It’s been twenty years since…

I nervously took my first art class in 2000 at Spring Hill College. My professor’s kind but direct handling of me and my work turned out to be exactly what I needed. Unlike my peers, I was just discovering a penchant for art– not at eight, but at eighteen.

And so for four glorious years I learned about design, lines, shapes, the toxicity of certain oil paint mediums and what a complimentary color was. I painted alongside people who grew to be my friends, or at least my art friends and, surprisingly, I seemed to fit in just fine with them despite my late start and my introversion. We played music on CDs in our shared studio spaces and occasionally ordered pizza to the art building late at night when a big project was due for critique the next morning.

The lively chats with other artists, the readily available squeeze of white paint when I’d run out, the eagerly shared piece of charcoal when I’d worn my down to dust, vanished when I walked across an outdoor stage in black cap and gown on a very hot day in May of 2004. 

What followed was ten years of making very little art in my makeshift and quite solitary studios, and then another ten years of making a whole lot of art, but still very much in isolation. 

That is, until last month. 

I met artist Leanna Garcia when she came to check out my gallery not long after I’d opened it. It took three seconds for us to connect on things like the brand of paint we like best and the art fairs we’ve done, but most of it was of the “the struggle is real” variety that takes on a less woe-is-me tone when someone truly gets it. In his book The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis describes it this way: “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.” 

We eventually decided to turn that joyful  “you too!” of discovery into an actual piece of art. In our first session, we did more sipping of the wine than dipping of the brush, or, in our case, palette knife. I scribbled recklessly on an ipad while we proclaimed new ideas with more enthusiasm than the last. That first day our 4 foot by 4 foot painting ended with two washes- one in the center, hot pink (mine) and one on the perimeter, warm gray (Leanna’s) and not very much else. The painting wasn’t really started, but it certainly was primed.

The following sessions went more swiftly. There was still chatter, but this time it was accompanied with lots of painting. Although we are both known for our thick application of paint, I was surprised to see how differently Leanna laid it down, almost pressed into it whereas I am more inclined to scratch and scrape. Also different was her palette choices, consisting of glorious out-of-the-tube colors she was happy to apply directly to the canvas while I was still mixing the various red, yellow, and blues I learned about on my first painting class syllabus. 

Although we did all the painting together, meaning at the same time, what started as a clear line between this is your part and this is mine, ended with us painting the colorful interior flowers together in a artistic dance akin to musical chairs where we’d each paint for a minute or two on one  section and then rotate to the next to continue the work of the other. So while Leanna solely painted the white exterior flowers and I solely formed the birds, the blossoms and the leaves we both contributed to in a kind of crescendo towards the painting’s conclusion.

At the opening night of our exhibit entitles “Connection” where we displayed “Together” for the first time alongside a joint exhibition of our individual works, we kept hearing the same thing: ya’ll are so similar and yet so very different.

Which is the human condition, is it not? And maybe the appreciation of which might be the antidote to many of this world’s woes. When we fail to see our differences, we miss rich opportunities to grow, to learn, to expand. When we neglect our sameness, do we not belittle and oppress?

“Together” is a celebration of unity and diversity. It is learning about what we share in common and gaining new insights into that which we do not.

Since our project, I have invested in some of the beautiful paint colors Leanna introduced to me– a small change that has enlivened my current paintings and added a new spark to my studio time. I am excited by the new color combinations and possibilities and am enjoying the reprieve from constantly mixing all my colors simply because that was the way I first learned to do it those many years ago. Small changes. Big impact. 

It’s taken me a while to really reflect on the experience of working alongside another artist again after so many years of going at it alone. The more I look at our final piece, the more I see in it the blessing that has been the friendships in my life and the ways they’ve engendered something beautiful, often times from darkness, lonlieness, or uncertainty.

After trying to for weeks now, I was finally able to write the following blessing to accompany the painting, prints of which will be available soon. Each print will come with a copy of the blessing, but if you’d like a free printable version now, just enter your email below and I’ll send you a download.

