HOT SHOWERS

My father was a very clean man with a ruddy complexion that always glowed. He'd stand in the shower until the water ran cold, then emerge crimson. As weak as he was from the cancer, he insisted on taking a shower daily, and did so right up until his last week of life. He'd pad up the stairs and get the water running until steam filled the room. I'd help him out of his clothes and watch him lift his edema filled legs and feet up and over the edge of the tub. I'd stand outside the shower juggling his morphine pump with one hand and the shower curtain with the other - just praying he didn't fall.

The shower's steam blended the existing smells into a dank, musty mix: morphine, medical adhesive, the plastic shower curtain, the recently flushed toilet, acrid body odor, and the rubber feeding tube with its incessant leak. I had inherited my father's acute sense of smell - making it a mutual and unspoken appreciation for just how pungent this blend truly was. I know it pissed him off being the source of such malodor. I'm not sure if this was the actual "smell of death" they speak of or just death's overbearing cologne.

I'd help him wash his back, legs and feet; he'd wash his face and genitals. And like every shower he had ever taken his entire life, he'd stand there until the water ran cold.

* and excerpt from my cancer memoir CAR DEALER'S DAUGHTER

THE SUMMER SEA

I've been dreaming of the summer sea: rolling above - roiling below - lifting and leaving pebbles in layers (who knows how deep) to bake in the sun like salted potatoes. Russets, Red Rouge, Yukon Golds, Peruvian Blues, and Purples - fat, waxy, and round; it's a balancing act walking atop their warm, arched backs in search of the perfect shell.

As the sea tumbles in, they grumble and moan - sounding as if they are tired and a little fed up. As the sea washes out, they seem to have had a change of heart... they're singing! They seem lighter on their feet - more rested and hopeful - as if they are willing to give it another try. 

* I sculpted, then painted these pebbles and shells - trying to capture the summer sea. 

CUTE-SEA

It can be a real challenge to paint children. Their bone structure hasn't fully developed yet - making it difficult to distinguish planes. Their skin is perfect - not a wrinkle or fold to help tell the story. Plus, they are so darn CUTE it's a hindrance; it's tough painting "cute" without painting "cutesy." These two guys were fun to paint. The contrast of their skin tones was helpful; the eye glasses were a nice hard edge contrast to all the unblemished skin going on. And whatever was happening that was causing their little hands to fold like the gentle waves behind them was "cute" without being "cutesy."