POST #189: REAL LIFE, NOT ART

 

I’ve never believed in miracles or magic or a God who cares whether I live or die. I wasn’t taught to believe at an early enough age to accept things that don’t make sense. There’s a rational explanation for everything and if I don’t know what it is, it’s only because I haven’t learned it yet. There is no one to answer my prayers, no matter how nicely I ask, and If things go wrong, I have only myself (or society) (or just plain bad luck) to blame. God had nothing to do with it. He/She/It couldn’t care less. I am not even a mote of dust in the eye of an unfathomable universe. The truth is, I matter to myself alone and to an ever-diminishing circle of family and friends. I’ve never depended on luck, played the lottery, bet on horses, or tried to convince myself that a serial philanderer would make a good husband (as one of my friends just recently did). I’ve always been realistic about my chances for success. I may not like “reality”, but unfortunately, it is what it is. I’m rarely disappointed because I was taught at an early age to only expect what was possible.

“There’s no pie in the sky when you die. It’s a lie!!” (Depression era song)

While I’m probably never going to be in a Whitney Biennial (my goal was to be the oldest artist they’ve ever shown), there are some things I might realistically expect: I can hope to keep getting better, producing artwork that doesn’t go straight into the dumpster after I’m gone. I’ve had a long, interesting life, a loving marriage, contributed to my community and raised three outstanding children and six dynamic grandchildren with my first great grandchild coming in a few weeks. I try to get to my studio every day; I’m not always happy with the results, but at least I try to produce something worth keeping after I’m gone - and not just to re-use the canvas.

The last few years of the pandemic have been difficult for everybody. We choke behind masks, avoid our usual haunts. I haven’t been to Curley’s Diner (my favorite hangout) for years! My main form of socializing is an infrequent trip to the city dump (aka the Katrina Mygatt Recycling Center). Don’t laugh! it’s the most interesting place in town!) I come home triumphant, with books to read, old records to listen to, and beautiful dishes to give my granddaughter for her new apartment in Brooklyn.) A free treasure hunt; the best kind.

Speaking of God (see first paragraph), I had an interesting encounter with Him a few nights ago, just as I was about to fall asleep. It turns out that He does look like the image of God in the Sistine Chapel Ceiling (who knew?) with a long white beard.  I was in a good mood; I’d had a very productive day, and despite my lack of any religious beliefs, I found myself saying “Thank you God” while I was falling asleep.  And, much to my surprise, God actually responded from up     above me somewhere - in the deep, sonorous voice one would expect Him to have. “You’re welcome,” he replied politely. Oh my God, God has good manners? I started to laugh, and God, catching on to the absurdity of our interchange, started to laugh along with me, a hearty belly-laugh that spun its way through the Universe.

I fell asleep, happy to know that God (whoever or whatever) and I had a similar sense of humor.