Archives For thoughts

The sound of a few tiny footsteps brings me out of softly nestled dreams into the awareness of morning. It’s 6:45 on Sunday, and I open my sleepy eyes to a beaming, messy-haired and snaggle-toothed 7-year-old, who greets me with a whispered “Happy Mother’s Day Mom!”

Mother's Day breakfastShe holds a tray, taken off one of our nesting tables, set with her own well-intentioned version of breakfast:

  • a bowl of now-mushy cereal
  • a peanut butter granola bar
  • the “prettiest orange” she could choose
  • a little candy heart made out of tootsie rolls and leftover Easter candy
  • a small glass of milk
  • a rose pulled out of her dance recital bouquet
  • and a homemade card

Her Batman-footie-clad little brother comes pattering in soon after, with a handful of stickers and drawings especially for me. They also picked out all the yellow tubes of various paints from their own art kit, since yellow is my favorite color.

As I ate my – ahem – delicious breakfast, being eagerly watched by little expectant faces, I felt grateful for every too-sweet, soggy bite.

Peter Ilsted, "Girl Reading"Later in the morning, I followed a white rabbit down the Google trail, discovering art techniques and artists previously unknown. A Danish artist from the turn of the 20th century captured my interest, with his “Sunshine and Silent Rooms.” Peter Ilsted, along with several of his contemporaries, created paintings and prints of clean, sunlit rooms with calm, still figures…very beautiful, very peaceful, very quiet. The pieces were so calming, I couldn’t help but pause. It was as if the only sound to be heard was the rhythmic ticking of a clock on an unhurried day; snapshots of ordinary places, ordinary moments, yet full of beauty and grace.

Inspired by the tranquility of Ilsted’s work, I sat down in my own quiet, sunlit room and sketched my two older children, who were quietly playing with a few small toys at the coffee table. While drawing their busy little hands, my daughter’s crossed feet, my son’s little nose, I felt so grateful for the ability to absorb each detail in this every-day moment, and so happy to be a mom on this Mother’s Day.

Sunshine and Quiet Play, graphite sketch

Sunshine and Quiet Play, graphite sketch

“How wonderful life is while you’re in the world” -Elton John

Time Goes By

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 10, 2013 — 2 Comments

We arrive in our Mazda 5, which we affectionately call the “mini mini space van.” I’m dressed in my skinny jeans, a loose silky top, my iPhone in my pocket ready to snap some pictures. We walk hand in hand, the kids, my mom, and I, down the street in downtown Birmingham towards the flickering sign of our destination. We wait outside the stage entrance with other families, shivering and huddled against the unexpected cold Sunday air. Most parents are holding phones…sending texts, posting Facebook photos of shivering ballerinas, tweeting a comment here and there about waiting. Finally the doors open and we usher our tiny dancers inside.

Walking around the corner, we follow the flood of locals into a glass foyer, moving slowly in the crush. The area opens to an atrium, and time seems to shift.

The crowd seems to change in my minds eye. The jeans, phones and sandals give way to an elegance from an era past, one of red lipstick and gloves.

Alabama Theater, original photography

Alabama Theater, original photography

The ornate ceiling is bathed in a golden light; rich, red velvet drapes archways and staircases. Moravian stars light up the mirrored accents; “As Time Goes By” drifts into my senses, played softly in the background. I was enveloped in a glowing, decadent atmosphere that transported me to the Alabama Theater’s heyday of the 1920s and 30s.

We make our way to our seats, and I take a moment to entertain the baby by, once again, exploring this beautiful space. We’ve been there several times before; in the Summer, the Alabama Theater plays movies like The Wizard of Oz, Gone With the Wind, Indiana Jones, and Cinderella, and they hold concerts and performances periodically. The impact of the place never gets old, never fades.

I took some photos of our visit, using a lens/film combination that brought out the richness of the place. I hope you enjoy:

For more info on the Alabama Theater, including its restoration, visit http://alabamatheatre.com/about-the-alabama/history/

You must remember this 
A kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh. 
The fundamental things apply 
As time goes by.

