History and Hope

"Mourning" Oil on panel, 6" x 5"
by
Cynthia Oliver. 1998

In my initial post, The Beginning, I added an image of a painting of mine titled "Awakening". This blue painting is its companion piece, titled "Mourning". Both were painted quite a number of years ago, yet have continued relevance for me today.

These paintings were about my feelings regarding the death of my first husband. I did them many years after he had died. I think that the making of these paintings were acts (or maybe just descriptions) of walking through that grief and moving into a time of light and normalcy. For some, a symbolic ritual act of saying goodbye to their loved one is a way to mark a moment of moving beyond their loss. I believe these paintings were my ritual act.

"Mourning" is dark and even a touch flat, but there is some bright and hopeful color that reads through. I was waiting, working through the sadness in hopes of finding myself back in the world without the burden of grief. I always had hope that time would come, and it did. But it was slow in the coming. Wounds take time to heal. Even after the healing, there is a mark, a history, a scar that describes the history of a trauma experienced. Perhaps these paintings are the marks of history. I couldn't say for certain. In some ways, they are things I am unable to fully explain.

"Awakening" describes being able to step back into life. This description of coming out from under grief is hopeful in it's color and warmth and movement. It's a description of gratitude and growth, and of coming back into the brighter warmer time on this pathway I am walking along, and acknowleges history without losing hope.

Lending Voice to Thought

A line of scripted dialog has been traveling repeatedly through my thoughts. It was spoken by Toby Ziegler, a character on the television series West Wing. It's his line -Toby's line- ruefully, dare I say woefully delivered, that I continue to ponder. I'll paraphrase as I don't recall the exact quote. It goes something like this:

"I lent voice to thought, and that was my mistake..."

I've been thinking about that turn of phrase ever since I heard it. I have regrets of words I have spoken that should have been left unsaid. Lending voice to thought. It's something to be considered well.

Crazy Color

"Daphne II" Etched glass drawing 9" x 11"
by Cynthia Oliver. 2005

For the Hogle Zoo art show, they allow three entries for submission. The main piece for my submission is "Curiosity and Her Keeper". But the focus of the etchings that I have been doing is portraiture. So These two images are portraits of a large female giraffe at the same zoo...from the same day. I learned after the etchings were made, that her name is Daphne.

I love the foreshortening in this first portrait. She's rather lovely, no?


These etchings are done on colorless transparent glass. To photograph them, and provide contrast, I placed them on a black cloth. The "Curiosity..." piece did photograph black, but for some reason the color in the portraits appears blue.

Crazy color, or crazy camera? It does occur to me that I don't know how to take good pictures.

"Daphne I" ~ Etched glass drawing 9" x 11"
by Cynthia Oliver. 2005

Curiosity and Her Keeper

"Curiosity and Her Keeper" etched glass drawing. 10" x 38"

by Cynthia Oliver, 2005

I decided to do some pieces I could submit to the Annual Hogle Zoo Art Exhibit with thoughts toward some etched glass drawings. I visited the zoo to do some sketches and gather images of specific animals in hopes of capturing a moment or two worth depicting. What I found when I arrived, with the temperature being a mere 15 degrees, was a zoo empty of visitors. Most all the animals were indoors - unavailable to me. There were no elephants swimming in their pool and the great apes were behind glass and impossible to take photos of. A baby orangutan, seven months of age is on display for an hour a day with her human caretakers (nursery nannies), and although I spent an hour watching her delightful antics and explorations - she never sat still long enough for me to capture her sweetness on paper or film. There are no more polar bears at this zoo, regardless of the perfect winter weather, and the lions and tigers have been moved to a quiet and private spot while the Cat House is under renovation.

Undaunted by the absence of some of the animals I was hoping to observe, I knew where to find the giraffes, and their viewing area is available to the public where we all could be warm. I was there with friends, and we watched them for quite a while as their keeper was cleaning out the enclosures. One of the giraffes watched her keepers' every move and often would touch the top of his head with her soft mobile lips, or nibble at the handle of the broom as he cleaned the floor. In response, he would occasionally reach up a hand to her without even looking. A small gesture, a little touch in return with the tips of his fingers. The giraffe and her keeper doing their friendly dance, comfortable with each other in their daily routine.

This is the story I wanted to tell.

The Beginning

"Awakening" Oil on panel. 6" x 5"
by Cynthia Oliver 1998



So this is my beginning. An opportunity to meditate or focus on life and art. Particularly mine and on occasion, that of other's. It feels a bit self conscious, a bit egoist to do this in such a public, or potentially public way. It also feels vulnerable. I feel vulnerable, naked and fat. If I were naked and thin, I wouldn't mind being naked...But I want to be honest, and that won't be so simple when I know I have an audience. To be honest, I have to edit out the confabulations that make me think I look good. I'd like to look good, but looking that good isn't terribly interesting, and I want to be interesting.

This introspection stuff isn't going to be easy.

I want you to see in me, nothing but brilliance, wisdom... stability. And for you to be in awe of my creative soul - my creative accomplishments. But I am none of those things. At least not always or often. Sometimes I'm brilliant, or wise. Occasionally I'm stable, level, mature. I do have moments of creative industrious drive that gets me moving forward with good strong work that has a voice and says what needs saying. Then there are more frequent times when I'm none of those things. There are more days than not, that I walk into my studio with my coffee in hand (God forbid I should start my day without an entire pot of coffee), and I go directly to my computer and bring up a bulletin board chat room devoted to kiln formed glass art. It's a soul-sucking place. A time-sucking place, and a place I go so I don't have to think about the work I am not doing. It's a place I go so that I can talk with people who have the same fascination with warm glass forming that I have, to talk with folks who do the same kind of work that I do. Mostly I go there to avoid having to start the day. I also go there because there's frequently the opportunity to watch (and even to participate with) other people behaving badly.

Insecurity, jealousy and fear run rampant on this warm glass bulletin board. Weekly accusations of work being copied can start a thread that will go on and on for pages. The numbers of members online will increase and you just know they are watching the latest train wreck that was started over a discussion of politics, religion, Art vs. Craft, or copying.

I think we're tired of politics, so now the big topic is copying. I was accused of copying. I felt blindsided, it was hateful and malicious and I know now that it was about attention seeking and drama rather than copying...But at the time it was more drama and meanheartedness than I personally needed to have going on in my life. But I recovered.

Now I read the train-wrecks of threads for the amusement of seeing the usual suspects stir up drama at least on a weekly basis. It's beginning to feel more like Peyton Place with emoticons, than a bulletin board. It has become a fix where I can find out who's copying who (rather than who is sleeping with who), and who is waving about virtual threats of law suits and public shaming. Emotions run high as we debate ethics, politics and religion. Even discussions of books can create a brouhaha. It's an adrenaline rush, a stimulant, like my pot of coffee. I feel my blood pressure rise, the hair on my head prickle a bit, and I'm hepped up and hooked. I want to see who will be the next to be accused, who will be the next to be publicly shamed. It's a drug I take daily. A drug I use to get out of my own head.

In part, this blog is a new beginning for me to take me away from that time and soul sucking bulletin board, and into a bit of self awareness. Exposing this obsession I have with a virtual bulletin board community is embarrassing. I'm embarrassed that I am enmeshed in a virtual neighborhood and that I am affected by their opinions, their commentary, their accusations. But there you have it, the fat part of being naked. My life is not full enough of real entanglements and engagements to keep me connected to the real world, so I spend a great deal of time, trying to fill those holes in a virtual one.