Dancing Spirits

Dancing Spirits

6.5" x 10"

Mixed Media

watercolors and toner

There is sad news today as we learn of the deaths of Dr. Michael DeBakey and Tony Snow. I have felt so priviledged to have been able to hear these men speak.

Dr. DeBakey

I heard Dr. DeBakey speak at a Lions Club sponsored function many years ago. At the time, I was teaching art, but my heart was really in nursing. So, I was particularly eager to hear him. Nursing had not worked out for me, but his talk brought an interest in medical illustration. I couldn't do that, either. I didn't think I was good enough at drawing realistically, for one thing. But, the main thing was that I had children to support and care for, so going back to school was not an option. It would have, most likely, paid a lot more than teaching, though.

I was upstairs in an auditorium when Dr. DeBakey spoke to the community. He brought slides with him to illustrate his fairly new, at that time, heart surgery. I was really impressed with his intelligence and humor, and his energy.

As he showed the first cut, many people felt sick or faint, and had to leave, as he drew the scalpel across skin and a trickle of blood followed.

"Ooops!" he said. That one wasn't supposed to be in there. He usually left that one out because a lot of people would faint when they saw the cut and the blood. That one was for his medical students. He said that some of them fainted, too.

Now, I'm one that has always fainted when someone just showed me a needle, so I was surprised that I wasn't among the first casualties! At least half the audience had to leave. I thought that I was doing really well.

After that first slide, I watched, fascinated, as he explained what was going on through heart surgery. It did get a little warm in there, though, when he started suturing the incision . But, he made it funny, saying that he learned to sew from his mother-"a simple over and under stitch". And that's the stitch he used in surgery. I could just picture him, as a little boy, sitting there, at his mother's feet, learning to sew.

I taught my students things like creative stitchery, and, usually, the boys caught on and did a better job than the girls. So, I was not surprised.

He told something of his schedule, saying that he got up at 4 a.m. every morning, took walks, ate little, and went to bed fairly early. I've heard a lot of people, artists, writers, etc., who say that they get up at 4 a.m. It's a quiet time, with no phones or interruptions, when they can work or just think, and enjoy the solitude.

The schedule seems to have worked for him as DeBakey died at age 99.

I thought he was a really amazing man. I might have liked to have been a student under him, or just talked to him. He certainly lived a long and productive life and has left so much to help mankind.

Tony Snow

I first noticed Tony Snow when he was a news anchor on tv. He was distinctive, with silver hair that seemed to match his last name of Snow. He had a distinctive voice, too, a little on the raspy side, I thought. But he was someone who stood out from the other newscasters.

Later, when we learned that he had colon cancer, I wanted to ask him about it, and, at the same time, felt concern for him. When he returned to broadcasting, not only was his hair white, but his skin looked very white-almost like his hair. I thought it must be from the surgery and chemo.

Soon, he was looking better, had some color, but I thought that might be makeup.

And, then, we heard that he was replacing the very bland Scott Mclellan (I probably spelled that wrong!) as White House Press Secretary. "Good for him!" I thought. "He should certainly be better with reporters than his predecesser was, since he was one of them." And, he was.

I was a little concerned that he, sometimes, seemed to be going over to the administration's side on some issues, but that was understandable since this was his job. It wasn't always comfortable from an observeror's standpoint, or, possibly, from the reporters position, either.

And, then, one day, they announced that Tony Snow was coming to the George Bush Library. I just had to have tickets to that. So, my daughter got tickets for my grandson and me to go.

I thought that I might have a bit of a problem because, by this time, my knees were bad and I was having to walk with a cane and had trouble getting up and down from chairs, or sitting too long, or walking very much gave me trouble. But the newest problem was my eye with Macular Degeneration and cataracts in both eyes. I wasn't seeing very well. But I was determined to be there, even if all I could do was listen, and if I had to ask everyone around me to help me up out of the chair!

The night of the event came and we walked across the plaza with the piece of the Berlin Wall and the sculpted horses jumping over it, to the auditorium. Protestors were off to one side of the building, with poster board signs that I couldn't read, of course.

" College kids," I thought. "They should have seen the days of the Hippies!" But I was glad that they weren't as bad as back in those days.

We entered the lobby with our tickets, and found that the main auditorium was full. We were ushered into a smaller auditorium, an annex, where there was a large screen in front of the room. We picked a spot about the middle of the auditorium, on the aisle, and sat down. An usher soon moved us and directed me to sit against the wall. I knew that I wouldn't be able to see a thing there, and what if I should have to get up and leave! I told him that I couldn't see at all out of one eye, and that I really needed to be on the aisle so I could see. And also that I had bad knees. He kind of rolled his eyes, and said I could stay there, but moved my grandson to the next row behind me, next to the wall, and filled the row beside me with a family. At least my grandson is tall and could see over people in front of him.

I talked briefly to the people sitting beside me. A family who had come from the Beaumont area, to Austin, and on to College Station, just to hear Tony Snow. As the evening progressed, I learned that people had come from all over to hear Snow. So many, in fact, that they filled the annex auditorium, and the dining hall. Certainly an overflow crowd.

I wondered about Snow's hair. He had been on tv earlier, and his hair looked gray instead of white. In fact, each time I saw him on tv, his hair was a little darker, and his skin had more color.

George H.W. Bush (Bush 41) and Snow came into the auditorium where we were and told us of the overflow crowd. They would be speaking in the other auditorium and we would watch on the big screen. However, when it was over, they would come in and answer questions.

Actually, it worked out better by seeing them on the big screen, for me, at least. I could see them so much better than the smaller figures that they really were, in front of the auditorium.

Following a very lively and interesting talk, Snow answered questions, then Bush and Snow came into our auditorium. They were on a slightly raised stage. Four Secret Service men stood in front of them. I hardly noticed the men, at first.

As the speakers answered questions, I did my usual thing in trying to see better. I leaned out into the aisle and closed my bad eye and blinked with the good eye, trying to clear up the image. Since no one was walking up the aisle, I stretched my leg into the aisle a little and leaned on my cane.

Snow talked , enthusiastically, about the wonderful job he had, and his excitement was contagious. He spoke of many things in history that he had so much knowledge of, and brought those things to life.

"His hair is brown!" I thought! "And his skin is tanned! He looks really healthy and good! Maybe he is well, now. Or could it be dye and makeup. Could be the lights. But he does look younger and like he feels good."

I suddenly looked at the Secret Service men, glaring at the audience.

"Oh, dear! I wonder if they can see me!" I told myself. "I had better stop this. No telling what they think I am up to, winking at Tony Snow and the president!" I could picture those Secret Service men, rushing up the aisle to throw me onto the floor, thinking I was up to no-telling-what!

I pulled my leg back under the chair in front of me and kept both eyes open as I looked at the speakers. "Behave yourself!" I thought. I'm sure that they couldn't see me at all, but, if they did, I'm sure they wondered why that old lady was winking at the president and Tony Snow!

After the speech, we were not allowed to leave through the front door, but were ushered out a side door. We were told that there were protestors and they wanted us to be able to get to our cars easily. I couldn't walk too fast, so I was a little concerned that I wouldn't be able to get to my car fast enough. Maybe I should stay in the building until the protestors left. My daughter was waiting to pick us up, so I was relieved to see the car nearby.

As soon as almost everyone had cleared the sidewalk, the protestors swarmed over to the sidewalk where people had been leaving. It was a funny sight. I remember young people, waving posterboards and laughing. They seemed to be having a good time. Guess they thought they would be on tv. And one person was pulling something that looked like a children's wagon, with slats on the sides, and Christmas lights on it. We thought they were harmless and must not have homework or a date that night. But I was relieved to get in the car and out of the crowded parking area.

It had been good to see that Tony Snow looked so much better in person, and to be able to hear some of his life and experiences, as well as all the history that he shared.

It was only a day or two later when we heard the announcement that Snow's cancer had returned and he was scheduled for surgery and more treatment. I was stunned. He had looked so well and full of life when he was here.

After he returned to tv, and said that he was going to be a news anchor again, his skin and hair looked gray on tv. I hoped that he would be alright. He seemed to be one person who would certainly beat the illness with all his exuberance and love for life and work. I truly thought that he would triumph and go on to live a long life.