Soundtrack to Art

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 8, 2013 — 2 Comments

Back in the day, I might have made an Art Mixtape. It would’ve been awesome. I would have made several to keep on hand and pop in “ye old tape player” as needed: a mixtape for those days of “Existential Flu“; a mixtape for those productive days full of eager creation and purpose; a mixtape for days spent drawing cotton fields and pigs.

Mix TapeFor me, art and music go hand in hand. I can draw and create with children on my back, showing me lego creations and spilling paint, as long as I have music to help me ride me above the chaos. Music imbibes life into each stroke of my pastel. It helps me work quickly and, well, musically; loose and free marks are capable because music carries my thoughts and keeps me relaxed.

Music gives expression to complicated thoughts. As I look back on the soundtrack of my life, I can associate songs with different phases. Songs of searching and even despair when I was trying to find my way in the world; songs of triumph and energy when I’d found a path to follow; songs of ease and depth when my life feels full and rich.

What songs are on your playlist? What music gives expression to your life? What music aids you in your art?

 

Here are a few of my current choices:

The Lumineers, Mumford & Sons… for those much-needed “art days,” when I am free to create as I choose

The Alabama Shakes… when I want to relax

Old Crow Medicine Show & Johnny Cash… for those pigs, cows and cotton bolls

Some past choices that have run their course, but you never know if they may see a resurgence: Norah Jones, Coldplay, Bob Marley, Jack Johnson, Madeleine Peyroux, classical piano

 

He was full of emotions struggling for expression…

The Survivor, E. Phillips Oppenheim

 

Some of my art inspired by song: 

Dancing in Clover, ink sketchLovely Girl

The Honeysuckle Vine

Carousel

Dancing in Clover

You can learn a lot of things from the flowers, for especially in the month of June. There’s a wealth of happiness and romance, all in the golden afternoon. … 

-Alice in Wonderland

Honeysuckle Vine, Ink and Pastel Pencil sketch on paper

Honeysuckle Vine, Ink and Pastel Pencil sketch on paper

A quiet Saturday in May, we decided to take a stroll through the neighborhood. Our boy on his bike, Spiderman helmet secured; our eldest first trying out her roller skates, then after squeals and crashes, switching to her bike, sans training wheels; the baby in her stroller until Mommy’s hip sounded like such a better place to ride; Daddy helping the cyclists-in-training.

Golden Afternoon, original photography

The sun shining golden through the shade trees, heavily laden with rich green leaves, adds warmth to the unusually cool Spring day in Alabama. We wind our way in an unplanned pattern through the web of streets and sidewalks. As we’re admiring the fresh cut grass of a friend’s home, half-jealous as ours is still in need of a trim, a sweet scent teases our senses. Briefly caught on the soft breeze, the smell conjures immediate memories of childhood. For a moment, we are all enveloped in a completely carefree moment, gathering around the happily discovered honeysuckle vine, relishing the tiny drops of nectar that hide inside each flower.

A song floated into my mind on the tails of the honeysuckle vine, and I slowly spun and danced down the street singing it to my giggling dimpled baby girl, as the big kids successfully pedaled home. I noticed a neighbor on a porch mid-(not-so-graceful)- spin and, I’m sure, badly sung version of the Alice in Wonderland tune, but I shrugged off any embarrassment and continued our freely twirling walk home, experiencing for a moment that pure, open and innocent enjoyment of all the good things in life.

 

What’s the point?

Mary Liz Ingram —  April 28, 2013 — 3 Comments

“Ah, ignore me. I’ve got a touch of existential flu”  –Inspector Lewis, “Soul of Genius”

Every now and then I have a bout of artists angst.

The Point, original photographyMy creations seem worthless, foolish, juvenile attempts. I ponder questions of the meaning of life, of my daily doings. I wonder internally and externally “What’s the point of it all?”

After purposed distraction away from my “existential flu,” I am able to reflect upon firmer footing. I hear quiet, in-progress answers.

The point of art, of “platform-building,” of more Twitter followers, more Facebook likes, more blog subscribers, art shows…well, of everything really…the point of it all is to share.

At least to me, at least today.

Sometimes our efforts are directed toward success: fame and fortune. Probably not gonna happen. I honestly can’t name a single “famous” living artist. I can name successful, well-known local artists, or respected artists in this particular group or that. But an overarchingly world-famous modern day artist? Not your household name.