 

A Blessing for a Friend

Bless you, dear friend

For sitting in the dark with me

Cupping your hands around

this fragile light

Until a flame flickered

Flew out towards some newness

Like a hummingbird to a fresh bloom

May you know:

The comfort of companionship

The endlessness of hope

Universes we can uncover and create

Together.

 

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Written by Denise Hopkins

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It’s been twenty years since…

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What is Good.

I will defend my position with the gusto of a hummingbird claiming her spot at a busy feeder: the currently popular sentiment (as evidenced by mugs at every home goods store and tank tops on instagram), “good vibes only” is not only unrealistic but also irresponsible. I know my cheery demeanor, my flowery art, and my proclivity for wearing bright prints might fool you, but my inner world is often highlighted by metaphorical thick black eyeliner and a “sad songs” playlist. I mean, have ya’ll even watched the news?

That’s why when my therapist suggested I start considering the good in the many frustrating situations I bring to her sofa, I held back an eye roll. 

But she got to me. She really did. And I remembered this artist I heard on a podcast a year or so ago, Jennifer Drinkwater, who started a project she calls “What’s Good” where she goes to different communities, asks the folks there what’s good and then does a painting. She donates some of the sale back to that community. The words “what’s good” from her project kind of hummed in my mind for days until I finally said enough already, and I got out a journal and started making a list under the bold, all caps words WHAT IS GOOD?

My first list included things like smoked paprika, the plant I saved by drowning it, sage advice from a mom who knows everything about small things: buttons, stains, gardenias. I tried (and failed) to be poetic about a drizzle of olive oil which was “precisely what the toast was missing.” 

Later my list seemed to always feature the breeze or the objects it was stirring to life with movement. Porches make several appearances in my lists as do expressions on my family’s faces.

The daily lists helped. I’m as shocked as anyone, really. So now that’s how I start my days, using it not as a way to deny or downplay the sadness and frustration that are very much a part of any human life, but to acknowledge that goodness, wouldn’t you know, always exists right there beside it. When I am blind to it, life is just less truthful. And if I had to get a mug with some word art on it, I think I’d opt for “tell the truth” or some cuter version of that. I’d also just settle for replacing “only” with “also”: good vibes also

So, my friends, will you tell me, specifically, not in general, what is good today? Can you zoom in on something for me? For whatever reason saying “my family and friends” isn’t as transformative as a particular freckle or a sudden gust of wind on a certain color flower. 

I’m looking for some studio inspiration and I think this might just be the thing. Can’t wait to hear from you.

Comments

Written by Denise Hopkins

More From The Blog

It’s been twenty years since…

I nervously took my first art class in 2000 at Spring Hill College. My professor’s kind but direct handling of me and my work turned out to be exactly what I needed. Unlike my peers, I was just discovering a penchant for art– not at eight, but at eighteen. And so for...

read more

Mary Oliver’s “Hurricane”

I had two friends reach out recently about hardships they are facing. The kind of hardships that feel so unfair, so unnecessary. Both times I immediately thought of Mary Oliver’s poem, “Hurricane” which I have taken to reading nearly every morning. I’d love to create...

read more

Blessing for when things don’t go as planned

  Tell me about that person, again? The one whose life unfolded exactly as they’d hoped and planned it would? The one who by doing all the right and warranted and acceptable things, got exactly what she’d expected? No really, if she exists, please tell me about...

read more

Mary Oliver’s “Hurricane”

I had two friends reach out recently about hardships they are facing. The kind of hardships that feel so unfair, so unnecessary. Both times I immediately thought of Mary Oliver’s poem, “Hurricane” which I have taken to reading nearly every morning. I’d love to create a new piece inspired by this poem. The painting above is one I created during my January 31 in 31. It’s kind of the general idea of the new painting I’m after, but I’m still thinking it through. Your insights and thoughts are always welcome and very much appreciated!