Sadly, the news today is that he died. I had not heard that he was not doing well, so it was quite a shock.

While he did live a full life, in his short 53 years, doing so much more and having so much more knowledge than most of us are priviledged to, he had so much potential to do more.

We've lost two amazing men, but they have left us with so much.

***********

The small painting above, "Dancing Spirits", was created by first using a watercolor wash of yellow over the paper. Then I used rubber cement to mask the light design in the center. A final wash of reds and oranges was placed over the paper. After the watercolor was dry, I removed the rubber cement to leave the design with the warm background.

I thought that there must be a good use for all that used copy machine toner that everyone was throwing away, so I decided to paint with it. It didn't mix with water, at all. But I was able to mix it with acrylic gloss medium and varnish and got something that had a wonderful consistency and a rich black color to it. I mixed it in small jars, then used a straw and a popsicle stick to pick up the "paint" and drip and smear it on the paper. Since I don't like to get my hands dirty, I was very careful not to get it on me, just on the paper. And it only took a small amount to get a rich black.

Later, I was told that the toner is very toxic, could cause cancer, and to not get it on me. But, I couldn't help but wonder about the safety factor when so many teachers and office workers, were changing toner cartriges and got that powder all over themselves, the machines, and their surroundings. It was always a mess, and no telling how much of the powder we inhaled while trying to put new toner in.

So, you might not want to try this idea!

I enjoyed my idea as I thought I was recycling, for one thing, and also I liked to paint with unlikely things, like berries. I moved on to use more watercolors and acrylics and natural materials, however, and didn't continue my experiement. I only did a few paintings with the toner as my black paint.

In this painting, as the drips took shape, they seemed to be like figures in a circle. At that time, I had learned of the death of a former student, and thought of her, being brought into a circle of other spirits, with a dance of joy and sharing.

*********

And How Do You Feel Today?

And How Do You Feel Today?

The Flu

9" X 12"

colored pencil and ink

This is an assignment that I often gave my classes, when it was obvious that many people were coming to class feeling bad, when something happened that made everyone upset or sad, or even, on days when everyone felt good.

How would it be possible to show how we felt when we suffered with the miseries of the flu? Or how we felt about the illness or death of a student? Or how could we express what it was like to feel sunshine and joy?

Expressionism is certainly one way that artists use to deal with their feelings.

Who has not, at one time or another, looked at Edvard Munch's painting, "The Scream", and thought, "That's just the way that I felt!" Or looked at Kathe Kollwitz's prints of fearful mothers and thought, "I've felt that fear for my child, too."

Even our reactions to things that aren't so serious as war and famine, are often found in our art work and creations. Sometimes it is through our choice of colors, or even the way we make a mark on paper. But, those emotions are bound to come out one way or another.

In our house, this past week, we all fell victim to the flu bug that is going around. First the elementary school age child, then his mother, next, his brother, and I got it last. That meant trying to coax everyone into getting plenty of fluids, rest, and using a lot of tissue. Making sure they took their medicine, had something to eat, and could sleep or watch movies on tv.

I thought of the assignment that I once had my students do, and, so, I thought it was time to do a new "How I Feel Today" picture.

Not exactly a self portrait, but it shows something of how the flu feels!

Nose dripping like a faucet, eyes red and pouring, ears stopped up, head in a vise, with bells ringing, dizziness, mouth and throat so dry it's like prickly cactus in the desert, needles and pins sticking all over, throat so tight you feel like you are being strangled, nausea, stomach ache, head feels like it is on fire, and all that goes with the flu. This time, though, we didn't seem to have those chills and sweats, or the very high temperatures. While we have been feeling really miserable, we must have had a mild form of the flu, this time around.

I guess things are better this year, though, because, last year, at this time, two of us, and one dog, had bronchitis.

Sometime, when you think about it, write down or draw the way that you feel. You might be surprised at how much detail you can put down. And, they might give you a bit of a laugh, later.

Stay well!
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Hear Our Prayer

Lord, Hear Our Prayer
Oh Lord, Our Needs Are Great
8" x 9"
watercolor on 300 # watercolor paper

This is another of my paintings in the expressionistic style, using a limited palette. I used only one primary color, plus one neutral, brown, in this small painting. I like the effects that I got by working on this heavy watercolor paper.
There are so many needs, so much pain, suffering, illness, fear, lonliness, abuse, neglect, violence, financial needs-the list is long among all the people of the world. My painting shows two women, dressed in blue, praying feverently for their needs to be met. They are simple, but strong, women, perhaps in need of food for their families, healing for themselves or family members, in need of a safe place to live, or better lives for their children. They look to Heaven for help on their journey through life.
Please let me know if you see some piece of art work that particularly appeals to you. And consider joining my Google group, art-by-cecelia. There are links on the sidebar, and also a box that you can fill in with your e-mail address in order to subscribe to my blog.
Thanks for reading and sharing. I've enjoyed the comments that I have received.