Hoping for posthumous fame? It could happen…but why strive only for such a slim, seriously almost impossibly slim, chance? Not my goal… (I mean, hey, if I turn out to be amazing and take the world of art by storm, and am remembered throughout future history, I won’t complain).

Fortune? I sell art  in a satisfying amount, at what I hope are reasonable, accessible prices… Not seeking my fortune.  (yes, I have a day job, as most artists do…)

At this point in my life, the point of my strivings are to collect and share.

To collect pieces of beauty, depth, purpose; to evoke memories, some form ofgoodness, to encourage reflection and change, to share truths small and large as I find them.

It may sound mushy; “sentimental hogwash,” if you will. But I think it is a worthy endeavor.

I think this “point of it all” can be applied everywhere in life. To share what we can with our fellow beings. To share support with those who need it, to foster environments of safety & respite where it is lacking. To share peace & beauty when things seem dim, to share some sort of goodness in a world that holds on to much pain. To share a presence and an understanding that life is not easy, and you are not alone.

“We’re all in this thing together
Walkin’ the line between faith and fear
This life don’t last forever
When you cry I taste the salt in your tears”
-Old Crow Medicine Show

It seems to be a normal part of life that days never proceed as planned.

Office PrankI’m a planner…a list-maker extraordinaire. At work, I’m known for my broad use of sticky notes, so much so that the other day I found my office covered in notes, a joke from a supportive friend and coworker.

My expectations are so regularly thwarted by the not-unwelcome interference of life in family and community, that I’m slowly learning to relax and enjoy each moment as it comes, whether its on my list or a curve ball from left field.

As an artist with a “day job” and young family, art usually must take a back seat. I don’t have as much time as I used to for reflective, (I won’t even try to say uninterrupted) creativity. When I encounter a long stretch without creating, my mood definitely drops and I have to find a moment for at least a quick sketch.

My baby girl is about to turn one year old; my son will be starting kindergarten at elementary school in August; my 1st grade daughter has lost four teeth and can write her own stories; I’ve been married almost 11 years to my wonderful husband. Those busy days that usurp my sticky-noted lists are bearable-and enjoyable- because I know how fast time flies.

One morning before school, an amazing teacher and friend spoke in tearful reflection about her youngest daughter in her last year of high school. She shared some very wise, yet simple words that have settled and taken root in my heart:

“I look back on when my kids were young and realize it didn’t matter if my house was clean. Time with them has gone by so fast.”

I think of those words and that emotion often. When I get frustrated by my derailed plans, or my crumby table, or the mountain of laundry, I look at my family, at the trees, at my hands, and remember that life comes as a gift to us, one day at a time.

If I don’t relish life as much as I can, as each moment passes, it seems to pass like water through my fingers.

I am thankful for this day and all that it brings; may my eyes be open to its moments, and my breath be deep enough to absorb the minutes and make them count.

“Always remember that the future comes one day at a time.” -Dean Acheson

Making a List

Making a List, charcoal and conte sketch on paper

It was a few weeks ago, I was driving with the flow of before-work traffic, sipping my blessedly fragrant coffee out of my travel mug and listening to NPR, while my son counted repeatedly to 100 and my baby threw her toys around. I heard snippets of an interview with Facebook CEO Sheryl Sandberg. Between listening to counting, stopping and going down the highway, and planning for the day ahead, one piece stayed with me: Sandberg’s favorite workplace poster: “What Would You Do If You Weren’t Afraid?”

That got me to thinking. Mary Liz, what WOULD you do if you weren’t afraid? That half-answered and waiting question floats in and out of my head from time to time.

What would you do if you weren’t afraid…

I would stand up for what is right, for what I believe is good and true. I would take action when opportunity arises to make the world a better place.

I would do these things in spite of fear of what others would think, who would disagree, who might think of my beliefs with distaste, or question me. If I were not afraid, I would be a better person, I think.

So I’m going to try to take steps as they come, to do more good with less fear. I’m sure the lesson should be much deeper, the deeds greater, but you have to start somewhere.

So I start here. I support and want to encourage equality among people…we are all human, we all feel love and hate, sadness and joy; we are a mixed up lot and disagree so much because we are all unique. But no matter our circumstance, we are in this together, in flesh and blood, living and breathing. We all have a story, half-hidden, so do not judge; I won’t judge you.

