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Creative Coffee

/ Picking My Battles

My morning pages are caffeine. I start off with a drawing exercise from Charles Bargue’s classic drawing course and get loose with a three minute life doodle of the fish or the dog or cat before I get down to business with book illustrations or–time allowing — an actual painting.

My creative coffee doesn’t just jump start painting or illustration. It’s part of the 10,000 hour journey towards mastering an art, and it’s the reminder that anything worth achieving takes practice and persistence.

 It fuels the rest of the day, but it also drives every part of my life.

Creative Blocks and Rocks

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Back in April, just about the time I was trying to untie my creativity from a paralysis of over-analysis and get the last few pages of The Truth about Trolls laid out, Thing2 was exploring his and putting my resolve not to limit it to the test. 

His spring time creative effort led to a rock pile in the middle of his room, the fruits of a “quarry” he and a couple friends had started near the kids’ Lord of the Flies training ground in the woods behind our house.

That was three weeks ago. The rock pile is still there.

He’s cleaned his room. I have cleaned his room-a bit. Laundry has been done. Baths have been had. But that rock pile is still there.

At first thing to wanted to hang onto it. Then he was afraid he wouldn’t clean it up the right way. 

It was a story writing itself (Élly has been very understanding, as long as her pages keep developing). 

Thing2, aware that the rock pile and the absurdities of our undeclared battle are serving as inspiration, is more determined than ever that it should stay. To his credit, however, he has moved it out of the center of the room so the rest of us can get from point a to point B without breaking or next.

I’ve decided to exercise my mom authority and remove the “inspiration” as soon as he goes to camp or I finish his story, whichever comes first.

 

The Care and Feeding of Giants

/ Picking My Battles

When Thing1 gets on a new diet kick, The price of frozen concentrated orange juice on the commodities market gets thrown out of whack.

Lately it’s been apples and oranges–clementines to be exact. It’s also been lemon on everything, instead of adding salt oil. 

Yesterday, for drawing practice, I picked out one of the clementines that had started to “age out” before it could be inhaled with the rest of the 5 pound box that was supposed to last three days but barely made it to two. I like to draw imperfect fruit more for some reason.

In It Together

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My sons are the center of my life.  They are the center of my husband’s life. 

Today, Congress began changing the future drastically for my eldest son by endangering his ability to obtain insurance when he is an adult. 

Today Congress rolled back Obamacare, and with it, protection for millions of people with pre-existing conditions (replaced with high risk pools).  My son is one of those people. He was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder (a lifetime diagnosis) that requires medications that would be unattainable for us without insurance. 

He’ll be a man soon, and, again – through no fault of his own –  he may find it more difficult to get coverage or possibly even job, since he will have to evaluate the laws in each state and not every employer will want to cover hires in his situation. It will  Even so, he’s lucky compared to the millions of Americans who will lose insurance outright. He’s still on our insurance plan, and we’ll keep him there as long as the law allows.

Jimmy Kimmel hinted at some of this the other night in his emotional monologue. He briefly touched on the fact that, prior to the ACA, a child like his would have reached his lifetime insurance cap before he left the NICU. If that child had appendicitis, or a broken bone, or cancer, that cap would have left many parents bankrupt at best or burying their child at worst — even if they had insurance.  

I have thought a lot about those other parents in the months since our son was diagnosed. When we get our meds, I silently thank our company for making it possible and then shake my head that anyone in a country as rich as ours might have to watch their child suffer or even die.  I shake it when I wonder how many people die prematurely because they don’t have access to the same healthcare we do, and I wonder how we benefit as a society from treating children and poor people like disposable objects. 

I call my representatives. I donate. And I shake my head. But today I’m done shaking my head.  I’ve thought about moving our family back to a country with stronger healthcare, but I’d still be shaking my head at the drugstore, wondering how people back home were managing without access.  

So now I’m still calling my representatives and donating, but I’m also looking for new ways to show solidarity with my son and with all the other people who are being pushed out in the cold. Because, as Jimmy Kimmel so beautifully stated, “We need to take care of each other.”  

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Moving Along

/ Picking My Battles

Yesterday I went over to the Round House Bakery Cafe Cambridge to collect paintings from a show I had hanging there since March. I was honored to be the last featured artist in that space, And I’m literally counting the days until they open the new one.

There were a few paintings left over from the show, and I’m posting them here to make room for work for a new show that begins in June.

All watercolor paintings are shipped matted and unframed (shipping included in price). If you are interested in purchasing, email me at rachel @ rachelbarlow.com can send you a paypal invoice.  I can also take checks.

Cold River, 9×12, -SOLD

Taking Flight, 9×12, $75

Perfect Day, 12×16, $100

Edge of Winter, 11×14, $95

Just Another Day

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Two kids playing two different sports, with one assistant coaching the other, and our morning routine has shot to H E double hockey sticks.

We have not made the bus more than once in the last three weeks, and Monday was no exception. 

