NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #30

78 and counting – March 1917

I began writing about the process of aging nine years ago as I approached my 70^th birthday.  Reflecting on the arc of my experience, a pattern seems to be emerging suggesting an evolution in my response to this inevitable process. This 8^th decade can be thought of as a tunnel we must pass through, a little dark and scary in the beginning, but gradually becoming lighter and easier, with the promise of relief at the end. We enter knowing we are still young, and leave knowing we are old.

Some observations from my first 8 years in the tunnel:

1.     A combination of amusement and disbelief that I could be 70 years old.

2.     Confronting the question – What defines old age?

3.     A growing interest in my past – childhood, family, memories

4.     Reaching out to old friends and family

5.     Struggling with my work and with ambition, aspirations, and expectations

6.     Recognizing the physical and mental implications of ageing

7.     Eventually finding old friends becomes less important

8.     Slowly seeing and accepting myself as “old”

9.     Aging gradually transitions from an abstraction to reality.

10. Growing appreciation for the role of fate in determining our future, (There but for the grace of God go I.) and the opportunity to make it this far.

Aging is primarily a physical process. Remaining “young at heart” does

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #29

COMPRESSING TIME

October 2016

At age 77 I am aware of how compressed the remainder of my life is becoming and the tension this creates within me. There is still work to be done, aspirations to be met, and lofty dreams that refuse to acknowledge a limited future.

The problem is not that I have not done all that I set out to do, but that I continue to discover new paths that I want to travel, and more work that I want to do. My art is slowly improving, but there is so much more to learn.  Forty years ago I promised myself, and my patients, that I would strive to create the best work I am capable of doing, and I have not yet done that…I know I can do better. I recently had the opportunity to see some outstanding art that has inspired me to push the boundaries of my own work. At the same time I saw several pastel paintings of mine that were completed about 15 years ago, and realized I wanted to return to that medium that holds so much promise.

And there is more. I want to write. I am enticed by the satisfaction and fulfillment of conveying an idea, a message, or a memory, using words instead of paint. Writing has become as important to me as my art. Beyond the craft of writing, is the desire to share my story and the lessons life has taught me.  I believe I have something to offer, in spite of the doubts and insecurities that constantly hang over me. 

When I look into all the tomorrows through my rose colored glasses I see books and essays waiting to be written and paintings to be painted, a daunting challenge because I still need my quiet time for reflection as well as my afternoon nap. So much yet to do – so little time – so much insecurity and doubt – so much stress – and I would not trade it for anything. I consider myself fortunate to be right where I am.

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #28

   TO BE MORE THAN I AM

March 2016

 

 

How do we become the person that we are? How much control do we have in defining ourselves? If we are fortunate, life offers us the opportunity to grow and develop as persons, to become what we were intended to be. The circumstances affecting our lives are many, and their influences range from the most minor, to the most significant: heredity, family, and financial and economic status all play a role, as does the unpredictability of fate.

How do we define ourselves? Occupation, personal beliefs, passionate interests, family, and socio-economic status are some of the criteria we can use, personal choices we much each make for ourselves.

Looking back I see now that I have always wanted to be more than I am. This has been especially true with my art. From the very beginning, I entered our local art world (Wilmington Delaware) with unwarranted boldness and optimism. I had grand ideas for my future that would remain with me for the next 35 years. It would be inaccurate to say that I’ve been driven in pursuit of these aspirations, but I have certainly been committed to be the best that I could be. I imagined my work being represented in several “good” galleries, as well as commercial success that went beyond my local market, and over the years have had a measure of success in this regard.

I can see now that many of my aspirations were naïve and some were unrealistic.  But it was that naivety that allowed me to achieve what success I have had with my art. Now, in the later years of my life, that naivety is tempered with reality, and the new challenge is finding a way to balance these sometimes opposing forces. After 77 years…the piss and vinegar and unbridled optimism and enthusiasm have given way to a more measured version of the same. The goals are not as lofty, but the commitment is still there. Perhaps this is the time to really focus on improving my craftsmanship and pushing at the borders of my comfort zone, in both the art and the writing. ?????