Thoughts of Thanksgiving

THANKFUL
7" x 10"
Watercolors

Thanksgiving 2007 is behind us now. When I was teaching, I always had my students do a picture of something that they were thankful for before Thanksgiving. This year, I thought I would give myself the assignment, but I really didn't have time to work that out before the holiday was upon us.
Instead, I did this small watercolor.
I started thinking of being thankful for a roof overhead, a warm place to enjoy, food to eat and to share with family and friends. It isn't a picture of my family, or memories of our Thanksgiving meals, or even our Thanksgiving meal this year. My painting is a general scene of a Thanksgiving gathering. I probably had a few thoughts of holidays and family of the past as I painted this, however. This is another piece of art in my expressionistic style.
Two youngsters are watching tv on the floor, while others are outside tossing a football. More people are arriving, dressed in their Sunday best. Two couples are already seated at the dining room table, talking. The plates are set close together. A big turkey is roasted and waiting at the head of the table. Side dishes of potatoes, dressing, gravy, rolls are on the table, along with butter, cream and sugar.
Once, we had a large family, that gathered for holidays in one of several homes. That sort of rotated according to who felt like being host and hostess for that meal.
The dinette table, dining room table, a large table in the den, card tables, and a little children's table were all full of family, friends, and guests.
Now, our family has dwindled to one aunt in the nursing home, my daughter, her two sons, my sister, and I. I think we are not making enough memories for the younger generation by not having those big family dinners. But, the last time I tried to cook, I had a lot of trouble trying to lift the big turkey and dressing in the pans, and could have used some help. But, my daughter decided that she wanted to go out to eat with friends, and I just told those who my daughter had invited, not to come. We finally had turkey and dressing that night, instead of at noon, as was our custom. But, as I always have said, the best part of the turkey dinner is the sandwiches that you make later. So, that's what we did.
Last year, my sister, daughter, the boys and I went to a local cafeteria for a meal. There was a crowd, and a long line. The food was not very good.
This year, we did the same thing. A friend of my daughter's, her son, her husband, and his father, joined us. The line was very long and not good for bad knees (mine) or backs (my sister). But, the food was much better this year.
After we ate, we took pies to the nursing home, and shared with my aunt and the staff and residents, who wanted, and could have, some pie.
Sadly, by eating out, there were no leftovers to make those wonderful turkey sandwiches!
One Thanksgiving that my dad talked about, for the rest of his life, was the year that I brought home one of my friends from college. He would always talk about the year that we had a real Indian with us for Thanksgiving. And, for her, it was her first time to have Thanksgiving. That year, we had Thanksgiving across the street from my house, with the great-aunt who had the allergy problems.
Our family Thanksgiving meals consisted of two 30 pound turkeys, with corn bread dressing and gravy, a large Pikes Peak red roast with red gravy, a large baked ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top, cooked carrots, creamed corn, whole kernel corn, English peas, ambrosia, fruit salad, Jello salad, pears, peaches, jellied cranberries, rolls, bread, bakeless cake with whipped cream, chocolate, pumpkin, lemon meringue, coconut, pecan pies, and marble, coconut, and chocolate cake. Children got milk, with cream still in it, some adults drank iced tea, or "sky juice" (as my dad called it), and most adults drank some coffee. Most drank it with cream and sugar-lots of it! My uncle still preferred his coffee prepared by putting 1/2 cup of cream in his cup, then 4 spoons of sugar, then fillng the rest of the cup with coffee.
I always thought that they were speaking some German at our family dinners as people would say, "Pass the cush, please." Or, "Please pass me the gunwadden". They asked for the "pootie" or the "sawdust". It was only in recent years that I realized that these were some Aggie terms that my dad brought home with him from his time as a student at Texas A&M University. My great-aunt and her brother, my grandfather, did speak German, but that was not it, apparently.
Pootie-turkey
Cush-dressing
Gunwadden (gun wadding?)-bread
Sawdust-sugar
Sky juice-water
Everyone pitched in to do the finishing touches, and get the food on the table. There was much talking as people arrived, and the ladies joined in the kitchen, while the men gathered in the parlor and the living room.
The male head of the table gave the prayer, as the group settled in on chairs, stools, and anything they could find to pull up to the table to sit on, and then we ate and talked.
While the grownups lingered over the table, with coffee and dessert, I would take the kids under the table, where we "decorated". I taught people their ABC's, and to write their names, with crayons on the underside of the table. That was when we were small enough for a lot of us to fit under the table.
When we got tv, we would adjourn to the room with the tv to watch the Aggie-Longhorn game. Daddy and Grandpa, especially, took those Aggie games very seriously. Woe be unto anyone who talked during a crucial play, especially if the Aggies were not doing so well.
Sometimes we would go for a walk, boys would go out and toss a football, or we might go for a drive. But only after the regular crew went into the kitchen to wash and dry dishes, put food away, and get the table ready for supper, or a snack later.
By the time the meal was over, the men were stretching back, loosening their pants, and unbuckling their belts. Some would have to have a little short nap in their parlor chair while their food went down!
Despite eating all that food, repeated trips to nibble on "just a little bite" were in order through the afternoon and even late into the night.
Our tradition, in our family, was, after eating, and resting for a while, we would go out to the pasture and pick out our Christmas tree. We would get a Cedar tree, always too large, which Daddy would have to cut down and bring home. Sometimes, he just left it tall and bending over at the top. Eventually, though, Mama would get him to take the tree out and cut it down some more. Then he would make a stand for it, with two boards, crossed over, and some bricks around it to hold the tree upright. Those would be covered with a roll of cotton from the store (Conitz Dry Goods Store-grandpa's store), to simulate snow. Mama's ornaments would come out of the linen closet, where she kept them during the year, and we would hang decorations-or were they really toys for the cats to play with!
We discovered that snow for the tree could be made from powdered washing detergent, mixed with a little water, to make a paste. Then that could be scattered on the tree. I still remember the year that Daddy brought home a box of Cheer instead of Tide, so we had blue snow on our tree. We always preferred the bought things, but, sometimes, we had to make do with whatever we could find.
Sometimes, our tree would be in a corner of the living room, other years, it would be in the center of the recessed windows in the living room. Mama's baby grand piano held the tree some years, but usually, the room was just full with the sofa, piano, and a big tree, plus smaller furniture, and a heater.
One great-aunt had serious problems with allergies, and, at one point, she couldn't come in the house with our Cedar tree. Daddy also had planted a Cedar tree at each corner of the house, and had low Cedar shrubs by the front steps. "Toot", my great-aunt, would stand out in the yard to talk to Mama. Sadly, she had to give up working in the yard she loved so much. But, eventually, she recovered and she wasn't even sure why. She came to our house for a brief visit for Christmas Eve, when she was suffering with allergies, with the rest of the family. She was covered up, wore a scarf over her face, even - like a bandit, and left quickly.
Christmas is another story.
For this year, our fall and Thanksgiving things have been put away, and Christmas things are appearing. We don't go into the woods to cut down a Cedar tree, these days. Our tree comes from a box in the store room! Not nearly as much fun. But, we will have some hot chocolate while we put on decorations. Most of the decorations, are put up around the house. We still have to get the tree up. But, it has turned cold, and rainy. At least it is beginning to feel like Christmas this year. And we can use the rain. Usually, it is warm and sunny, and it is really hard to get in the mood.
This year, I'm ready to have some hot chocolate and do Christmas cards. (Still wish I had some good left over turkey for sandwiches, though.)
Thanks for reading and sharing. I hope that your Thanksgiving was memorable, and good.
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Whoop Te Do! Another Big Saturday Night!

Whoop Te Do!
Another Big Saturday Night!
18" x 24"
Mixed Media: China Markers, markers, & watercolors
There was a time when Saturday night meant going out-dancing, out to eat, on a date, to a movie, riding around, or even out with other girls, hoping to meet some suitable guys.
Time passes, however, and, while there are still things going on in the world, Saturday night might mean doing something mundane, watching tv, eating supper in front of the tv with the British comedies, washing clothes, ironing, taking a nap on the couch before going to bed.
The above self portrait was done at my kitchen sink after supper was finished and dishes had been done. Dressed in my housecoat, I looked out the window over the sink at the full moon outside. Light from the moon reflected off a few clouds that drifted past. A pottery windchime dangled in the window.
To do this picture, I placed a drawing board with 80# drawing paper on the sink, where I had been washing dishes, and worked from the reflection in the window. I could still see a bit of the night sky with the full moon, as well as myself.
I thought, "Whoop te do! Here's another big Saturday night!" as I looked toward the university and city. In times past, I would have taken my little car, and been out there having a good time with everyone else.
I selected china markers for a loose drawing medium, with some use of markers, and tried to work in an energetic way with lots of searching lines. Light washes of watercolors were used to complete the picture. Standing, and working with larger materials, seems to allow for more energy as well as a loose technique. I limited my colors to browns and blues-a neutral and one primary color.
Hopefully, those of you who need rain are getting some relief this weekend. (We're having clouds, a little sprinkling of rain, and thunder. It's dry here again with burn bans that have put a stop to the big Thanksgiving game bonfire, for now. Several counties have put a burn ban in place again, after we had caught up with our rain deficit during the summer.) I hope that everyone is able to "kick up your heels" and have a good time .
Let me know if you see something that particularly appeals to you. I do appreciate your comments and your support.
Thanks for reading and passing this along to others. Have a nice weekend.
On a personal note, our youngest family artist went to his first U.I.L. (University Interscholastic League) meet for his school district today. He was scared, but came home beaming, with a medal and a certificate. He elected to try for Picture Memory. We've been looking at small cards with famous fine art paintings for several weeks, studying titles, artists, and information about each work. The thing that we didn't work enough on was actually writing out the titles and the artists' names, which is what they ended up having to do. I thought that was a little hard for elementary school! He didn't win a top place, but I'm thrilled that he stayed with it, faced his fears and anxiety, represented his school, and participated. Now we know what it is all about and he can be better prepared for next year. His art teacher, and another teacher who helped coach the students, did an outstanding job with the youngsters. He made the comment, "At least now I really know a lot about those paintings!" And he does!

Mothers, Love Your Children

Mothers, Love Your Children (detail)
Image size 11.5" x 14.5 "
Paper size 12" x 15"
watercolors
I've been trying to take a good photograph of this painting for a while, but I couldn't get the colors right, or there was a reflection, or blurring-always unsatisfactory. I do have one whole photo of this picture, but it has sort of a white haze over it from sunlight. I finally just took the painting out of the frame tonight and put it on the scanner, which cut off parts of the sides, top, and bottom.
This looked really nice with a black mat, in a frame with marbelized green, and gold trim.
I got the idea for this when I was teaching, and showing students how I mixed colors to get a flesh tone. The small, center mother, holding up a child with a red ball, in place of the nose, just happened. I didn't want just a plain background, but decided to add in many children's faces. The effect of glowing, green faces, as if lit up by a neon light, gives contrast to the piece.
This was a fun piece to do. Even painting all those little faces was interesting and not as tedious as it might appear to be. I always liked to draw "girls", and find myself drawing girls when I am doodling (instead of taking notes for example!). This is not like the girls that I usually doodle, however. I do like to put some drama into my girls. They usually have a cartoon look to them, since this is the way that I taught myself to draw when I was growing up.
"Mothers, Love Your Children" was done on 140 pound watercolor paper using Winsor Newton watercolors.
Please share with others who also might enjoy my work and my stories. I do appreciate your support and your comments.

