Thank You, Mother Mine

Margaret Mair, Come With Me, Original Art

It has taken me this lifetime to realize all that my mother gave me. Love, support, guidance, comfort. Encouragement to spread my wings, even when I didn’t feel ready. A place to leave, a place to come back to. And something more.

My mother was a very important part of my development as an artist.

Art covered our walls, artists and art lovers were among the people we knew. There were art books for looking at, art shows and exhibitions to visit. There was thoughtful commentary, and support for rising artists. My mother loved beauty, but she also loved work that made her think, awoke questions in her. Work that was not always comfortable to look at. She gave me a foundation for my own work, though I did not realize it at the time.

Later, after she saw some of my pictures (I was living far away), she encouraged me to keep working and learning, and hung one of my pastels in pride of place on the dining room wall. And she shared others’ appreciation of it with me. Encouragement which gave me courage to keep going forward.

Now, as I think about her, I am grateful for all this and so much more.

I am grateful that she encouraged me to explore, to stretch my wings even when I was afraid. That she taught me to be self-critical without being self destructive.

I am grateful that she shared more and more of herself as I grew older – including, to my initial surprise, a bawdy and irreverent sense of humour.

I am grateful that she taught me to look closely at the world around me, with an observant eye, an enquiring mind and an open heart.

I am grateful that she showed me that the world was full of many different people, good and evil, poor and rich, and that worth is a matter of character not circumstance. I am grateful that she let me see that talent achieves nothing without hard work, and that no-one succeeds by themselves.

Thank you, mother mine.

Together We Soar

Margaret Mair, Butterfly Hands, Watercolor, original art

Today is International Women’s Day. It’s a day to celebrate how far women have come. It’s a time we can rejoice that so many can now make their own choices, can contribute their intelligence, skills and talents to building the world they live in.

It’s also a day to remember that around the world many women find themselves in difficult and dangerous situations simply because they are women.

When I think of us I think of butterflies, flying like dreams, like hope.  Before it soars the butterfly emerges from its chrysalis, spreads and dries its wings. Only when they are dry and ready can it fly.

Around the world we too need to emerge, spread our wings, and fly together. Imagine such a world, in which we accept and celebrate our similarities and our differences.  In which we give what we are capable of, no matter who we are.

International Women’s Day – a day to celebrate how far we’ve come and to imagine how much further we can go.

On Joy and Sorrow and Christmas Wishes

Margaret Mair, Nature’s Cathedral, Original Art

I know what I want for Christmas. I want Love. Because with Love, Peace and Joy are possible, Respect is always there, and Sorrow becomes more bearable.

No matter what the season joy and sorrow entwine, intermingle. We find that the higher the one, the deeper the other. It’s only in times of contemplation that we look back and, weighing them, find they both have their place in our lives.

Joy comes from rising above sorrow; sorrow from losing that which has given you joy.

“When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.”

So wrote Khalil Gibran in Joy and Sorrow.

As I write many of us are consumed by sorrow at the deaths of the young children in Newtown. Deaths that came before they had time to experience their full share of life, of joys and sorrows. And we hurt for the adults who died with them, and for the families and friends left behind.

Faced with such sadness, how do we find our way back to joy and not wonder at ourselves for feeling happiness again? And yet we cannot live always in sorrow – we are creatures of hope, looking forward to better things and trying to find our way to them.

Perhaps the greatest joy will come in finding ways to make this world one in which such heartrending things will not happen so easily. In contemplation we may look at the path that took us here; with thought we may learn from all that happened along the way; with hope we may find a new way forward.

I am hoping. And wishing hope and love for you.

Rolling the Easter Egg…

Nikolai Andreevich Koshelev, Children Rolling Easter Eggs

When I was a child, an Easter Egg was a gift we received on Easter Sunday. The chocolate egg came wrapped in cellophane, and in its own fancy pottery egg cup which we would use later to hold our breakfast hard-boiled eggs. Memories of those Easter eggs are all wrapped up with memories of dressing up and going to church for the Easter Sunday service.

For many those chocolate eggs are now just treats to be bought and consumed. But for the children we see in the painting above Easter eggs were much more.

The Easter Eggs they are using are real eggs, boiled and colored. A young boy watches closely as a young woman concentrates on the roll of the egg she has just let go. We can see that they are serious about what they are doing.  The little ones are too young to care, but their lack of interest only emphasizes the concentration of the older two.

Whose egg will roll further down the polished wooden chute? Where will it stop on the heavy coat that covers the floor, cushioning the precious eggs so they do not break as they leave the chute and stopping them from rolling too far? Will hers hit or tap another egg?

The picture was painted by the Russian artist Nikolai Andreevich Koshelev in the nineteenth century. At the time he was painting depictions of village life and traditions – later he went on to develop a great reputation as a painter of historical and religious pictures. Here he was painting a traditional Easter game.