Monday was a two sport day with a golf tournament two towns away and a game for the other after school, so we loaded up the car with gear and got to the bus stop to see it pulling away. It was OK, it was an opportunity to go over the schedule for the night and review the to-dos for the rest of the week–testing and more testing for college, prom fittings, and of course the all-important play date. 

The last thing on my mind was creativity. I didn’t even have time to congratulate myself on setting the alarm clock two hours earlier to make sure it happened Monday morning. I’ve been drawing and sketching every day and working on illustrations for a children’s book but have not been in the mood to stop and soak up and/or paint the landscape.

The missed bus stayed two cars ahead of us for most of the drive out of our 300 person town. As we reached a main road, all I noticed that grey morning was the line of brake lights in front of us. 

Thing1, however, was scanning the entire scene as he waited to guide the car into what Vermont calls “traffic”. As I went through the to do list, he leaned forward and glanced up at the sky. Then he looked at the mountain that rows up behind the nondescript garage across the street.

“Mom,” he said, “look at that light. do you see that little sliver of sun hitting the hill?” I nodded no I had not and still didn’t look up as we had seen that particular hill at least twice a day every day for the last 16 years. 

Thing1 does not go gaga for art as his brother and I do. He draws very well, but his passions lie elsewhere so his next words demanded me to look up.

“Now that’s a painting,” he said.

I closed my list and listened and looked at the mountain. The parting clouds had refracted that sliver of sun so that the three-day-old leaves on the trees were infused with gold. Golden mist from the rainstorm that had past 10 minutes earlier diffused the details of the scenery in front of us, and just like that I was back into landscapes.

All it took was an overly busy, completely ordinary day and the observation of a kid who is pretty smart for a math major to point out the forest and the trees.

Today on All My Guppies

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5 1BundlesofJoy web It seems that when Herman the Hermit, my plecostomus, arrived, he brought a stowaway to Tankland with him.  It was a snail who promptly cleaned the sides aquarium and then took a vacation under the gravel for a couple weeks. I thought she had died in horror when she saw the state of the studio that lay beyond the glass (or disappointment that she had not landed in the aquarium of famed illustrator and snail portraitist Abrah Griggs), but it turned out she was feathering her stony nest to welcome a bunch of babies.

 

Oscar the Guppy, still annoyed with the Minions for holding a meeting of the Guppy Poets Society without him, looked at the swarm of little white smells climbing the walls of the aquarium, and little bubbles could be seen escaping from his gills as he shook his head in a silent “tsk”. The Minions, however, are always happy to see new life in the tank. Herman the Hermit made it clear he had no opinion as long as everyone leaves some algae for him to eat.

 

The babies ignored the chatter and decided to explore above the waterline, lodging in the hood light.  Their adventures shorted out the LED light. Oscar the Guppy, having found it terribly tacky, decided that perhaps the little ones should stay (It didn’t hurt that the snails seem to share his affinity for a clean tank) and was heard to say, “Good things really do come in lots of tiny packages.”

Change Rest Change

/ Picking My Battles

It was a cool great day on the Taconic Parkway, but the weather was perfect for walking around Manhattan.

We had zipped down to help a friend move a few things to their apartment on the upper West side and then headed to the other side of Central Park to see a Turner exhibit. 

T1 drove us, a huge change from the country driving when he cut his teeth. It was unnerving but also a little thrilling to see him navigate Manhattan streets and city life with the skill and confidence of an adult. 

The Big Guy lived in Boston when you’re first married, and our day trip reminded us of how much we once loved city living. we took a secured us walk from the parking garage to the museum and back, soaking up the music of at least seven languages heard from passersby and the aromas of myriad restaurants.

It was a feast for our senses and a change from the daily grind almost as huge as realizing that Thing1 will be perfectly fine when he gets out on his own. But a lot of times a changes isn’t just as good as a rest, it’s way better.

A Little Night Magic 

/ Picking My Battles

I like my life. It’s busy, and it’s full, but, like most people’s, it’s pretty routine. We were headed to hibachi after practice to celebrate my birthday a night early since Thing1 had plans for tonight, but even that seemed pretty routine.
I love celebrating the kids birthdays, but I’m not really big on celebrating my own. I’m not afraid of getting older, but they seem to highlight how unsurprising life has become.
Last night’s birthday celebration turned out to be full of surprises.
We were all surprised when friends walked in after we’d ordered, and we said happy hello. The Big Guy surprised me with a gift certificate for a serious car wash–inside and out (guaranteed to remove that faint smell of spilled milkshake). On the way home the Burlington county sheriff surprised my son with a quick stop to let him and us know that the front license plate was loose, but the best surprise was yet to come.
We got home well after dark, and we knew we needed to get in and let the dog out. The car lights switched off as we exited the car, and realized I’d forgotten to turn on the porch light before I left. It was then that we saw the light on the gravel driveway and path. Surrounded by mountains, we get very little light pollution, so we instantly looked up expecting to see the moon. 
Instead, we saw a field of stars, scattered like dust across a velvet sky. We stood in silence. The only sound was the wind moving through the trees, and just before the dog could be heard whining from the house to let us know she really had to go, I was quite sure I heard it whisper, “Surprise!”