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #27

JUST SAYING

2015

 

Is life about becoming the person we are? Or perhaps the person we choose to be, or think we should be. Which ever it is, it is an ongoing experience, evolving, hopefully growing and maturing, and not remaining stagnant and stale. If my life has been a series of “becomings”, at this age, what more can I become?

I may have abused my work, leaning on it too heavily, relying on it to give meaning and purpose to my life. Over the past several months my art and my writing seem to be unable to meet the demands placed upon them. I find myself lost and drifting through the days with no direction and no deeply engaged purpose. I can’t fine the center. More than anything else, I want to be strong and resilient, sustained by an inner strength that enables me to withstand all the challenges of life’s circumstances.

We interact with life two ways, with our feelings and with our intellect, and we are best served when they are in sync with each other, in a healthy balance. Each has the power and the ability to overwhelm the other, or to lift it up when needed. I believe I have relied heavily on my feelings to direct and give purpose to my life, and on my intellect to hold me up when the feelings were failing me.

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #26

Standing on their Shoulders    

2015

 They had little to give but themselves, which they gave freely and abundantly.  Josephine, who never knew her father, at age eleven had to leave her home, quit school, and move into an apartment with three older brothers to assume all household duties. Spartaco, known to all as Duke, lost his mother when he was eight years old. The youngest of four brothers, he left school after the eighth grade to work on the family farm, while his brothers and 3 older sisters completed high school and college or business school. Unrelenting hard work, financial insecurity, and more than their share of personal disappointments and illnesses defined their life on that small farm. Comfort and happiness were found in their large, extended family and friends.

It took forty years of living for me to fully appreciate all that these two remarkable people have given to me.

My mother died in December 1991, and my father in the autumn of 1995. I am 76 years old, and not a day goes by that I don’t think of my parents. I don’t know if this is unusual for someone my age, if it is because I was an only child, or if it’s because I am such a sentimental softy. I suspect the real reason is because they were remarkable people, and that they gave me so much. Ironically, in spite of all the writing that I do, writing about them is very difficult for me because I’m afraid I will not do them the justice they deserve.

I believe that I am the person I am because of my parents. Whatever I have accomplished of worth, or may yet accomplish, is the result of the gifts given to me by my family. 

The greatest of these gifts was a sense of self worth and self-esteem, which have allowed me to choose some of the difficult paths I have followed in my life. I believe there is no greater gift parents can give to their children than a strong sense of their own self worth.

My parents taught me about love; they taught me about tolerance and forgiveness, and they taught me about humility. They showed me that a person of worth treats everyone with the same respect and warmth, and that behavior toward others is determined by their humanity and not by their social position or importance.

They never spoke about these beliefs; they simply lived them because that is who they were. Pretention was foreign to them. I am convinced my life is a reflection of those two remarkable people, and I want it to be worthy of them. My greatest responsibilities have been to live a life honoring their gifts and to pass these gifts on to my children and loved ones. 

Where do I go from here?  The journey is far from over, and I don’t get to choose when it ends. I have lived the last 40 years embracing the life I felt called to live. Perhaps it is time to recommit myself to that task.

After 76 years I’m still standing on their shoulders.

THE CONDUCTOR AND THE ARTIST

THE CONDUCTOR AND THE ARTIST

 

We were listening to the Paducah Symphony Orchestra’s last concert of the season. I have absolutely no knowledge or understanding of music, let alone classical music, which puts me at a disadvantage when it comes to appreciating the scope and the nuances of the music. But I can appreciate the passion it evokes in the listener and even more, the passion so clearly obvious in the musicians and the conductor, especially the conductor. 

The musicians were, for the most part, limited to facial expressions imposed upon them by their instruments of varying bulk. But the conductor - his every emotion was betrayed by his body movements, and when visible, his face.  First he stood very still, and the orchestra was quiet, then his arms began to move gracefully in purposeful arcs and the music followed. Suddenly the baton, an extension of his right hand began to bounce and gyrate, pulling his body along with it, and the music kept pace with every movement. Here was an artist immersed in his work with such physical and emotional passion. I was envious.