An Angel For Laura

An Angel for Laura
Guardian Angel
8" x 10"
oil

Today, I'm going to stray a bit and simply post this painting I did of an angel. I think that a lot of people could use an angel, now, so here is one for Laura, and for everyone who needs one. I realize that she can't see it on the computer, but the thought is there. I couldn't send a card. And, what can one do or say at times like these, when someone you know is so ill. All I know to do is to send a little angel on its way, say a prayer, and wish for peace and many blessings.

The photo is not as clear as I would like it to be, but this is an image that I had on my computer. The out of focus effect shows up a lot when the picture is enlarged. It looks better small. But, that is just the photo I took, and not the painting itself.

I thought that it turned out to be an interesting painting. It has a lot of Indigo Blue and Yellow in it, a strong color combination, and there is quite a bit of texture which was done with a knife. "Guardian Angel" was done as a result of a visualization exercise.

Good Journey, in God's hands, with your own guardian angel.

Vision- The Good Eye II

The Good Eye II
Image size 8" x 11"
Paper size 9" x 12"
watercolors
These were actually two different episodes in July. But, I combined them into one painting, for the sake of composition.
As I sat at the computer, there were four small circles of light that appeared at the lower part of my screen. Trails of light sparkled downward. Something like tiny comets of red, yellow, blue, and purple, with a hint of green.
I closed the good eye and they went away. When I opened that eye, however, they reappeared. They were only there for a short while, but, again, they reminded me of what I had read previously about a detached retina. Flashing lights. But these were not actually flashing lights. Just sparkling little comets.
Another day, at the computer again, I noticed something like floating wheels, some overlapping, across the lower right side of my computer. They appeared to be divided into mostly triangular sections of light. These, too, sparkled, and were happening in the good eye.
This one lasted most of the day, but was gone by the next day, and, like the other images I have been seeing since Macular Degeneration and catarcts struck me, it hasn't reappeared.
In my painting, I used Winsor Newton watercolors on 140 pound Arches watercolor paper. For sparkle, I added a bit of silver acrylic. However, it doesn't appear to show up very well on the monitor. It looks like a bit of gray on my monitor.
There is a new feature on the sidebar of my blog. Check it out under BlogRush. You can go to other blogs there. This will change as people post to their blogs, and those are added to the list in the little frame.
And, if you have a blog of your own, if you click on the bottom where it says to add your own posts Free, you can go to their website for a short video and more information. You can also set up the BlogRush feature on your own site. By inviting other bloggers, whose blogs will be read by a different group of people, that should increase traffic to your own site.
I learned about this from Nancy Standlee on her blog. And I really appreciate her help in setting it up on my blog. (I always run into some problem that is something really simple when I try to do things on the computer!)
Check out her blog at http://nancystandlee.blogspot.com/ . She is another Texas artist. I really enjoyed reading about the workshop she attended in Galveston. And, she is always up on the really cool, new things.
Be sure to check out the other links that I have on my sidebar under Artists and Authors, Interesting Sites, also Storks, and Eye Sites.
The weekend is here, and I just realized it. One advantage of retirement. It's almost always the weekend!
Hope you have a good weekend, doing whatever it is that you enjoy.
Thanks for reading and sending my work along to others who might be interested. All work is copyrighted and most of the art work is for sale. I do welcome comments and inquiries. It helps to know that others are reading, are supportive, and are interested in my work. Check out my group to see more of my watercolors, and join, in order to get an e-mail when I update my blog.

Vision-The Good Eye

The Good Eye
Image size 8" x 11"
Paper size 9" x 12"
watercolors
One July morning, I was going about my usual routine, and had sat down to work at my computer. Macular Degeneration didn't seem to interfere with working up close to my computer. No wavey lines or distortion, unless I leaned back in my chair.
I had put away the Amsler grid, which was supposed to be checked daily, to see if there were changes. If so, the doctor was to be contacted immediately. That's all well and good, but the doctor wouldn't see me anymore, so what was I to do if there were changes. There wasn't anything to be done, so the only reason to use the chart, or take notice of changes was for my own curiousity. Occasionally, I would cover my good eye and see if there were differences in color or distortion. Just because I wondered what was happening to me, and what was coming next.
I tried to busy myself with things that I worried that I might not be able to do anymore. I'd better read all those books I've been saving to read, write all those stories I've been wanting to write, draw and paint all the pictures I've been wanting to do, identify all the old pictures and write the family story. Also on the to do list was to absorb all the images I can store, while I can still see them. Scenes, movies on tv, faces, poses, light and shadow, colors, etc. I thought that I should try to organize and memorize where the colors are on my paint palettes. While that is a good thing to do, I don't consciously think of picking up a warm color or a cool color. I know that, theoretically, that is an important way to work. Thinking of color harmonies and color theory can be important. But, working in a more expressionistic way, I usually just paint with what I feel like using. I look at the paint and think, "This one will work here", or "That one feels right to pick up and I'll put a little of that there", and just do it. Theory is in the background and is a foundation for me, but I go more by what I feel like using or what looks like it will work in a certain spot. Then, I let things flow and see what happens. Touch ups and finishing are then added.
On this particular day, as I looked at the computer, a crescent shape that overlapped another, appeared to my right, over the side of the computer. The shape was broken up into tiny shapes, like a colorful crystal. It sparkled and flashed as I tried to look at it. I closed the good eye and the shape disappeared. I closed the eye with the AMD and the shape appeared, still flashing and on the side. I looked around the room and even walked into other rooms to try to determine if light or the computer might be causing this new shape to form.
Several years before, I had a migrane in my eye. (That's another story, with a picture!) At that time, my opthamologist told me that the thing to look for was flashing lights, which would indicate a detached retina. He advised that the migrane was temporary and didn' affect anything. Probably caused by stress. The more recent opthamologist and retina specialist confirmed this information.
Now, I wondered if this sparkling crescent shape meant that the retina in my good eye was detaching. More concern followed. I was relying on my good eye to stay that way.
I looked for symptoms on the internet. I didn't find that shape, but again found the bit about flashing lights being a symptom of a detached retina. And information saying to go to the doctor immediately. Time was very important.
Maybe if I rested and put cold packs on my eye, it would get better. I could hope. I could pray. And hold my breath that it wouldn't get worse or that it would go away.
After several days, the crescent shape faded. I guess it wasn't a detached retina, after all.
Meanwhile, this would be another abstract painting for me to create and share. I first made a sketch in order to remember the shape and the date it occured. Later, I transferred the drawing to 140 pound Arches watercolor paper. I used Winsor Newton watercolors to complete this painting. Sparkles were added with silver acrylic paint. The sparkles do not show up very well in the scan of the painting. They appear more like gray dots on the monitor.
I do welcome your comments and inquiries. And I appreciate your interest and support. Thank you for reading, and for passing my work on to others who might be interested. Take a look at my group, Art By Cecelia, too. I have a few more watercolors on a page there.
Be sure to check out the links I have provided on the sidebar on the right of my page. You will find some interesting things to browse through there.
I'm glad that you are sharing in my journey, and I hope that my art work and blog will help someone else as they encounter AMD or similar problems. At least, someone may relate to my work, or become more aware.