“Be kind. Everyone you meet is in the midst of a great struggle.” -Plato

Marriage Equality, 3x3 pastel on card

Marriage Equality, 3×3 pastel on card

Lovely Girl

Mary Liz Ingram —  March 11, 2013 — 2 Comments

 

Nora Grace, 8x10 pastel on paper

Nora Grace, 8×10 pastel on paper

Baby Nora

An unexpected gift to our family, this little girl is joy in the flesh. Sweet and soft, small and patient, she is a little light, bringing dimpled grins wherever she goes. Each time we hold her, we breath in life a little more deeply, pause and linger over the moment with a little more care. The gratefulness we feel because of this precious girl is inexpressible. I spend each day gushing over her: squishing her cheeks, waiting for her smile and her sweet, tiny voice to call for me. She lives surrounded by love, as I hope she always, always will.

“Lovely girl won’t you stay, won’t you stay, stay with me” -The Lumineers

My kind and ever-patient art critic

My kind and ever-patient art critic

It’s the moment when your artist’s angst is at its peak. Your anxiety and self-doubt threatens to swallow you whole as you contemplate your progress, your vision, your work-in-progress. You turn and address your spouse: “Woe is me! I am but a worm in the world of art! This eye is not right! This brush stroke out of place!” The profuse encouraging support fails to reinflate your confidence. You know something is artistically awry and such flattery falls on deaf ears. You ask for serious improvement suggestions. Bad idea.

It’s the moment when you soar in self-satisfaction over your seemingly greatest achievement. Your triumph is palpable as you gaze lovingly at your finished product. Eyes misty and senses blurred, you see only an image of perfection. Then you look more closely. And you see a flaw. Then another. You turn and address your loved-one: “I thought it was perfect! But, alas, I see flaw after flaw after flaw! How can I remedy this calamity?!” You’ve asked for a critique of your art-baby. You’ve opened yourself up to criticism. From a much loved, highly involved relation-of-sorts. Bad idea.

Whether in highs or lows, we are all – not just artists! – so very sensitive to criticism. I know when, in my own personal melodrama, I’ve asked for my husband’s honest and open and I-promise-not-to-get-upset opinion, it is a farce: I will get upset. It’s like asking if you look fat in a dress. No answer is acceptable.

True, true…art is free and open and without rules. As artists we can paint or draw or sculpt or carve however we want, whatever we want, and who’s to say if it is good or bad, right or wrong, perfect or imperfect. But, still…some things are better than others, and most things can be improved.

So, our lesson for today is this:

Don’t be so hard on our invited critics.

Or else don’t ask if the metaphorical dress makes you look fat.

My poor husband…how does he put up with having an artist for a wife!

“Let us go on talking about ourselves and our own particular little niche in life. The world is too vast a place.”The Colossus of Arcadia E. Phillips Oppenheim

Today I read a blog post by one of my fellow artists that encouraged the art of self portraiture. Hmm. Not something I do very often – ahem – I mean ever. I’m not a big fan of photos of myself, much less drawing my face.

But there is something fascinating about an artist’s self portrait. It is a window into their life, their thoughts, their persona reflected in their own creation. I browsed the web for self portraits and came across a Russian artist from the early 1900s with whom I was unacquainted.

Zinaida Serebriakova self portrait

Zinaida Serebriakova self portrait

One of the first Russian women to gain real fame in the art world, Zinaida Serebriakova painted images of her surroundings and the people in her country.  She valued life and beauty, worked in oils, charcoal and pastels. She was a wife, mother, daughter and experienced her share of tragedy during the revolution in 1917.  She began her successful art career as a young woman, and painted many beautiful self portraits that stand out to me because of her charm, her smile, her friendly, welcoming expression. The props and surroundings she chose give you a glimpse into her life: paints and brushes, her children, her dressing table with jewelry, perfumes and combs. I was fascinated by her. While most self portraits portray serious expressions, without hint of smiles, Serebriakova’s portraits intrigue me with her pleasant, almost mischievous grin.

I began thinking on my own self portrait. What would I include? What expression would I depict?

We all seek to be known. Continue Reading…