The Power of a Mother's Voice

The holidays are over, the blue moon wanes, sending its blue tones into my head. My college student has flown back to the blizzards of weather and semester's winds. I hear in my head Bob Dylan's song (sung by Susan+Tedeschi), Lord Protect My Child: "For his age, he's wise He's got his mother's eyes There's gladness in his heart He's young and he's wild My only prayer is, if I can't be there, Lord, protect my child" I'm taking a moment in this new year to consider the power of a mother's voice. When Ell was just a baby and I was still carrying him in a snuggly, I used to dance and sing with him to Tracy Chapman's, All That You Have is Your Soul. Do you guys remember that song? "Don't be tempted by the shiny apple Don't you eat of the bitter fruit Hunger only for a taste of justice Hunger only for a world of truth 'Cause all that you have is your soul" Waxing nostalgic this evening, I thought it might be interesting to post the advice mail art that I sent the youngin' a couple of months ago. We'd had a discussion about how my voice is in his head. He reminded me that my voice, forever etched in his mind and heart, is so strong, that I don't need to be emphatic anymore. I could whisper and his whole being would respond. Whoa, eh? Sometimes that means, "If it's not one thing, it's your mother." (Robin Williams, I believe) This mailart piece was a huge challenge for me. It has a printout of some advice I've given, with windows cut out from a photo I took of the Doubletree Hotel. We see this hotel whenever we're outside. I thought, like rooms, a mother's words are stored for instant recall (for good or ill). We can visit the good words by opening the windows. Some of my advice was: Look up at the sky. Don't look up as the birds fly over. More willing, less willful. Floss often, wash hands more often. Ask for a hug. Use a splash of bleach in your laundry. Don't mix bleach with other chemicals. All that you have is your soul. Never iron naked. Sometimes struggle only tightens the ropes we seek to break. Stare at the ceiling for ten minutes or more. "Some know the price of everything, but the value of nothing"--you're not one of those. So, call your mother. There are 64 sayings that he can see by peeling back the paper windows, a bit like those advent calendars one sees during the holidays. I wrote: Here, dear Ell, is what's already in your head. Like a hotel with 64 rooms, you have compartments, boxes if you will, in which data, decorated with the minutiae of pragmatic living, furnished with emotions of joy, wisdom, trust, self help and love collected and stored for a time--until it's time to add or subtract more useful aphorisms. Yet some, the deepest and most true, stay always at the ready like your mother's voice, powerful, structural like the girders of architecture that make up each room--contained--a vivid history there. Love, ma (© M. S. Esparza) "But really, when you come right down to it, there are only four basic prayers. Gimme! Thanks! Oops! and Wow!" --Rabbi Marc Gellman I hope what you hear in your head are your own best, kindest, wisest, most loving words. If there are cruel ones, let's throw them out now. This year deserves a good start.

Mailart #7: The Health Issue

What do you say to a young, "immortal" twenty-something who has lived a healthy life, not knowing age or illness? Oh, I hear you and I do. I tell him to take at least 2000 IUs of Vitamin D3, eat the prickly pear fruit and mesquite flour I sent him, take the multi-vitamins, drink some tea, get as much sleep as possible, etc., etc.. Today, I've got a mailart piece that I made for my college boy last March. I know. The American love affair with the car is over. Yet, I don't have a new lexicon from which I can make an allegory or metaphor for the preciousness our bodies hold and the ever changing medical information and issues that currently face us. So, I chose the image of one of the fastest cars made and the image of a dashboard to convey my motherly hope for my son's good health, both physical and psychological. Tucked into the "glove box" are 4th grade notes his classmates wrote years ago. This piece does have some naughty words in German that were fun to include. Just a note of warning because moms don't approve of such things on a regular basis. 

The message: I am like a Mercedes-Benz I am like an SLR McLaren I am like a Mercedes-Benz I am like an SLR McLaren I will be careful with fuel...I like to be fine-tuned I am like an SLR McLaren I am liking proper maintenance... Racing toward 20 !! 

 If a year were a mile You wouldn't want to rush to/at 20 miles an hour, kmh 

You'd want to walk Slowly As much as possible Looking, tasting, enjoying Every step Tacking, west-toward a quarter of a century Racing up that way Shift down Cruise Control Double clutch Once in awhile Drawn from mile to mile Walk: With Beauty Draw: Smudge lines Line the path* 

There are arrows Everywhere to direct you 

Erase where necessary Ask yourself: What memories will fill my odometer? What kind of tread will I burn...and/or bridges too? 

Love, mom © M. S. Esparza 

A few of the polite,funny German auto terms I found: INDICATORS Die Blinkenleiten Tickentocken CLUTCH Die Kuplink mit achlippen und schaken PUNCTURE Die Phlatt mit Bludymucken FUEL GAUGE Der Walletemptyung Meter TRAFFIC JAM Die Bluddinmuckin Dammundblast BACKFIRE Der Lowdenbangermekkenjumpen

Unusual but True: On Being Art 'Tagged'

From the truth window: This really made my day. Barbara of Barbara Paints tagged me yesterday. What a delight. I had been a bit discouraged this week...with the usual questions, you know, "Shouldn't I get a real job?" "Who am I kidding?" and "There are so many skilled, expressive, and talented artists, who needs to hear from me anyway?" Then, I had a deadline--make mailart for Ell and send it off with a food package before the post office closed, and, after I created a piece in two hours that I liked. 