Vision-Cloud Over Me

Cloud Over Me
And How Do You Feel Today?
30" x 40"
pastel on vellum
This pastel painting is large and is in an expressionistic style.
This is one of the assignments that I gave, as the need arose, when I was teaching, and something that has been given in workshops I have attended. When things happened, especially things that would affect students, such as a tragedy in the school or community, or even when I noticed that students seemed to be in need of expressing their feelings in a positive way, I would pull out paper, as large as possible, art supplies that allowed for quite a bit of freedom to work fairly rapidly, and, perhaps, put on music. Often, I taped the large paper on the board and stapled paper to bulletin boards, and all of us worked together. I was there to encourage, provide help, if needed, and give a little guidance.
Sometimes, we would just work on "How Do You Feel Today" assignments, when things were good. And, at times, I just allowed a few minutes in class to draw in a sketchbook or on paper, in order to express feelings.
These type of assignments worked for both writing and art. There just had to be adjustments for space and materials used.
And, it was important to finish in one sitting or class period. It doesn't work very well to put this sort of work aside to work on later, since things happen and feelings and mood can change between times. Sometimes, it works to get that intitial feeling down, then come back to make a more finished work later. But, usually, it is hard to get that same feeling or energy back. Finishing touches can be added successfully, but it's hard to sustain that same feeling that the artist started with after some time has passed. It almost seems as if that left brain takes over and says "use this color. use this kind of line, this kind of paint", etc. while, at the beginning, the right brain says nothing and just guides you to select colors, fill in shapes, and move in the way that would best express that mood.
Working tight and small tends to restrict feelings and force the creator to work smaller and tighter. To really loosen up, it helps to use large materials and big movements that allow the body to move.
I like to begin with a whole piece of compressed charcoal, oil pastel, or pastel. Even if it is for warm up exercises. If I use pencil, I try to hold the pencil loosely, by the side, and make many gestural type of lines. And I like to use very large paper or canvas. The 30" x 40" is a nice size paper, but I even like to use a roll of newsprint or other large paper. As I work with large materials, I gain more energy as I work, which shows up in my work. It also helps physically. Tiredness and headaches seem to be relieved as I gain energy. (I think it has to do with using a different side of the brain, the right side, allowing the tired, left side to rest. That's just my personal thought and experience.)
If I start with a pencil and a small piece of paper, I tend to get tighter and smaller as I work. I find myself gripping the drawing tool tightly, I get tired, headachey, and stressed, trying to make things "right". But, still, I often work this way, just because of the space needed, the ease of using the materials, and the few supplies required. It's just more convenient.
The same is true of using watercolors. They don't require as much in the way of materials, or space, they dry fast, clean up easily, and don't make a mess. I even use a travel set of watercolors and a film container for water, and a sketchbook or just watercolor paper in my clip board, for convenience. On the other hand, you can work fairly large with watercolors, too, and you can be pretty free with them. The drawback, to me, in using watercolors is the expense in framing. You must use a mat and glass or plexiglass to cover and protect them.
Oil paints and acrylics can be used in an expressive manner, of course, but they tend to be more messy and require more clean up and drying time. In classes, there wasn't that much time, or space, with just 5 minutes in between classes to get one class out of the way, and begin the next class. One sink with one faucet for a whole class of students and the teacher didn't help matters.
Pastels and oil pastels worked well for standing up, didn't require a lot of immediate clean up, other than hand washing, which could be done in restrooms. And, tables could be cleaned at lunch time, conference period, and after school. The dust would wash off.
The picture above, "Cloud Over Me" seems to fit in with my experiences with Macular Degeneration. There is an oppressive cloud, always lingering. A cloud that goes from energy and joy to frustration, sadness, fear, anxiety, panic, anger, helplessness, then blends into a cool calm of sorrow and acceptance, knowing that there is nothing that I can do. A cloud of things that others always seem to be able to control, hangs over me-demands for money, ability to do things that are out of my reach, witholding medical care, friendship, or even simple kindnesses.
There are boiling clouds that go from hot to cold, with tails of wind and tornado funnels hanging below. Dark, driving rain pounds the earth on the left side of the picture. A beaten , windblown figure crouches below the cloud, hands hanging limply, waiting for the storm to hit, trying to protect herself from the hovering storm. A younger figure, in the light, reaches out. The promise of sunlight and fair weather is beyond the storm. Is it all in the past, or is it yet to come? When will this storm cloud dissipate and clear skies return.
Or, "Cloud Over Me" could be about a day of rushing off to work, trying to get family and self moving, argueing, going to work, more difficulty with bosses, students, administrators, parents, going home to bills and more stress, fighting traffic during the commute, going and coming, going to evening meetings with more stresses to meet goals or conflict between people, or staying at home, preparing for the next day, with plans, grading papers, fighting with the computer, with meals and cleaning, laundry, personal care, getting everyone off to bed, ready to do it all over again the next day. And, all the while trying to fit in an extra job, art work, writing, activities, and a little tv time (where you can find more people argueing). A good tongue lashing from a boss, angry teenager, hostile parent, or other person could also generate this feeling.
And how are you feeling today?
For me, today has been kind of a lazy day. Sleeping late after spending a few days painting, and staying off the computer. The clouds seem to be in the overcast sky outside. My eyes do get tired and the green area that surrounds the purple spot in my eye that has the AMD seems to be larger. I noticed a lot of green over whatever I tried to look at on tv last night.
Be sure to check out the links to Artists and Authors and Interesting Sites on the right side of my page. One new site is that of Hobo Teacher. If you have ever been, or known, a teacher, or been to school, you can relate to his website. Also, Esther Read let me know that one of her articles on our high school English teacher, Loma Brannon, was published in the "Corpus Christi Caller Times" newspaper. That brings back memories of people in many places, who had memorable teachers. And, Virginia Vaughan is preparing to show all of her paintings of "The Last Year On The Farm". Many of those are on her website, along with more information.
If you are an artist, over age 60, you might check out the September, 2007 issue of "The Artist's" magazine. There is a call for entries on page 9. You can also look at their website, http://www.artistsmagazine.com/ . I found a bit more information on their blog on the website.
Be sure and let me know if you see something that interests you. I welcome comments and inquiries. Thanks for reading and sharing my work with others who might be interested.

What Are You Going To Wear Tomorrow?

What Are You Going To Wear Tomorrow?

8.5" x 11"

pencil

For quite some years, now, we have been hearing young people explain that they want to dress like they do, in order to express themselves. That this lets them be individuals. And, even in the most conservative places, there will be at least one student, who will dress themselves in the strangest of hair and clothing styles, which astonishes the older generation.

However, if you look around, those expressions are not at all different, but are reflections of what is in style in other locales, or in the media. Even those with the "original" styles, are dressing just like someone else. Most likely, they wouldn't dress that way, if someone else was not already dressing in that manner.

In my drawing today, "What Are You Going To Wear Tomorrow?", I have shown that question being asked over our telephone, in the house where I grew up. We had a telephone on the wall in the small hall, between my parents' bedroom, and the linen closet. There were two more doors in that little hall-one to the bathroom and one to the the bed room that my sister and I shared.

There was a crank on one side of the wooden box that was our telephone, bells on the front with a little shelf below for writing, a metal piece for talking into, and a cradle on one side where the receiver rested, when we weren't talking.

We could turn the crank, stand on tip toes, and ask "Central" (the lady who ran the telephone office and kept the switchboard, which was in her house) to ring the person we wanted to talk to. Sometimes, Central would tell us that the person was somewhere else, and move our call to that place. Or they would tell us what the person was doing, if they had company, or were outside that time of day. In later years, we were encouraged to tell Central the phone number we wanted.

"Central, give me 161, please." or "Central, give me 1, please."

If there was a fire, and we heard the fire whistle at the City Hall blow, we could call Central, and she would tell where the fire was. We could also ask her what she had heard about most any topic of interest.

Central was a sweet lady, who had, with her husband, lived in a downstairs apartment from us, in my great-grandfather's house, when I was small. That was before she became the town telephone operator.

We didn't have a phone in our new house, or the old apartment, either. Times were hard, and everyone tried to save. Salaries were really small, too.

Finally, Daddy got a phone, and we called everyone we knew who had a phone.

As a young school student, we called each other to get help with homework, or an assignment that we missed. And, each evening, we had to make the rounds of calling each other to see what everyone else was going to wear the next day. We needed to fit in, and not wear things that the rest of the students were not wearing. Jeans or pants for girls were not allowed at school (except when it was really cold and the heat was not working on the top floors of the school) . There was a time, when the rules were relaxed a little, and we could wear jeans to class on Friday or pep rally day. And, for a while, we could wear overalls, just with special permission. Some of the boys showed up with Mohawk haircuts, much to the dismay of all the teachers. The boys were giggling, and we thought that was just awful to look like that. They weren't going to be allowed to play football with their hair like it was. So, other boys got Mohawks too. Everyone was shocked at such behavior.