Egg rolling is still part of Easter in places in Europe, the United Kingdom and the United States. So why are they rolling eggs? And why do people continue to do it?

Before the coming of Christianity, the egg symbolized fertility, the coming of Spring, and the rebirth of the land. Easter falls at about the time that Spring arrives; egg rolling competitions and games probably celebrated the arrival of Spring. When some pagan customs were absorbed into Christian holy days eggs became a symbol of Easter and the rolling of the egg took on an added significance. It came to be seen as a symbol of the rolling away of the stone from Christ’s grave.

Just a seasonal chocolate treat? Maybe it’s time to look at the Easter egg a little differently…

Christmas Pleasures

Viggo Johansen, Merry Christmas, 1891

With Christmas almost here, I’d like to share a couple of my favorite Christmas paintings. I love them for the gentle atmosphere they create, the sense of pleasure and anticipation I find in them.

The first is Viggo Johannsen’s painting of Christmas Eve festivities at home in Denmark in 1891.

The family is dancing around a tree lit with candles and decorated with home-made decorations. They hold hands and sing as they wait for the arrival of the Julemanden, the Christmas Man, and his sack of gifts. They have already been to church, eaten a festive dinner, had the Christmas story read.

The glow from the candles lights up the tree and reflects softly off the room’s walls. We glimpse furniture, vases, paintings, a bust. The children’s faces glow in the candlelight as they gaze at the tree.

It is a family time.  Everyone is involved, engaged, younger and older enjoying themselves together.

Carl Larsson, Christmas Morning, 1894

The second is Carl Larsson’s painting of Christmas Morning in Sweden, in 1894.  In it he shares the pleasure children find in gifts well given.

These children are playing with the presents they received on Christmas Eve – a pair of skates, a model ship, a sword and helmet, a doll, a book, a pail filled with small objects. The candles on their Christmas wreath are lit; we glimpse the Christmas tree, quiet and unlit now, in the background.

Each child is absorbed in what they are doing. Imagining, anticipating, playing – you can see their happiness.

It’s the happiness in these paintings that draws me in, and a sense of unspoiled pleasures.

I hope you enjoy them too.

A Christmas Wish

Margaret Mair, World in our Hands, Christmas 2011, Original Art

Christmas is approaching fast. This is a time of the year that’s full of expectations, anticipation – and memories.

The ghosts of Christmas past hover in the background. They bring me memories of family traditions, of gatherings and parties and songs and meals and early morning church services. They remind me of family and friends no longer here, help me see the differences in those who are here now.  They show me how those I love have grown and changed over the years.

These ghosts remind me of joys and of challenges faced.  And they make me think about this:  just as each day is a new opportunity, each Christmas is another chance to seize what is best in the season. Another chance to make the best of what we have, enjoy what we are given and share with others.

Not everyone celebrates Christmas. But that doesn’t mean they don’t or can’t share what is good about the season. In the north, when days grow short, any occasion to get together and share light, food and companionship helps people feel better. In fact, wherever people gather in love and friendship it helps make the world a happier place.

So that’s my wish for you this season – may you enjoy good company, good food, good times.

May your world be happy, and you be happy in it.

The Heart of Christmas

Guido Reni, Adoration of the Shepherds, Detail

We are being invited to see where Christmas began.

It’s part of a larger painting.  The baby Jesus lies in a manger.  He is lying quietly, gazing at those around him, naked body glowing with an ethereal light.  The glow illuminates the shepherds with their weathered faces and work-scarred hands and the serene face of his mother Mary.

She leans over him, hands coming together as if to pray.  She is clothed in red, cloaked in blue, head covered in white.  The red of her dress symbolizes the presence of the holy spirit; the blue of her cloak symbolizes heavenly grace; the white of her head covering indicates her virginity and purity.

The faces hovering over the baby Jesus are amazed, wondering.  They lean into his light out of the surrounding darkness.

Guido Reni painted this adoration of the baby Jesus by shepherds for the monks of Saint Martin’s Charterhouse in Naples.  The beauty of the scene reflects the beauty of the story it tells.  It must have helped to inspire and comfort them as they went about their daily lives.

It’s a picture that reflects the heart of Christmas and the beginning of all they believed in.

Beautiful Anticipation

Ferdinand Theodor Hildebrandt, Children Anticipating the Christmas Tree

They are anticipating good things.

The children look excited and eager.  Two of them are waiting at the door, watching, listening, looking for a shadow on the window curtains.  Their mother is sitting behind them, waiting too.  One arm curves lovingly around her eldest daughter.    She is listening, face turned toward her, to what the little girl is saying as she points at the door.  Only the baby lying across his mother’s lap looks peacefully unaware.

Books and toys lie discarded on the wooden floor.  A soft light filters through the curtains on the door’s window, another shines somewhere inside, out of sight.  The children and their mother are caught in  the circle of warm light they create, as if in the spotlight on a stage.