 

Hurricane

 

It didn’t behave

like anything you had

ever imagined. The wind

tore at the trees, the rain

fell for days slant and hard.

The back of the hand

to everything. I watched

the trees bow and their leaves fall

and crawl back into the earth.

As though, that was that.

This was one hurricane

I lived through, the other one

was of a different sort, and

lasted longer. Then

I felt my own leaves giving up and

falling. The back of the hand to

everything. But listen now to what happened

to the actual trees;

toward the end of that summer they

pushed new leaves from their stubbed limbs.

It was the wrong season, yes,

but they couldn’t stop. They

looked like telephone poles and didn’t

care. And after the leaves came

blossoms. For some things

there are no wrong seasons.

Which is what I dream of for me.

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Written by Denise Hopkins

More From The Blog

It’s been twenty years since…

I nervously took my first art class in 2000 at Spring Hill College. My professor’s kind but direct handling of me and my work turned out to be exactly what I needed. Unlike my peers, I was just discovering a penchant for art– not at eight, but at eighteen. And so for...

read more

Mary Oliver’s “Hurricane”

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Blessing for when things don’t go as planned

  Tell me about that person, again? The one whose life unfolded exactly as they’d hoped and planned it would? The one who by doing all the right and warranted and acceptable things, got exactly what she’d expected? No really, if she exists, please tell me about...

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Blessing for when things don’t go as planned

 

Tell me about that person, again? The one whose life unfolded exactly as they’d hoped and planned it would? The one who by doing all the right and warranted and acceptable things, got exactly what she’d expected? No really, if she exists, please tell me about her.

My youngest didn’t make a sports team he wanted to recently, and I could feel his disappointment jabbing at every lost expectation I’ve ever had– from the similar experience of not making a team to the searing pain of pregnancy loss, to the countless pieces of art rejected by shows and juries. 

I resisted every urge in me that wanted to jump right over the pain and directly into the fanciful but empty silver lining. I wanted to tell him that maybe this was a good thing; that maybe he would work hard and make it next year. Instead I held onto him for too long and let him tell me how unfair it was, how much he wanted it, how important it was. “That sounds terrible,” was all I could offer, and a humble offering it was, indeed. Everything else I almost said was me wanting to fix what wasn’t fixable. I have more often than not tried to meet pain with control– they do not get along.

Disappointment feels so helpless. 

I wrote the blessing below because I wanted to comfort my child without dismissing him. I wanted to witness and hold his hurt, and I really wanted to say I have great hopes for you still even though this particular and precious one has turned to dust. 

The painting that starts this post is a little wrapped up in all of this, too. It’s called “Holding on, Letting Go”. I didn’t cover the subject’s eyes this time because there was a longing there I wanted to honor. And, appropriately, this painting started off quite differently but didn’t work out. It hung in the gallery as a mostly abstract piece before I took it from the wall and started again waiting for newness, which always seems to arrive but never seems to be in much of a hurry. 

 

Blessing for When Things Don’t go as Planned

How disappointing–

Your feet never touched the ground of your vision

Your ears never heard the music of your hope

Despite that chorus of well- meaning voices

Certain of 

Second, third, and fourth chances

Or, God forbid (yes, please, God, forbid it)

“Everything happens for a reason”

 

That path with those blades of grass

That song with those notes in that order

 

Is irrevocably lost

 

Blessed are you who longed for what never came

Blessed are those bold enough to seek glory 

 

May you know it

 

out of

not because of

heart

break

 

May unimaginable newness be ever available to you

And may it be perpetually patient

As you mourn what mattered

What won’t be. 