I always wanted red hair, and my mother wouldn't let me put a rinse or dye on my hair. So, I went to the drugstore and bought a box of red rinse for my hair. I locked myself in the bathroom and made my hair red. My mother was upset, and I thought I had ruined my life. I was now a loose woman with dyed hair. I went to school like that, wearing my overalls, and waited for the compliments, or for some teacher to fuss at me for doing that to my hair. The band even marched in the football game that night. I was sure to get a lot of attention with my beautiful red hair!

No one said a word about my hair. I even told some people what I had done and it didn't get their attention. I don't think it stood out at all because my hair did look red in the sun, anyway. It wasn't a bright red, but looked a lot like it always did. But, I was sure that I had done something terrible, and permanent.

The rinse came out with shampoo, and, years later, I was told that I would have to have the color removed from my hair before I could get the lighter colors that I wanted. I never wanted to do that. But I did use peroxide on it when I was in college, and tried to do the red thing again after I had children. It wasn't that different from the natural color.

We pretty well stuck to the accepted styles, in our school years, mainly with fashions that came from movies or movie magazines. And, whatever the leaders in school wore, we wanted to wear the same thing. We wanted to fit in, not be different.

Some styles dictated that our skirts had to be exactly 2 1/2 inches above the top of our roll- over socks. The next year, skirts were shortened (shockingly!) so that there were 3 inches between the skirt and the top of the socks. Those things were not easy to accomplish, when socks kept sliding down. so, we devised using rubber bands to hold up our socks. (Not so good for circulation.)

We might wear a white peasant blouse with a circle skirt and ballerina slippers, and natural lipstick. Or we might all decide to wear a pencil slim skirt, a white shirt with turned up collar, pearls and pearl earbobs, rolled-over white socks with penny loafers. We had other outfits, too, of course, but those are just a couple of examples. No matter what, however, we had to call each other and see what everyone else was wearing.

Some older girls used a cake of brown mascara in a little case, spit on it, then used the little brush to apply the mascara to their eyebrows and eyelashes. Of course, we had to wait until we got to school for those things, and had to remove it before we went home. Now I know that we shouldn't have done that, but that is what people did at the time. One girl, who wanted to be an airline stewardess, even had a compact with pancake makeup in it, that she applied in the restroom at school, while we all watched. (I couldn't tell any difference.) But, we thought that this was a very grown up, and risque, thing to do. Later, about time for graduation, some girls wore a little face powder, for special occasions. There was red lipstick for Sunday and for dress up, but only natural for every day.

In the drawing above, I have shown the hall telephone, as I tried to find out what to wear the next day. My little sister liked to come in the hall, especially while I was on the phone with my friends-even if I closed all the doors to the hall.

That phone was hung just at the right height to catch her head as she ran through the hall. She would get a nice "goose egg" on her head after she ran into the corner of the telephone. At least, the phone was well built and sturdy.

I can still spend hours in the closet, trying to decide what to wear. Not that I have that many clothes, I just try to decide what is comfortable, appropriate, and looks nice. I keep changing my mind. It would be nice to be able to call a classmate and find out what everyone would be wearing, so we could all match. I would certainly save a lot of time.

"What Are You Wearing Tomorrow?" is a sketch done with pencil. I have thoughts of reworking this as a pen and ink drawing, or a painting in watercolor or oil.

Thanks for reading, and for sharing my blog with others who might be interested. I welcome your comments and your inquiries. Thanks for your support. It helps to know that others are reading and enjoying my blog. Maybe it has stirred a memory for you, or brought a chuckle, or, perhaps, you might have learned something.

Be sure to visit the links that I have added to the side of my page.

There are more things to come.

Vision-Another Night of TV

Another Night of Watching TV
7.5" x 12"
watercolors
Sometimes, it seems like I can see from inside my eye. That happened at the eye doctor's office. Now I was seeing some of the inside of my eyelid. There was a lot of light around the eyelid and in the room.
I could see a little bit of the picture on the wall behind the tv set. Faces of the people who were on the tv program, were distorted in shape and in color. There was a "C" shape to the left that moved around, along with clusters of specks. These are the floaters that are often present.
After the injection in my eye, my eye seemed to water a lot and I had to keep wiping with tissues. I thought it might be just the usual sinus trouble. But, now, my eyelashes felt like they were woven together, keeping my eyes from opening completely. They also formed a curtain of sorts that I was trying to see through. They opened just enough in the center for me to see part of the tv, or whatever I might be looking at. I could just barely make out the rest of the room.
Added to the curtain of eyelashes, were what felt like big rocks-hard, golden blocks firmly stuck in my woven eyelashes. I used warm washcloths, to soften the rocks. But my eyelashes felt a little greasey and the rocks kept returning, for over a week.
The technician in the specialist's office had warned me about using some of the eyedrops that are over the counter meds used for red eyes. He said that some of those would dry or irritate the eyes. I wasn't using any of those, so I knew that was not the problem.
I didn't think that my eyelashes were long enough to actually weave together, but that's how they felt and appeared from my view. I kept pulling them apart, but as soon as I moved my fingers, the woven curtain returned. The situation did make it difficult to watch tv or focus on anything.
Anxiety, fear, frustration, sadness, anger can all fill the days and nights while you are torn with whether to just give up or to be determined and fight against something you can't do anything about. It seemed to be the only thing to do was to record it through paint, paper, and words, and hope that answers will come, and sharing might help someone else who will encounter AMD (Macular Degeneration). I don't have answers or help, but I can tell what happened to me.
I hope that you will share my blog with others who might be interested. And look at the links I have given on the right side of my page under Authors and Artists, and Interesting Links. Let me know if you see something of interest to you. I welcome your comments and your support.

Vision-Eye Test

Eye Test 8" x 12 " watercolors

"Eye Test" was done on 140 # Strathmore watercolor paper using Winsor Newton watercolors.

A few days passed after the injection in my eye, and my eye looked some better. It still sagged and drooped, watered, and was a little pink looking. But, my birthday had passed and my drivers license had expired. My daughter took me to get the license renewed. I felt confident because two doctors had told me in the last two weeks that my vision was good enough to pass this eye exam.

What a disappointment it was. I took in my old license, the renewal notice, and my fee, ready to keep my license. I had braved all that the doctor's office had thrown at me, so I felt ready.

I was directed to look into what looked like a wooden box. All I could see was the edges of the box around my face, a wavey, black background with squiggley green lines on it. I tried closing one eye, I blinked, I squinted and it didn't change. The clerk took me to another machine and it was no better.

"Time to see an eye doctor," she advised.

"I've been to two eye doctors in the past two weeks, and I could read their charts", I told her. "I do have sinus trouble today from the wind, and I'm getting over a little eye infection."

She told me that I had two years, and to come back and try again when my eye was better.

I didn't want to tell her that my eye may not get any better, but only worse. Still, I should have been able to see something. I didn't know what was wrong.

"Just don't get caught driving with an expired license," she advised as we left.

I was dejected, to think that I couldn't drive anymore. I got my license when I was 12, and had started driving when I was 8, although that was a bit reluctantly. Daddy insisted that I try to drive the war surplus Jeep he had bought. Scared both of us silly when I drove up a little hill and into a neighbor's yard when I tried to carefully turn a corner! So, he made me drive the tractor out in the pasture, to learn how to drive better. As long as I could remember, I either sat in someone's lap while they drove, or stood on the seat beside them. I guess my driving career might be over. Good thing I liked to ride around in the back seat and talk to the grandsons , or look for pictures to draw, while someone else drives. Still, riding in a car is not that fun anymore, with all the distortion and strange things I see. I hadn't been driving since I didn't have to go to work anymore, and, even then, I preferred to have my daughter drop me off at work. And, when my knees started bothering me, I quit driving. Still, not having a license is not a good feeling-just in case I should need to drive and my eyes were better. Maybe, if the eyes and knees get worked on, I can drive again.

It was like one more thing had been taken away from me. One more stone in the path to the end of life. I tried to stay as cheerful as I could reminding myself that it was better to let someone else do the work while I enjoyed looking for pictures, taking photos, drawing, talking to the kids. Still, I knew that, if I just wanted to take myself for a ride, or I needed to go somewhere, I had to wait until other people could, or would, take me. Sometimes it's easier to just stay at home.