I can be engrossed in my work, sitting or standing and I may walk away momentarily and pace, which I do quite often. But to be able to experience the sound and the physicality of my work like the conductor did, that is something else. The best I can do is to have music blaring from a CD, Johnny Cash, Luciano Pavarotti, or maybe Queen.   OK…I have a confession to make.  On rare occasions, when I am especially moved, I will actually dance (I insist on calling it dance) around the studio, but not until I have checked to see if Patience, or anyone else could see me.

That is the difference between a symphony conductor and a painter. The conductor can let it all hang out in front of his audience.  The painter, at least this one, must be devious and sneaky. That is my opinion and I’m sticking to it.

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #25

A FUTURE BEYOND IMAGINATION

May, 2015

Who among us has not exercised their ability to imagine and/or fantasize about their future? From the time I had the mental capacity to do so I often imagined my future. I saw myself in medical school and imagined what life would be like as an intern and resident. I imagined my first medical practice years before It came to be, and when Patience and I decided to move to the country my mind was filled with notions and images of country living. I was living in Paducah months before I was living in Paducah. What ever it was to be, I could envision the next chapter in my life or the next stage of the journey…until now.

Over the past several years the future has been quietly slipping away from me. I can no longer clearly imagine what it holds for me. I’m not even sure I know what I would like it to be. For the first time I have no long term plans to lean on beyond my current studio projects. It has occurred to me that my future is in the canvas on the easel or the watercolor in progress on my drawing table, or perhaps the essay on ageing that I have been struggling with for the past several months. I will occasionally get caught up in a gust of enthusiasm over a new project and reclaim at least some vision of what may lie ahead for me, but it is never sustainable. I’m being forced to do something I have never been very good at doing…living in the moment.

It is all a bit disconcerting.

Arch. Drawing #32

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #24 I Saw the Future

I SAW THE FUTURE

2014

The temperature that morning was well below freezing. Snow was falling at blizzard levels creating a near whiteout, covering the ice that had formed during the night.  By the time the dogs were ready for their morning pee several inches of snow was on the ground.  As always, Patience escorted ancient Mama Pajama out, worrying the old dog would have trouble with the frozen brick steps of the breezeway. There appeared to be an accumulation of snow on the steps, which to Patience’s dismay was actually frozen solid. Instead of her foot sinking into soft snow as expected, it quickly flew out in front of her and she found herself suspended in mid air, before landing hard on her back with her right arm hyper-extended behind her head.

Somehow she managed to crawl back into the house and call for help.  I knew from the sound of her voice there was a problem and quickly ran downstairs to find her lying on the kitchen floor just inside the doorway.   She was pale, sweating, and close to passing out from pain and nausea, and was unable to move her right arm without causing her severe pain. After several tense minutes the nausea subsided and I managed to get her upstairs and into bed, place an ice pack on her shoulder, and give her something for the pain.  We knew she had to go to the emergency room, but didn’t know how we could manage that.  It was still snowing hard, and the streets and both of our vehicles were covered with ice and snow. Unfortunately I had cataract surgery several days earlier and was under strict orders not to lift over 10 lbs. and not to bend at the waist.  As I looked out our bedroom window at the awesomeness of Mother Nature I never felt so helpless.  Until you are told not to do so, you have no idea how many times you bend at the waist in a normal day. I did not consider myself an “old man”, but that is exactly how I felt, old, helpless, and dependent on others.  At that very moment, with the winter theater in progress, I understood the full extent of what old age might be like for me in the years ahead.  My only comfort was in knowing that my current incapacitation was temporary, although that was no help to us at the time.

Fortunately our despair was blown away by the thoughtfulness of a friend who called to check on us.  When we explained our situation Jason immediately came and drove us to the Emergency Room.  Later, when Patience was cleared to go home, (no broken bones or dislocations) he picked us up and delivered us back to 803 Madison Street.

Was this experience a glimpse into my future?  I don’t know.  But I do know that in addition to being grateful for the thoughtfulness of a friend, I will be grateful for every day that I remain healthy enough to care for myself and those I love.  I will never take them for granted.  And should the day come when I am dependent on others, I can only hope there are friends and loved ones to help.