There is a sense of warmth and depth in the half-lit interior.   Polished wood glows.  The light picks out small details against the shadows.  The fabric of their mother’s sleeve gleams rich and warm.

No wonder they are eager.  It is Christmas Eve.  They are waiting for the Christmas tree to arrive, and with it the start of the Christmas celebrations.

Their Christmas was both like and not like the one we know now.  Ferdinand Theodor Hildebrandt painted this scene in nineteenth century Germany, where Christmas arrived on Christmas Eve.  The tree was cut, brought home and decorated.  There was carol singing, and there were gifts to be exchanged and opened.  There was a traditional Christmas meal – including carp and potatoes.  The Christmas church service took place at midnight.  And then there followed two days of holidays, days filled with food and family time.

Hildebrandt used his considerable skills in portraying people, using color and setting scenes to create the sense of anticipation we and they feel.  We are pulled in by the details and by the way the scene is presented.  The children are leaning forward, pointing, looking – we see their impatience and anticipation in each gesture, in the way they stand.  We wait with them, eager to see what will come through the door.  It’s a beautiful scene, warm and loving.

Anticipation shared.

Cutting the Christmas Tree

Franz Krüger, Vorweihnacht, Before Christmas

It feels like a tradition that stretches back into the depths of the past.  The warmly dressed father stands, axe in hand, looking at the fir tree he has just cut.  It’s nicely shaped, branches touched with snow, not too big.  The dog looks on, curious and alert.  His son is stepping forward, holding the ropes of a sled in one hand, a staff in the other. They’ve walked here; now they will use the sled to pull the tree home.

There is no sign of a path – we see tussocky snow-covered ground all around them.  Stands of trees are softly and mistily lit.  Bare-branched trees mingle with evergreens.  The sky suggests a setting sun.  Maybe they are here on Christmas Eve, cutting a Christmas tree to take home for the family to decorate.

There is a feeling of happy anticipation.  Franz Krüger painted it when Germany was enjoying a period of peace and prosperity.  And so was he, a famous and popular portrait painter, with connections to the Prussian royal family and, through them, to the Russian Imperial house.  He worked steadily, painting works commissioned by members of the courts, portraits and scenes like these.  Perhaps that’s where that sense of peace, prosperity and pleasant anticipation comes from.

By the time he created this painting the tradition of bringing home a Christmas tree was only a few centuries old.  It began in the 16th century in Germany, when the fir tree became a symbol of the Christian religion; he painted this picture  in the 19th century.

Since then the Christmas tree has spread, become and remained a tradition for many, all over the world.  Even where no-one goes out in the snow to cut their own, the tree has become a special symbol.

As it did then, it stands for hope, celebration and good times shared with family and friends.

Seeing Christmas Differently

Hans Baluschek, At the Christmas Tree Sale, 1930

We know it’s Christmas.  But this doesn’t look like a typical Christmas scene.

The woman in the lumpy red coat is clutching what looks like the top of a Christmas tree.  Perhaps it is all she can afford. Her black hat is pulled down over her forehead, her thin legs and short boots stick out below her coat. Her nose is red from the cold, her lips curve downward; compared to the man selling trees she looks dour and small.  Her spindly bit of  Christmas tree contrasts with the tall, full trees leaning against the building wall.   They contrast with the leafless, living trees behind the fence, beside the store.

The Christmas tree seller stands in front of his trees.  He looks – kind?  He’s warmly dressed too, britches, heavy socks, boots, a coat reaching past his hips.  His coat is  long enough for him to stick his hands comfortably into the pockets.  His axe, perhaps just used, sticks out from one side.  His hat sits crumpled on his head.

The snow around them is well trodden.  On the pavement, further from us, a well-dressed man and girl, father and daughter perhaps, walk past a store that sells exotic fruit.  Bags and packages dangle from the father’s hand; he wears his hat at a jaunty angle, hiding his eyes.  His head is turned toward us, his body leans toward his daughter as if to shield her.   A chimney belches smoke above them; the sky is full of smoky clouds.

It’s Christmas time in Germany in 1930 and Hans Baluschek was painting what he saw.  What he saw was a Christmas divided – divided between well-off and poor, between people of different beliefs, between traditions rooted in the country and life in the city, between the green of trees and the smoke of industry.   We see the trappings of Christmas – the trees, the packages, the winter snow.  What we do not see is the anticipation of happiness.

Why present a Christmas scene this way?  The son of a railway engineer, Beluschek had studied art in Berlin as a young man and lived there still.  He saw the changing, industrializing city and found it dehumanizing.  He lived through World War I and felt and saw disquieting political changes happening in Germany as World War II approached.

Here we see how his experience and ideas combined with his understanding of working class life and his desire to show their world. This is Christmas from a different perspective, not what we think of as a typical Christmas scene.

But we can still hope that having that little tree brought joy to the woman clutching it.