I hope that this one goes through. I've had trouble "publishing" or posting the last three posts. I finally got the first one to work. I gave up on the one I was going to send today, about Saturday nights, and will try that some other Saturday. I had to delete what I wrote about for this one, and I'm rewriting it shorter. I think the problem comes when my internet can't find the server, or something of that sort. Computers are a mystery to me. I did print and save the original story, so I have them to keep with my pictures.

The painting today looks like some sort of Egyptian design rather than an eye chart. But, that's how it appeared to me.

Today, I heard an interesting program on tv with an author who has a book out on a man who was blind since age 3. The blind man has had surgery which restored his vision somewhat. Colors and patterns were fascinating to him, but he didn't have the depth that he needed. So, he was having trouble with 3-dimensional things, like faces. I am putting a link to the author on my page in the Authors and Artists section.

Enjoy, and pass my address on to anyone who you think might be interested.

Vision-After The Shot

Today's painting may not be so easy to look at. I wanted to give a little warning, just so you will know. Actually, it's very colorful, if you look at it from that standpoint, rather than to think of the subject matter. I'll put the painting at the end, this time, just in case you can't bring yourself to look.


It was Friday. The day the doctor spent at another office out of town. No appointments for that day here, of course.
I got up, put the cool drops in my eye, took my medicine, and settled down with a cold washcloth on my eye on the couch. When I went into the bathroom to dress, I looked into the mirror as I washed my face. Something I had tried to avoid doing. I didn't like seeing my eye with the lids drooping a little, and a bit pink from irritation.
"Oh my goodness!" I gasped when I saw my eye. The white part was bright red and looked like it was almost hanging out. The bottom lid was red, sagged, and had a "bag" underneath. The top lid was also drooping and hanging at an angle. The corners of the eye looked as if they were about to pour out blood, they were so red. The green iris almost glowed as it stood out against the contrasting red background of my eyeball. There was little light reflecting from the lights above the mirror, just a couple of dots of light on the edge of the iris. The pupil was dark and enlarged.
I thought that, if the eye was going to turn red, from the doctor hitting a blood vessel during the injection, it would have happened right away. But, this was something different, I thought. Several days had passed. At least that is what I understood from what they had told me in the office the day I got the shot.
I called the doctor's office, realizing that he wasn't there. But, they had told me to call right away if it turned really red.
"Oh, that's very common," the receptionist advised. "I've had three other calls today from people who told me the same thing. Just put cold packs on it and take some Tylenol if it hurts too much. You have an appointment to get it checked next week. We'll see you then."

I was not comforted. I guess things were not as urgent as others made me think they were. First, the Opthamologist had wanted me to get in to see the Retina Specialist right away. He said my eye was not bleeding yet, so it was imperative that I get in to see a Retina Specialist immediately. He made the call himself, to make sure I got in to see someone before blood started leaking. Once that happened, he said that it couldn't be fixed. Right now, there was just fluid, which was bad enough. But, that, too, was Friday and the specialist was out of town. They didn't seem concerned in the other office and Monday would have been fine. All weekend I wondered and worried about what was happening to me. Was my eye going to start bleeding? Was I going to be blind by Monday? I didn't know what to expect. Anxiety had time to set in.

And, now, after being told to call right away if my eye turned really red, I had called and been told to just take some Tylenol if it hurt. Another Friday, and the specialist was in his other office in another town. Of course, things always seem to happen on weekends, when doctors' offices are closed.
Tylenol and those new medications don't do a thing for me. If it hurt too much, I would take some old reliable asprin. But, it didn't hurt any more than it had been -more annoying than pain. I just kept trying to brush away pieces of hair that felt like they might be hanging in my eye. The cold cloths and cool eye drops seemed to take care of that. It was uncomfortable to bend over, but that was more like pressure than pain. I would just try to stay quiet, still, watch tv, put the cold cloths and drops in my eye, and wait. And wonder.

After The Shot 8" x 12" watercolors

The yellow shows up more in this painting on my blog. The orginal doesn't show this much yellow, but, instead, has more orange, pink, and flesh tones. This was painted on 140 # Strathmore watercolor paper using Winsor Newton watercolors.

Vison-Ready To Go

Ready To Go

8"x 12"

Watercolors

and acrylic

The darkness faded away to boiling clouds of smoke-colored fog that filled the room. I could see the cabinet with a chair beside it, the door frame, and the mirror where the eye chart reflected. And, I could see my feet with my black walking shoes on the foot rest of the examining chair, poking out from the fog.

I could see the letters on the eye chart, just like they had appeared when I had looked at it during the exams. The letters were not clear with shadow images appearing behind and to the right of each letter. Smaller letters toward the bottom were blurred and were indestinguishable. Still, the doctor had said that my eyesight was good enough to pass the eye exam for the driving test.

The technician had told me, as we were signing papers before the injection, that they would give me some eye drops to take home with me and to use them every 4 hours, as directed. He said it would help if I kept them in the refrigerator. They would be soothing to my eye, if they were cold. He also advised me to use cold washcloths on my eye if it started to be uncomfortable. He explained that some people said that they felt like there was something in their eye, like a grain of sand. And, he told me that my eye may turn very red, if the doctor hit a blood vessel when he gave me the shot. But, that was nothing to be concerned about. It was normal. He also said that I might experience pressure on my eye, but it would not hurt to get the shot. They were doing lots of deadening. (Of course, I had not really believed that. My heart was pounding. I felt hot, anxious, a little sick at my stomach. I may faint. Even after the shot.)

Dressed in blue sweat pants (I guess they were scrubs but they looked like some kind of excercise outfit, to me, instead of a professional looking nurse uniform) and a patterned smock top, the nurse came in the room. She took a small, round object from the cabinet and came over to me. She put the insrument on my eye and quickly removed it. She turned back to the cabinet, put the instrument down, and walked to the door.

"Okay, you can go now," she said as she walked out the door.

I thought that was a little odd. She wasn't very friendly now. Before the shot, she had not been exactly warm, but she had been sort of in the background, with the techician and the doctor closer to me. She could have, at least, asked me how I was doing, or commented on something like the fact that it was all over and I was doing just fine.

I stood up slowly as my daughter arrived at the door. "Ready to go?" she asked.

"I guess so," I answered. I thought the doctor might have appeared to reassure me, but the hall was empty. I had to use my walking cane for a little while since my knees bothered me after sitting. We walked to the reception desk. Water ran from my eye and I used the tissue to blot the tears on my cheek.

"Here's your card for your next appointment," the receptionist handed me a card, which I couldn't read. I thought it was from my eye watering. I handed it to my daughter. I thought that, maybe, this is why they wanted you to pay before seeing the doctor. You might not be able to write a check after seeing him. But, of course, the person with you could take care of that.

"He wants to see you in a week to check how your eye is doing. If it turns really red, call us right away." She turned to talk to the person working beside her.

We went out to the car. My daughter was driving.

"The drops!" I said. "I thought they were supposed to give me some drops. I didn't get anything."

My daughter went back into the office and returned with a small bottle of eye drops.

I had read, online, about someone who had a shot in their eye. They said that, after their injection, riding in the car really bothered them. They finally solved the problem by just closing their eyes for the trip home. Now I understood what they meant. Things seemed to just whiz by, if I looked out the side windows, almost making me seasick. Light reflected off the back of parked cars like big, bright, half rainbows. The bending and distortion of objects also tended to make me a little sick at my stomach. I closed my eyes and held the tissue over my eye. I didn't like to ride this way, unable to see where I was going and what was around me.

At home, I put the drops in the refrigerator and fixed a cold washcloth to put on my eye. I walked to the couch in the den, sat on the reclining section of the couch, took off my shoes, and put my feet up. I turned on the tv to watch an old movie. I would spend a lot of time here, with the cool washcloth on my eye, listening to an old movie, in the next few days.