LOST IN THE MYSTERY - HOPE IN THE UNKNOWN

For most of my adult life I have struggled with my faith, traveling a path that has taken me from an outsider to an active church member and Sunday School teacher, to a man of absolute faith, to a skeptic, to an atheist, and eventually an agnostic. Seeds of doubt and skepticism have accompanied me through all of these stages.

My skepticism begins with the most obvious challenges to my sense of reason: an immaculate conception and the resurrection of Christ.  In spite of my efforts, I simply cannot suspend my belief in the laws on nature and accept this narrative that is the foundation of Christianity.

For the same reason, I cannot accept the Bible as the word of God.  I believe it to be a collection of writings and stories written by men in their attempt to understand life, and the world around them, and by men inspired by their contacts with the remarkable teachings of the historical Jesus.

When I consider all that we know about the cosmos, our own planet, and the intricacies of all living things, from the physical to the physiological, and try to imagine a God who could create it all, or a “grand designer” who could set it in motion, I ask myself, why would such an amazing being, capable of doing all of this, decide the only way to reach some of his creations would be to send a man, born of a virgin mother, to preach in one part of this world, ignoring the rest of the worlds population? And then have him killed to save all men and women? It makes no sense, and for me, God has to make sense.

I have been asked, isn’t it possible that there exist things that are beyond our capacity to understand?   The only answer is yes, that is always possible.  But if you take that line of reasoning, it is also possible that somewhere there are pigs that can fly.  The question is not only is something is possible, but is it probable.

I can accept the possibility of some impersonal being or force – a grand designer or God – being responsible for setting everything in motion.  The result of which is the world we live in, a world full of contradictions, where love and hate, and good and evil, exist side by side. Humans have the capacity to create and destroy, and to nurture and injure.   We also have the capacity to imagine something better, and to create for ourselves a god to explain what we cannot explain.  I cannot accept the possibility of God as an objective reality, certainly not the God of Abraham, as described in the Old and New Testaments.  If there is a God who loves us, he has a strange way of showing it.

Unfortunately, I need God, I really do, and that is a difficult predicament for me to be in. It would be nice to have an unwavering faith to lean on in difficult times – and in good times also.  There is considerable comfort in the idea of a grand divinity that cares for us and will listen to our whining, pleading, and praises.  I’ve tried to find that faith, chasing after it for too many years.  Once I thought I had, but it was not meant to be.

Unfortunately hard science, in which I place a great deal of trust, is unable to explain all that I have experienced.  For the past 40 years the foundation of my life has been my trust in all things numinous: instinct, intuition, and a devotion to a spiritual center within me.  I have embraced this mysterious center as my soul and am not troubled by its conflict with the scientific.  One would think that this is only a simple step away from God, and that may be.  But I have not been able to make that step, so I have found contentment in this unknowing, while I attempt to understand the width and breadth of the human spirit.  If there is a God, this is where he will be found.

I have absolutely no doubt about the power of faith and the belief in a caring and loving God.  History tells us the remarkable stories of men and women who have accomplished incredible feats in His name.  In my opinion, faith in a higher power mobilizes forces within our selves, rather than divine intervention from above.  But what if the only way to access that inner power is by believing it comes from beyond our selves?

No matter how I look at this, and I have been doing so for all of my adult life, I end up in the same place…a spiritual life grounded in mystery… the mysterious unknowing.

NOTES FROM 8TH DECADE #23 CHRISTMAS EVE 2014

CHRISTMAS EVE 2014

I sat by the Christmas tree in my new recliner, a gift from Patience, listening to the Christmas music on my computer. The room was bathed in the warm light from the tree, and the house was quiet and still. This Christmas Eve solitude had become a ritual for me since moving to Paducah, a time of nostalgia for the Christmas eves of the past, shared with my children and my parents. I found myself looking forward to bittersweet memories with a sadness that was warm and comforting.  

But it was not to be. This year the memories remained warm and comforting, but the sad nostalgia was gone. It could not displace my complete comfort in the moment at hand, the feelings of loss that I experienced in previous years was replaced by joy and gratitude for the life I have now.

One more milestone in this journey we call life.