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Written by Denise Hopkins

More From The Blog

It’s been twenty years since…

I nervously took my first art class in 2000 at Spring Hill College. My professor’s kind but direct handling of me and my work turned out to be exactly what I needed. Unlike my peers, I was just discovering a penchant for art– not at eight, but at eighteen. And so for...

read more

Mary Oliver’s “Hurricane”

I had two friends reach out recently about hardships they are facing. The kind of hardships that feel so unfair, so unnecessary. Both times I immediately thought of Mary Oliver’s poem, “Hurricane” which I have taken to reading nearly every morning. I’d love to create...

read more

Blessing for when things don’t go as planned

  Tell me about that person, again? The one whose life unfolded exactly as they’d hoped and planned it would? The one who by doing all the right and warranted and acceptable things, got exactly what she’d expected? No really, if she exists, please tell me about...

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On the seven hundredth day…

 I do a painting a day every January to set the tone for my year, establish strong creative habits, and to make sure I prioritize my art which, over the years, has become synonymous with prioritizing myself. But when February (finally) came, as it always does, life hit like a tornado of weird schedules and unforeseen obligations, and I went two whole weeks without ever opening up a tube of paint or holding a palette knife. I thought I might drift off into the ether where no art is ever made, no motivation ever found. I thought having been untethered from my daily ritual, I’d be lost forever. 

And maybe I am, just a little.

But during the second half of the month, I found my way, almost sheepishly, back into the studio and slowly tried to get back to it even amid what still felt like chaos. And then a totally unencumbered afternoon approached me just when I’d started to think they no longer existed. I thought about it. I agonized a little. And then I met the afternoon not with a paintbrush but with a long and quite unnecessary nap. 

During that nap, I dreamed of my paintings and saw exactly what they needed. Where I needed to go with them. I saw the lines and textures. I saw the way the colors needed to interact with one another.

Just like that my nap became some of my most important work. 

Can I say that again maybe a little differently? My nap became some of the best work I’d ever done. 

I know not all my decisions to rest instead of produce will be so on the nose. But the message was clearly received: Rest is not just some unfortunate part of the creative process but absolutely vital to its efficacy. 

My oldest stepson is a brilliant musician– the kind of person who seems to be made from and of rhythm and sound, for whom it comes so naturally– he’s the unencumbered fish and the rest of us have tanks and gear just to last a few minutes underwater. 

But he got injured, nerve damage likely from such a rigorous practice routine. And he put away his trombone for a while. A long while. 

Yesterday, I heard him, via video, play again after such a long hiatus. And what can I tell you except that, even on my phone, it was deeply moving, beautiful, stirring? There’s no way I can be certain, but I do wonder if his long and no doubt frustrating, maybe agonizing, break added something ineffable to the music. Did it pour forth from a deeper well or was it like a delicate wine, aged and ready?

If music is an ocean, this land dwelling/non-swimmer can’t really answer one way or the other.  But I have great hope that rest matters for all of us. That to fill every silence is to cease to have music, to paint every corner is to eradicate art. 

I wrote the blessing below back in November, but it means more to me now as I’m learning from my dreams as much as my actions, my silence as much as my voice. 

I’ll be the first to admit this is tricky, delicate. Where’s the line and what’s the balance? I’d love to know how and if you find both time to rest and time to hustle and how you know when each is called for? Do you feel guilt or shame for resting? What are we supposed to do with that? Looking forward, as always to your wisdom. If you’ve got a second or two let me know your thoughts in the comments.

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Subscribe to Blog via Email

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Written by Denise Hopkins

More From The Blog

It’s been twenty years since…

I nervously took my first art class in 2000 at Spring Hill College. My professor’s kind but direct handling of me and my work turned out to be exactly what I needed. Unlike my peers, I was just discovering a penchant for art– not at eight, but at eighteen. And so for...

read more

Mary Oliver’s “Hurricane”

I had two friends reach out recently about hardships they are facing. The kind of hardships that feel so unfair, so unnecessary. Both times I immediately thought of Mary Oliver’s poem, “Hurricane” which I have taken to reading nearly every morning. I’d love to create...

read more

Blessing for when things don’t go as planned

  Tell me about that person, again? The one whose life unfolded exactly as they’d hoped and planned it would? The one who by doing all the right and warranted and acceptable things, got exactly what she’d expected? No really, if she exists, please tell me about...

read more