I didn't have nerve enough to look at my eye until later. At least we knew the answer to what would happen when they put a needle in the eye. It didn't deflate, fall out, or have all the juice inside to run out. I remembered being cautioned so often about standing on a chair and holding a coat hanger. I was told that an older girl had put her eye out when she was on a chair, with a coat hanger, and fell. So, wouldn't a needle also make one have to get a glass eye?

I couldn't help but think about the rhyme we used to say as children. "Cross my heart and hope to die; stick a needle in my eye." This was about the strongest promise one could make. I never dreamed anyone actually would do that, for legitimate reasons. But, I had just had a needle stuck in my eye.

When I finally did get the courage to look at my eye, I was horrified to see the bottom lid drooping some, and the top lid hanging a little. It was only a little pink in places, so I was sure that the doctor had avoided hitting a blood vessel. I guessed that it would clear up quickly. He had done a good job. The drops and cold packs would probably tighten the lids up again, and make my eye clear up soon. It did feel a little like something in my eye, like a piece of hair, perhaps. So, I kept pushing hair away from my eye-some of it real, some of it just the way my eye felt.

I had survived the shot and now looked forward to going back to the doctor to get it checked in a week. Hopefully the extra blood vessels would have stopped forming, the bleeding avoided, and my vision would start improving. I tried not to think about the injections that had been scheduled for every four weeks during the next year-possibly two years. I needed to think about the positive, and the "right now", and not dreading the rest of the shots. Hopefully, they would all be as easy as this one had been. Still, I was a bit uneasy about how long it might be before the discomfort would go away and I could see better. It was manageable for now. Soon, I may be able to continue drawing, painting, writing, and riding in the car with less distortion.

"Okay, You Can Go Now" was painted on 140 # Strathmore watercolor paper using Winsor Newton watercolors. Acrylics were used on the eye chart.

I hope that you will share this with anyone who you think might be interested. I am curious as to what others with AMD, or similar problems, experience. My original idea in starting a blog was to share what I have experienced so that others might be better prepared when it happens to them, or that others might relate to what they, or those they know, have already experienced.

Other subjects and memories will be posted on my blog, but I thought it best to post my AMD experiences in order, as they happened. You can see some of my other art work on my Google group, Art -By-Cecelia. I hope you will jon that group and get updates when I have added something to my blog or pages. Also, take a look at the interesting Authors and Artists, and Interesting Sites section of my blog. Check back when you have time, and enjoy!

Vision-Male Blue Eye Looking at Me

Male Blue Eye Looking At Me 9" x 12" watercolors
The pink and purple clouds continued to swirl and fold over after the injection for Wet Macular Degenertation in my left eye. I was still alone in the examining chair, waiting for the doctor, who was a retina specialist, or his nurse, to return and tell me if everything was okay and then send me home. They had told me that they were going to let me sit a while, then would return to check the pressure in my eye. If everything was okay, I could go home then. My daughter had left to pick up her sons after school and would return. This was taking longer than she had planned. We thought that there would be a quick shot in the eye, then I would be sent home, if my eye didn't deflate, fall out, or if I fainted or something we couldn't even imagine.
I had gone from seeing bubbles in a dark fog, to confetti raining down in the dark, and a pink swirl of clouds with part of a man's face appearing in the center. He couldn't be there, I knew, but I was seeing him. And who was it that I was seeing? I struggled to try to remember who it could be.
My fear of the shot was fading a little, and, now, I wondered if this person in the room with me was something to be afraid of. Was I dead or dying and someone was here to take me away? Was it someone to comfort me? Is this someone I know or knew? Or could this be something evil to fear? Could this even be Jesus, not looking like the pictures in the Bible or in church, but more like an average person today? Was I about to have a religious experience?
As the clouds continued to float in the room, the face slowly lifted his gaze and began to turn until he was facing me. He looked straight at me, staring, unblinking, steady.
"Who are you? What do you want? Are you really here? Do I know you?" I whispered.
No answer.
"You aren't really here." I thought it might vanish if I confronted whatever it was. But, it remained. Just an eye, and the surrounding area, staring at me. He had the coloring of someone with red hair and his eye was a bit red as if from lack of sleep or drinking-maybe irritated from allergies, or even crying. There was no pupil that I could see, but a light reflected in his blue eye. I thought it was from the large light that the doctor had used above my chair. But, wasn't that light turned off when everyone left? His eyebrow was lifted a little. Was he questioning? Examining? Friendly? Disgusted? Accusing? Sad? Evil?
I was a little frightened, but I didn't move. I just looked back, then tried looking away. He was still there, a little further than where the doctor had stood in front of me.
"Tell me who you are!" I demanded. "Why are you looking at me?"
No answer. He just looked at me with that blue eye.
I felt that I may have seen that eye before, but where? And who did it belong to? I wished that the doctor or nurse would come back so this whatever-it-was would either go away, or this thing would have to show its whole self to all of us. I hoped for an explanation.
Was I dying, having a hallucination or a reaction to the medicine, going crazy? Perhaps this was someone who appeared to comfort me, to take care of me, or maybe it was something entirely different-something evil and frightening. Angel or devil. Or some kind person from the past.
I didn't dare to move too much, but I sat, holding onto the chair arms and wiping the water that ran from my eye to my cheek with the small tissues I had been given.
Thinking of the other things I had seen, beginning with the bubbles, I felt that I should just try to relax, sit back, and enjoy the art show that I was passing in front of me. A special show, just for me.
I was still a little hot, at times, but thought that it would be good to take a deep breath, avoid fainting, and enjoy the parade of different kinds of pictures that were coming before me. My own private art show. One that, perhaps, no one else was given access to see. I had seen things that seemed abstract, and, now, this part of a face that I was seeing was almost classical and realistic, somewhat like the beautiful ancient Roman and Greek sculptures, the paintings and sculpture of Michaelangelo, and others who were able to portray the human figure so realistically.
The skin in this face seemed to be touched with a little gold and the clouds were pink, with the exciting Cobalt Violet where the clouds rolled over.
While I sincerely admire realism, what comes from within me is more expressionistic. Instead of fearing this eye I was seeing, maybe I should just admire and appreciate its classical qualities.
Still, I couldn't help but wonder who I was seeing and why.
"Male Blue Eye Looking At Me" was done on Strathmore 140 pound watercolor paper using Winsor and Newton watercolors. The pale purple color is Cobalt Violet. I used touches of thinned white acrylic on the edges of the clouds. In some places, in order to lighten or lift color, I simply blotted with tissue while the color was still wet.
The above doesn't show the true colors of the painting, completely. In the scan shown above, the yellow is strong and the eye appears to be more green than blue. In the actual painting, the yellow area around the eye is more flesh colored and the eye is definitely blue.
(At least it looks that way, to me. One of the problems with AMD is that people have problems distinguishing colors such as dark blue from black. I always thought that was part of aging and that most people have it after a certain age. I've had that trouble with my clothes, especially, for quite a few years. If I take them into sunlight, I can tell which socks are blue and which ones are black, but in normal light that is hard to differentiate. Since I learned that I had AMD, I find that I also have trouble sometimes with colors like light beige and lavender. It could be the cataracts as well as the AMD, not to mention that little muscle in the eye that becomes slow to focus as we age, and was the cause for me having to get reading glasses and bifocals about 20 years ago. Now, I'm reading things, except for very small print, without glasses. At least I can when I am close to what I am reading and there isn't too much waving, distortion, blurring, bright lights, or that annoying purple spot that sometimes appears in the middle of what I am trying to see.)
Most of the time, when I scan a painting, if it is small enough, I just put the original on my scanner. For larger things, I either scan them in parts or scan photos. On my computer, the colors are more true. I've noticed that when I add them to the blog, occasionally, the colors are a bit different. I will try to note a difference when I post.
It would be interesting to find out if others have had similar experiences when they had injections in the eye. Could it have been the medicine, as the doctor had said about the bubbles? Or perhaps this was something akin to the out of body experience I had when I had surgery a few years earlier. I wasn't anesthetized during this event, though. I did have eye numbing medicine put in several times. Other people had told me that they would probably give me something to calm me down and relax me before they started, but that didn't happen for me. I told them I was scared and the doctor only answered that this was normal, and went on about what he was doing. He seemed to be an excellent doctor, and highly prepared and skilled.