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #22

I’M JUST GETTING STARTED

Spring 2014

 

Gone are those “woe is me” feelings believing my best days are behind me, the result of misguided thinking that plagued me the first few years into this eighth decade.   I was convinced it was time to limit my aspiration and dreams, and distraught because I could not imagine a future for myself. My life’s work of the past 35 years was growing old and tired, or so I thought. My attitude was easy to read for those that know me well, and my daughters expressed some concern about my wellbeing.

However gloom and doom are not part of my nature, and optimism and trust are. I eventually found myself engaged in a year-long project, creating a book of drawings and painting – A Paducah Portfolio. Upon completion of the book in November of 2013 I found myself energized and eager to take on even larger projects, without concern about “limited years”. Suddenly my age was immaterial, and I knew I could do whatever it was I wanted to do. I was excited about the future and began making plans for new work, including one or more books of art. I had high hopes for 2014.

I spent the first part of the year working my way through a list of commissions, and although one of the anticipated projects never materialized, I worked at a slow but steady pace on the other (a portfolio of architectural art on Oak Park IL.)  I celebrated my 75^th birthday in May, an un-necessary reminder that I was getting older.  It was also the month I became a “community columnist” for our newspaper, the Paducah Sun. Having been harboring fantasies about becoming more that a hobbyist in the craft of writing for many years, this was a big deal for me, and I promptly began spending more time on the keyboard, revising and rewriting old essays and narratives, as well as producing new work. By the end of the year I was publishing one to two columns a month, and suddenly I found myself facing a new future, one where writing would play a major role in my life.

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #21

WHICH WAY ARE YOU GOING BILLY

MAY, 2014

I’ve been spending a lot of time recently conducting a personal retrospective of my work. Fortunately I have digital files of most of my artwork, as well as portfolios filled with drawings and sketches from the past 50 plus years. The volume of the work is impressive. Most of it is pretty good, some of it is very good, and some of it is not so good to awful. I have enjoyed seeing its evolution and have been sobered by the reminders of the failures. The experience has inspired me to move forward, building on the good while learning from the bad.

To a lesser extent I’ve been doing the same thing with my personal life. The Internet and social mediums allow me to reach out to distant family, and old friends and acquaintances, to rekindle old relationships, establish new ones, and to nurture cherished memories. 

The accumulation of years tends to push us backwards, ever deeper into the past. Nostalgia can easily become the default setting that drives our thinking. This is enhanced by another characteristic tendency of age, the reluctance to move forward into new and unfamiliar directions and the fear of re-defining ourselves. There is comfort and security in staying close to what we know. Most of the “some days” are behind us, and experience has blunted the unbridled enthusiasm of youth. This is the mindset that has characterized the first several years of this decade for me.

Fortunately it doesn’t have to be this way, at least not totally. Now, at the mid point of the 8^th decade, I find that with a little effort and a lot of commitment it is possible to find the proper balance between these opposing directions. Where we place the fulcrum depends on individual preferences. Reaching into the past can allow us to re-visit both the good and the bad, perhaps providing new insights on what we once thought, or did.  There may be lessons to be learned that will provide some guidance for what is still to come. Perhaps there will be an opportunity to complete something left undone, or to re-kindle or redefine old relationships. However, as helpful as “managing” the past may be, the real challenge is optimizing the future. I am beginning to feel that this will become the major focus in the years ahead.

The priority should always be on the future, as long as we are allowed to have one.

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #20

SEVENTY-FIVE

Spring 2014

Seventy-five, or 75, either way it’s a rather nice number, combining the number 7 with my favorite number, 5.  Maybe that is why I have treated this latest birthday with so much optimism and enthusiasm.  Gone is the gloom and doom that was seeping into my mind a few years ago, when I felt the best years of my life were behind me. It is true that lost opportunities cannot be recovered, but in their place are remarkable new opportunities - the chance to pursue dreams with a freedom and abandonment unfettered by the responsibilities of youth. I have promised myself to take advantage of this opportunity with newly re-claimed vim and vigor (meaning only one nap a day and staying awake until at least 9:30 every night).

