintings, sent images of entries, wrote artist statements, and got a place to stay. And then just last week I happened to learn that, barring a miracle, this would be the very last Open Award Show (OAS) EVER. The organization was closing down after 40 years.

I was shocked, but not surprised. This had been coming for over a decade and we had been dealing with the changing art culture and local scene since I was on the Board before we moved in 2019. But, for me, it was so sudden . . . and all the pieces felt so orchestrated. Like a kind Father was inviting me to the final celebration of something wonderful I'd been part of for decades.

And here's the thing . . . we're often being invited into something special and delightful, and often in an area of our lives that we care about a lot. But we have to open our eyes and ears to it and not turn away because we're too busy and distracted, or it's inconvenient or will take effort. There's a divine beauty in saying, "Yes!" Not a wimpy, reluctant, "Oh, I guess so." But an all out, excited, "Of course!" So, next time you think you might be hearing an invitation to joy, just assume you are. Chances are pretty good that it's real and that joy will surprise you along the way.

One of two OAS entries 2025 - I guess I could have called it "Surprised by Joy"

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