It is taking all that is in me to continue being positive about all this bloody rain. Yes yes, I know the farmers are grateful for it, as is my basil, but honestly, enough is enough already. Weird things, the likes of which we have never seen in these parts, keep popping up in shocking abundance. Shelf fungus and every imaginable kind of mushroom. Bizarre! The mosquitos have reached Biblical plague proportions, and now, NOW the mold is off the charts. It is KILLING me. I’ve had itchy eyes and throat paired with rapid fire sneezing for weeks now.
This weekend though, my body finally just gave up. I’ve had a miserable encounter with a sinus infection. There has been much moaning, crying, clutching at my throat, and NyQuil induced comas. (The coughing aching stuffy head so you can pass out and not care if you’d rather be dead medicine) For a person who is mildly claustrophobic, being unable to breathe through one’s nose is a complete nightmare that requires heavy sedation. I’m such a weenie.
I have been useless and irritable beyond all imagining.
But, there was one (and only one) shining moment.
My Luke, being the first kid and all, has been struggling with his need for his drawings to look, “real.” It bothers him to draw a dog that does not look like a real, fur and blood dog. I’ve tried to explain to him that part of what makes his drawings wonderful is that they are his unique vision. This, however, has been met with so much eye rolling that I have felt sure that he would pull some occular muscle.
So, while laying in a vegetative state watching CBS Sunday Morning, I heard that this weekend marked the anniversary of Van Gogh’s tragic death, and had a brain storm. I brought out some long stashed away laminated works of famous artists and showed them to my boy. (You can find still find them here)
We talked about how they all looked different from each other, and from the “real” subjects that the artists must have been working to recreate. We talked about how they were all famous for their unique visions. A slow smile spread across his face. “Mama, can I have some paper?”
“Look Mom, my tree is different from Monet’s tree!” (with excitement rather than disappointment) “It’s unique!”
It wasn’t long before James (who never, ever, minds being unique) was in on the artistic process.
His rendition of Matisse’s “Pot of Geraniums”:
And my personal favorite, the one he calls, “The Government on a Horse”
All this excitement over famous artists and their creations is making me ache to take my guys to San Antonio for a visit to the McNay art museum. It was there that I first understood the power of art, 12 or so years ago.
Standing before Monet’s Water Lilies, seeing them, in person, changed forever my ideas about art. When you personally witness a piece like that, and you see the texture of the paint, the enormity of the work, when you stand inches from it and can grasp the genius that it must have took for a person to clump bits of dollops of paint into something so beautiful, well you can’t help but walk away changed.
In his own way, my Luke tasted that feeling this weekend, and oh that’s the very best kind of medicine.