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?

NOTES FROM THE EIGHTH DECADE #15

FOOD

August 2013

In this time of so much change I now realize there is one that I would like to see happen, and that is my relationship with food. Over the past several years the mirror has faithfully reflected – almost gleefully - my ever-expanding waistline. The effects from this aging phenomenon are confronted daily: less energy, difficulty getting up from sitting or kneeling positions, dwindling number of cloths that can be comfortably worn, and worst of all, dismay at what I see in the mirror.

There are a number of contributing factors to this portly state of mine: age, a very sedentary life style, and a fondness for food and wine. I cannot do anything about my age, however, if I can find the necessary discipline, regular walks can become a part of my daily routine. But the most important change will have to be about my attitude toward food.

Currently, food and wine are one of my few remaining physical pleasures. Lunch provides a comfortable respite from my daily routine as does “cocktail Hour” and cooking (with a glass of wine nearby). But more than anything else, food and wine have become an important link to my past, my parents, my family, and the culture that have done so much to defined me. How realistic is it to think I am capable of turning away from this, or that I would even choose to do so? Perhaps a better option is to change my attitude toward aging, and learning to accept all the physical attributes of my age.

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #14

WHAT DO I WANT TO BE WHEN I GROW UP?

8-13

 

Fifty-five years ago I decided I wanted to be a physician, and spent the next 16 years pursuing that goal. Thirty-five years ago everything changed, and after five years of turmoil I knew I wanted to be an artist as much as I did a physician. Without reservation I followed the path I cleared for myself with commitment and enthusiasm.

So, at age 70, I was caught off guard when once more things began to change, and clouds of doubt and uncertainty rolled in, obscuring that once clearly defined path. It was the beginning of a transition that, four years later, is still in progress.

The question is not what does the future hold for me, but what do I want from the remaining years? 

I am gradually developing a clearer sense of what I want for myself, and what I would like to accomplish. This recent journal entry describes still another change, this one related more to my attitude to my work and my age than anything else.

“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”. 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 that there was no longer a place in my life for grand, sweeping aspirations and goals, and that 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 liver forever.

I have no recourse but to trust Rilke’s admonition that I will “…live into the answers”.

NOTES FROM THE EIGHTH DECADE #13 NIGHT & DAY

NIGHT & DAY

August 2013

For years my life was defined by the events and circumstances (work, play, emotional and physical health, etc.) of the day at hand.  But recently a strange transition seems to be occurring. The days are taking on an increasing sameness, while the nights, which have always been consistently void of anything but dreams, are becoming unique. How many times will I wake up because of pain in my legs, back, or neck?  Will I have to get up to pee, or will one of the dogs have to go out?  Will Patience poke me and tell me to roll over because I’m snoring? Sometimes I wake up on my own and find that I am wide-awake at 3 A.M. I may eventually fall back to sleep, or get up and go into my study and read or listen to music. Or perhaps a profound dreams will wake me up, and I’ll find myself in that intermediate state between awakeness and sleep, not knowing if I am consciously continuing the dream or not.

While the days are becoming predictable, the nights are taking on a

life of their own. When the bedside light goes out I have no idea what adventure awaits me.

NOTES FROM THE EIGHT DECADE #12

BETWEEN YESTERDAY AND TOMORROW

June 2013

Now, resting between yesterday and tomorrow, my understanding of myself is becoming blurred by time.

The accumulation of years, 74 to be exact, seems to have blurred my understanding of who and what I am. I have a reasonably good idea of who I have been, and what I have, and have not accomplished during my lifetime. The goals, desires, and aspirations that have guided me, although somewhat depleted, continue to bounce about in my head, as modest and grandiose as ever. However they have difficulty getting traction because the years have worn away some of the unbridled ambition and enthusiasm that never failed to convinced me I was in charge of my future.

This revelation – if I can call it that – came about as I grapple with the difficulties of trying to live in the moment, a concept that has taken on more importance in recent years. Having lived my entire life with one foot firmly planted in the future, grounding myself entirely in the present is proving to be difficult. Even in their “depleted” state, goals and aspirations intrude on the day at hand, pulling me into the tomorrows. The fact that at age 74 they are poorly defined only adds to the difficulty. What is a soul to do?

One option is to simply stopping thinking about it. Take my eyes off of my navel and stop all the ruminating, a sort of “buck up Gonzo” approach. Heaven knows how many times I have tried this. Unfortunately any success I may have had was always temporary.

Or, I can do what I always do…write about it, and if I’m lucky, by the time I finish doing so the issue will no longer exist.

So what will it be?  I’ll have to think about that.

NOTES FROM THE 8TH DECADE #11

RESILIENCE   How well does it age?

October 2012

My first gallery show was a two-man show in 1977, and all of my work sold at the opening reception. For the next twenty years I sold almost everything I painted. When I moved to Paducah, over 900 miles from my home of forty years, I knew I would have to build a new client base, and was confident I could do so. After a few years of promoting my work and myself I succeeded in establishing a fairly consistent market for my art. Sales remained consistent, even through 4 years of a failing economy, until this year, when, as abruptly as turning off a faucet, they diminished to a depressing trickle.

I have had lulls before, but never like this. The past ten months have seen the fewest sales since coming to Paducah. Suddenly I find myself being tested, facing serious questions about my future; how viable is my art, can I recover the market I seem to have lost, what can I do to reverse this situation, and is it time for me to begin putting the paints away? Underlining all of these questions is an awareness of my age, increasingly a major factor in so many of my considerations these days.

Which leads me to the issue prompting this narrative…how resilient am I at this stage in my life?  When I began writing this, I was prepared to delve into the complex issue of aging, and how it affects our emotional and psychological attitudes toward the “stuff of life”. But at this very moment, the answer suddenly seems quite simple, physical issues aside; we are only as old as we allow ourselves to be. Or, as the old adage tells us, “you are as young as you feel”.

Adding years to our life entices us to think we must be changing, because after all, older people are different from younger ones. That is why all of my self-reflection begins with the reminder that I am 73 years old. This type of thinking is an insidious process that quietly skews our attitude and re-enforces the stereotypes of ageing. Recently I have begun to appreciate how mistaken I have been.

Age is irrelevant in dealing with problems and issues with my work at this stage in life. All that matters is my willingness to commit to the task at hand.

Note…according to actuarial data, a 73 year-old man can expect to live another 11.82 years. Now that is something I can hang my hat on.