In the last 5 years I’ve spent considerable time looking at the past, and will continue to do so because it remains rich with memories that I cherish, but the real focus now will be on what is yet to come. What makes this time so unique and unlike the past is not having so many other issues and tasks competing for my attention. There is a narrower and sharper focus that is enhanced by the uncertainty of the future. Every day, every week, every month is a gift.

I have a pretty clear idea of what I want to accomplish, and have set out to do so, one day at a time. I am excited about the future, and for this I am most grateful.

THE LITTLE MAN

Mom  1985

 

When I was a young boy, perhaps 4 or 5 years old, my mother would occasionally give me a special treat, unexpected and unrelated to anything I did or did not do or to any holiday or celebration. It was usually something to do with art: crayons, a coloring book, perhaps a set of watercolor paints, and occasionally there was a piece of candy or a pack of gum. She told me a little man had brought them for me, and I had no problem believing her. Although I never met this little man, and never inquired about his identity, he became an important person in my young life.

The little man quietly disappeared in the years that followed. I don’t remember ever asking about him, and although I may have forgotten him, he never forgot me. That little man gave me so much more than an occasional special gift. Quietly and without my awareness (blinded by the self-centeredness of youth), the gifts continued, gifts that would remain with me for the rest of my life, helping me navigate the years ahead.

The little man was remarkable, wise in ways that cannot be taught. He had the uncanny ability to see people as they really were, to understand them and be sensitive to their needs and their failings. One of his greatest gifts was the ability to make people in his presence feel appreciated and special. He was devoted to me, loving and caring, but wise enough to trust me to go out into the world to become what I was intended to be. He never asked for anything in return, and wanted only for me to be happy. I have spent my entire life standing on his shoulders, and intend to remain there until the day I die.

The “little man” left us on a gray December day in 1991, but her gifts to me, and to others in her life, have endured endlessly. 

Mom  1985

Mom & Billy Mattioli in our front yard circa 1955

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #19

RITES OF PASSAGE

February 2014 

An ageing doctor

There are several rites of passage that mark our entrance into the “senior years” of life. The first, the most passive of the lot, is the arrival of the Medicare card. I remember very clearly my reaction to seeing that card with my name on it: “this can’t be real!  I’m looking at a Medicare card with MY name on it. My father and mother had Medicare cards: what am I doing with one?” In all honesty I must say that my exaggerated bewilderment was accompanied by an amazing sense of relief and comfort, having just been several months without any medical coverage.

I got over it.

The second Rite applies only those who usually pee standing up – the dwindling urinary stream. Gone are the days of peeing over a bush into the neighbor’s yard. Now you’re happy if you can pee without getting your shoes wet.

I’ve had that problem fixed.

The third Rite…getting a cataract removed, and yesterday I had one removed from my left eye. The one in my right eye is next. I will spare you the details of this relatively simple (from the patient’s point of view – no pun intended) procedure, but I will share this single tidbit of information for those of you anticipating such an event.

Since yesterday morning I have had 1,219 drops instilled in the involved eye.

But it is worth it, because besides seeing the world better, I get to wear these cool Ray Bans.

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #18

MEMORIES - THE THREAD OF LIFE

February 2014

The past is not something we can leave behind. Even when we think we have, our memories, those remembered and those not, remain tucked away in the attics of our mind. Some are buried deeply in boxes never opened and covered with years of dust, and others are strewn about, easily retrievable on demand. Then there are the special ones, carefully kept in gilded, ornate boxes that we lovingly open from time to time, and finally there are those well-worn memories that we hold close to us and keep by our bedside as a constant companion. Remembered or not, these snippets from our lives are always with us. Memories create threads running through our lives, weaving a fabric of continuity and meaning that help us navigate the future. If our lives were books, memories would be the table of contents, directing us to a particular place and time.

It seems to be universal, the older we get the more we want to remember our past, and the events and circumstances that helped create who we are.  They become increasingly important, and we cherish them, albeit selectively.  Psychologists remind us that our memories are filtered by time, and cannot be taken as literal historic truths. Filtered or selective, their importance to understanding our selves cannot be denied, and they remain a vital part of the journey.

