Reflections On A Sad Anniversary, and Inspiration

Jean Tucker, circa 1947

age 23

Today is the eighth anniversary of my mother's death.  I miss my mother every single day, but I don't feel sad today.  Instead, I feel grateful that she is no longer suffering from the rare neurological disease that robbed her of movement and independence.  It was no way to live.  Through the years, I find that acknowledging these anniversaries in some way is helpful to me.

When I opened Robert Genn's newsletter today it seemed perfect.  One of the biggest struggles after the loss of my mother, which came just under 2 years after the death of my sister, was the ability to get into the studio and make art.

Jean and Rex Tucker, 1945

ages 21 and 25

Please take a moment and read his article.  It may resonate with you, too.

Rediscovering your inner artist
Yesterday, Darryl Daniels of Montgomery, AL wrote, "I lost my 'inner artist' over a period of years when I was taking care of my grandparents, trying to run a business and dealing with the challenges of marriage, etc. I stopped thinking about art and was knocked off course. While I now have art magazines, books and other forms of stimulation, I can't begin again and I have persistent feelings of failure. When I think about what I have not done, the work ahead seems like an overwhelming mountain. How does one recover from this condition?"

Thanks, Darryl. I'm willing to bet that every artist in the history of art has suffered from your condition. Some suffer for months or years, others weekly, others several times a day. I'm suffering from it right this minute, but there's a good chance I'll be back to work as soon as I get this letter written.

Generally speaking, books, magazines and other stimuli don't work. You have to steel yourself up and get yourself busy. It's the work itself that rocks the mountain. If there ever was such a thing as an "inner artist," it's something like a pile of loose bricks that you have to form into a small monument every day. This is the simple difference between dreamers and doers. I call it the "worker's edge."

A goodly part of the worker's edge is the knowledge and understanding that your personal creative processes are their own reward. Painting, for example, can be a parade of minor defeats and failures, but nevertheless the personal and individual working process is more positive than negative. Up here in Canada we call it "beavering away." Beavering can start at any time, even with old beavers. Our national animal serves us well. Beavers pay little attention to the overweening mountain. Simple accumulation changes the course of rivers.

What happened to your inner artist? Your inner artist has just been temporarily out of action. Your basic human instinct to invent, create and build is still just below the surface. To flourish, you need to exercise. Ready or not, you need to start. The philosopher Lao-Tzu (604 BC--531 BC) said it some time ago: "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

Best regards,

Robert

PS: "Just keep going--no feeling is final." (Rainer Maria Rilke)

Esoterica: Failure is a basic ingredient of success. Simply accept the notion that failures are the stepping stones to your greater self-realization. Looking at art magazines will only show you how imaginative others are, and how well some of them are doing. The time to look at magazines is after a busy day in your workplace. You need to know your inner artist will come to life only when you start. Now is as good a time as any. "Boldness has genius, power and magic. Engage, and the mind grows heated. Begin, and the work will be completed." (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe) 

I miss you all.  Every day.

Mom

M Jean Tucker, circa 1945

My mother died seven years ago today.  I've had her on my mind off and on all day, as you do on days like this.  She was 78 years old, and had suffered from a rare neurological condition called Corticobasal Degeneration.  It was a horrible, degenerative condition with no known treatment.   It was the kind of thing that is so awful to witness that all you can do is feel relieved when it is finally over.  I miss my mother, but I wouldn't wish her back under those circumstances for anything.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corticobasal_degeneration

Before she retired she was a tough broad.  She worked for the Department of Investigation for the Feds.

She used to go into places wearing a wire.  She investigated Medicare and Medicaid fraud.  She put a lot of bad guys in jail.  She had an unlisted phone number.

Her last few years were very difficult.  I commuted back and forth between San Antonio and Topeka KS, where she was cared for in the wonderful medical unit of Aldersgate Village.  Her caregivers are my heroes, as are my husband, my friend and alternate roommate, Billie, my other "sistas" (you know who you are) and my mother's (and my) dear friend, Pauline.  Each of you made a difficult time so much better.  My husband supported me throughout, never complaining about my absences and the extra burden this put on him at home.  There are simply no words for this kind of loving support.  Billie opened her home to me, a shelter in the storm, in Topeka.  I cannot imagine what it would have been like without your loving support through those years.