I felt that it is worthwhile to make the art I do, that I'm like the bird who builds a nest, gets it blown over, and builds again. It's what I do. To have a talented artist tag me...well, it was more than swell. I am extremely grateful to everyone who visits and offers comments and camaraderie. You have no idea how meaningful it is to me. But, I will hazard a guess that you, too, find the art community to be as essential as water. I drink from this well feeling refreshed and renewed. I will continue to offer a cool drink in the summertime, and a warm cup of tea in winter to any who wander through, seeking art medicine from a fellow traveler. These are the rules for being tagged. You need to:

 

1. Put a link in your posting to the person who tagged you. 

2. List 7 unusual things about yourself. 

3. Tag 7 other bloggers at the end of your post and comment on their blogs to let them know. 

Here are some truths about me that some may find unusual:

 

1. I knew a "Russian prince": 

When I was a kid, my folks were friends with a man (Alexis Badmaieff) who had been smuggled into France during the Russian Revolution. He wanted to become a doctor, but, instead, became an engineer. He operated on my foot after a run-in with a sharp shell on Santa Catalina Island in southern California. He drank a glass of vodka every day with a raw egg in it. He died in his mid 50s... I later found out that, in fact, his father (Dr. Alexei Badmaieff) was friends with Rasputin and not a Russian prince. (I continue to research him)

 

2. Almost became a professional actress: 

I started performing at a young age. In high school, I was nominated best actress in AZ during a theatre competition. I was subsequently offered a full scholarship to NAU as well as a small role in a movie being filmed in Texas. I turned these offers down, believing I wasn't good enough. 

3. Thought I'd become a classical pianist: 

While I started out playing folk guitar in my teens, I really wanted to play classical piano (or play lead guitar in a rock band). I studied with a woman whose instructor studied with Rachmaninoff. I used to play an impressive Prelude in C# Minor, but my teacher said my wrists were too weak for a professional career. After a traumatic brain injury in 1997, I could no longer play anything on the piano, but my guitar playing is coming back and my artwork is much improved! 

4. Art found me when I was in my mid-twenties: There was a lot of tragedy connected to my early adulthood. I wandered around lost until a week of intense grieving produced two words that seemed to come to me from God--like lightning--STAINED GLASS! They were powerful words. With only $60 dollars to my name, I set out to teach myself to work in glass. I returned to Tucson with six crooked pieces and lots of confidence. I landed a job and began designing windows. As a 'commission only' artist, I made $15 my first two weeks, but four years later, I had completed two large restaurant commissions totalling over 200 square feet between the two. It was then that I felt the need to get some proper schooling in art. I later earned an associate's degree at our local community college. 

5. I cleaned the pools of the wealthy: After graduating from college, I got a job cleaning pools. I felt very lucky to spend my days cleaning and swimming in pools at million dollar properties while the owners slaved away in order to pay the bills. I made enough to work part time to buy an MGB Roadster (which I loved working on and pretending to race), and to work on art the rest of the day. 

6. I held a tarantula in my hand: When my boy was in the fourth grade, the teacher had a contest in which the student who brought in the most crickets would win the class tarantula. Most people are afraid of spiders. However, I had a serious phobia. I couldn't even look at photos of them in magazines. But, you know, it was my opportunity to overcome this fear and teach my son about changing one's mind. I made lots of artwork from our Molly Francesca Gomezina. We had the very special gift of observing her molt. She'd come to us with one leg missing (a common thing), but after her molt, she had eight new legs. 

7. I married a man ten years younger than me: After community college, I organized drawing sessions in my home. One of our models became my roommate and asked to invite her friend from school. We married two years later. I always feel ten years younger. I think he mostly feels ten years older...I am grateful that he provided the safest, most nurturing environment in which to raise our son, and for me to finish my BFA in 2004. I couldn't have done it without him and my son tutoring me in math and other subjects. It's been an amazing journey so far! 

Please visit the following artists who inspire me and give gifts of beauty, insight and wisdom to so many: Karen Silvina Loriann David Jeffrey Martha What a challenge to limit tagging to only six or seven. I hope to do this again sometime. Thank you, all, for being so generous and supportive of me and your other fans!

It Rained in the Desert Today

We dance, we sing, we rejoice when it rains in the Southwest. This letter, written in November of 2007, was about a day when it rained here, but I still had to water the plants with a hose. 

The text: 

Sunkist, burnt to a crisp...It rained in the desert today. 

The ground began to gather in small circles as droplets struck its roof. 

The rain could not soak in very far, because the celebration was short. 

As dirt met heat, the dance burned away water

as birds watched and 

quail waited patiently in creosote ancestors. 

It said, "I could be a rainmaker and this gave me joy! I waved my arms holding the water's source, drinking in the smells of earth and green. 

Then, sky looked down and called clouds to gather like the pebbles on earth--coolness moved in to see what all the talk was about.....If there are snow flurries to the east, surely we can share our bounty here in the west. In the sharing, we free up space to be replenished. 

O Earth. O Sky. 

Let Go!

©2008 Melinda S Esparza