It was only after I reached adulthood that I realized how fortunate I was to have the parents and family that I did, and as a result, with very few exceptions, I have only good memories. Not everyone has been so fortunate, and I wonder how people deal with the pain and sorrow of bad memories as they make their way in life. Can they coexist with happiness and better circumstances, or do they have to be repressed and forgotten. 

Memories help us understand who we are, by showing us where we have been, revealing how the person we are has unfolded from what we were. They enable us to see the past with the wisdom of gathered years, often revising our impressions and allowing us to see what we may have missed the first time around.

I cherish my memories, holding them fast and close to me, even more as the years accumulate (something they inevitably do). I’m aware that the very old seem to go back into time, reliving the distant past. That gives me comfort; I look forward to pulling up long forgotten stories.

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #17 What a difference a year makes

What a Difference a Year Makes

2013 is the year that dispelled all the self-imposed age related restraints I had been laboring under in recent years.  The key word here is “self-imposed”, because my body has its own set of restraints that cannot be denied.  But they have no place in this narrative.

I had foolishly convinced myself that my best work was behind me, and there was no longer a place in my life for grand, sweeping aspirations and goals. My work would now be slow, deliberate, and a lot less ambitious.  (Picture a tired old fart sitting in his studio ever so slowly working at an easel.)  I was that close to putting myself out to pasture.

Then came the Paducah Portfolio, After working for months on large canvases in 2012 for a gallery show in which nothing sold, I reacted by focusing all my efforts on smaller drawings and paintings, and the Paducah Portfolio was conceived.  With few exceptions, I devoted the entire year to the project, and in the process wiped out all of my nonsensical notions about age and work.  It is impossible to overstate how significant this has been for me.

I am facing 2014 with a head filled with ideas of things I want to do, which I will approach with the attitude that I will live forever.

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #16

ALONE WITH MYSELF  

2013

Interesting things have been happening to me over the past four or five years, some of them physical, but many of them not. The subjective changes share a common theme – moving inward in my search for meaning and direction in these later years.

With each year, a bit of the world around me seems to melt away, leaving me increasingly alone, but not in an unpleasant way. I have become less involved in neighborhood and community affairs, preferring the solitude of my studio and study. My focus now is more on moving inward. I spend as much time looking back as I do looking ahead, trying to understand what I have accomplished and, the people I have encountered, wondering how it all fits into this later stage of my life. I am convinced that there is a common thread running through all of our years, and perhaps understanding that can be a helpful guide in navigating the future.”

This morning the word “isolated” best describes how I feel. Age, location, and circumstances contribute to this, but mostly it is the result of my desire to move inward. There is comfort in considering this as one more period of transition in a life of transitions, leading to an eventual resting place for my soul.

I continue to enjoy sharing food and wine (should read – pasta and wine) with our friends, although with Patience working full time we cannot entertain as often as we would like. I prefer the intimacy of smaller gatherings of friends and acquaintances to larger social functions. At this halfway point I can safely say the eighth decade continues to be full of surprises with its unanticipated changes. I can only wonder, what’s coming next?

OPEN V. CLOSED

Building a wall around our country, either physical or through government action can only occur if you build one around your mind and your heart. Both are the result of deeply rooted fear and insecurity, and an unwillingness to face the inevitability of change.

For several days the notion of opened and closed minds and hearts has been intruding into my thoughts. To be open minded is to be receptive to arguments and ideas that may conflict with your own, whether on not you agree or embrace them. It allows one to enter into unfamiliar territories and circumstances without knowing all that lies ahead. It implies a willingness to accept a certain measure of risk.

Parallel to the open mind is an open heart, a concept that may be more difficult to define. Matters of the heart include love, compassion, and empathy, all of which are offered universally and without conditions and unrestrained by technical and/or legal issues.

Opposing the open mind and heart would be the closed, and/or restrictive mind and heart, easily dampened by fear and insecurity, conscious or otherwise. These fears include the fear of change and confronting the unfamiliar, and the fear of loss of identity and place in the world order. For some there is a deep concern for what they perceive as a social and/or legal injustice and unfairness.

Writing this, two questions quickly come to mind. Do we, as individuals, have much choice in these matters, or are they “psychological types” that are given to us by DNA and family nurturing? And am I demonstrating my own prejudices by the way in which I have presented this material?