For two and a half years, every new person who comes into my house has stopped dead in their tracks and said some version of "wow" when they notice the painting that has been hanging at the base of my stairs, facing the front door. The title is Reflections and Clouds, and the artist is my stepfather. It's easily in my top five favorites of all the paintings he has done, and that's really saying something. He's hugely talented, and he has been honing his craft since before I was born. He has been through all sorts of styles, tried any number of genres, and there doesn't seem to be anything he can't do. My house is covered in his paintings, mostly originals and a few prints. I have abstracts, still lifes, and a few landscapes and other works. He gave me my first original that I was allowed to keep back when I was twenty years old, and I have treasured it ever since. In every house I've had since then, over a dozen of them, I have placed Toward Vishnu Temple where it's the first thing I see when I wake up. But some of the paintings around here do not belong to me. It was hoped that when we first moved here, I could hook him up with one of the local galleries, and place some of the pieces that he removed from his last gallery when he became dissatisfied with their arrangement. I tried at first, but I discovered I'm not very good at being a sales rep. So now I have seven paintings that don't belong to me, and I've become quite attached to all of them right where they are.
From early June through late July, it will be my stepfather's turn to have a retrospective of his art displayed at the Oklahoma state capitol building. They have been featuring local artists, and we are all extremely excited that he was selected to be one of the stars of this show. He's been preparing for months, deciding what to offer up the art selection committee for display. He didn't ask me, but I knew I had to offer the jewel of my collection for this show, especially knowing that I don't own it and it is, in reality, still for sale. He sent me very specific packing directions so that it is shipped safely, and I have dragged my feet putting the container together. (It's one of those several vital projects that formed a logjam, leaving me unable to do even small tasks.) I started the crate today, and I've been struggling with keeping the cats out of the way while I work, and with cutting a straight line in styrofoam with a steak knife. I can't wait to see how wobbly my lines with a jigsaw will be once it's time for the plywood. This package had better be as secure and indestructible as it appears from the sketch. I'm putting all my effort into getting it right. I'm throwing in the cat hair and dust mites for free. A little gift from my Pride to him.
I want all of you to be able to see my stepfather's art. If you live in Oklahoma, or drive through in June and July, stop in to the state capitol and see it. If you can't get there in person, you can go to his website, and click through the portfolios. Visit www.gaarart.com.
I'm splitting my time finishing the crate with checking a livestream on my computer. A few months ago, I was fascinated by the Cupcake Kittens, after my friend from high school clued me in to their existence. They were already almost a week old when I discovered them. This time, the same dulcet-voiced foster parent from British Columbia has a new calico mama about to give birth. I will get to witness live kittenbirth for the first time ever. But Calypso the Cat has been taking her own sweet time going into labor, and now that labor has begun, she doesn't seem in any hurry to squeeze out a single kitten. I can hardly stand it, wanting to see what the babies look like. She is entirely content to keep them with her as long as possible. Let the Tiny Dancers go, mama.
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