I’m at Segullah today. . . come on by!

have figured out why artists paint self portraits.

Cheap models.

an insightful lecture about Zombies from oldest child, I got a fashion show primer from only girl, and the continual and completely contagious smile from middle child.  And then, and THEN the baby.   Seven years behind the rest, he swoops in and steals the show.  As my mom always said, no matter how much siblings fight amongst themselves, they all love the baby (that happened to be me in my family, lucky me).  And with those eyes, who wouldn’t?

He liked that the pictures would look ‘like’ Utah, spiking peaks, inked blue sky streaked with puffy clouds.

She didn’t care about the mountains or if the pictures looked ‘like’ Utah.  In fact, I think she preferred if they didn’t.  But she cared about him.  And that was enough.

There was a mommy.

And a Daddy.

And a baby

The baby was well loved by all.  Mommy.  Daddy.  Aunts.  Uncles.  Grandparents.  Nurses.  Doctors.  They prayed and worked and watched to see how long he could stay with them.   But he was very sick.

And had only a short time.

And everyone knew that each moment was a gift.

So they cuddled and cried, rocked and slept, washed and fed him, and dressed him up.

Like Superman.

They said goodbye.  And he flew.

*Photography courtesy of mom and dad.  They asked me to salvage the only pictures they have of their little one.  I wish I could have done so much more.

I’ve been taking advantage of my free days in visiting local museums with hubby.   I tote my camera; he, his sketchbook.  I feel voracious when I enter, duplicating everything I can, stealing inspiration, feeling conspiratorial as if shooting this many pictures is somehow against the rules.  Hubby stands still close to just one piece, replicating each hair, dark with blue pen.  Last week our destination was the Leopold Museum, home to Shiele, Klimt, and the Viennese painters of the secession.  The woman in the lower left corner seems as if she is mad, red dress, turquoise eyes.  She is Shiele’s creation, not mine.  Totally female, I think I’m in love with her.  I’ve always felt that museums were so sterile, so anti-creative.  And they are.  And yet, I’m compelled to see what’s framed and hung on walls.  What is put in boxes and explained in detail too vivid to be true.  And I’ve loved replacing the world they have presented with one of my own, influenced but not confined to their vision.

These teenagers?  I’ll take me a couple of these.  Delightful.