Lisa Tettimer Blog

Suck It Up Buttercup. There's a Fairy Tale Kingdom Out There.

10/3/2017

It never fails. When I have multiple memories combined with current events in my life flowing through my mind they all somehow come together in essence and give me a sense of resolve. (Usually by way of a new drawing.) It generally takes awhile for me to realize all of the subconscious connections and unfortunately for Jimmy, he has to suffer through it all as my sounding board. Sometimes I even project my angst upon him in such a way as an effort to make him feel my turmoil too. (Misery loves company.) That is not fair. Never has been and never will be. So I always apologize but the words have been spoken and all that my effort brought me was a sense of being a mean girl.

As I grapple with memories of perceived mean words and actions with new hurt feelings, I truly try to follow the path of kindness for the most part because I can never take being the victim of mean girls (or boys). (Do unto others...right?) But then again, who can? Another mean girl? Someone with "tough skin"? Someone who let's things roll off their back like a rubber duck? I have spent my life trying to not be that "mean girl" but it slips out every now and then. (I guess a person can't help it if they were raised in a house with seven females.) I've often been told I'm too sensitive, or that I'm overly emotional, or that I'm delusional in the way I see things. That's ok. I'm ok with those past descriptors of me. I'm sure that I will continue to be those things...too sensitive...overly emotional...somewhat delusional in my take on the world. Why change now? I finally have a focus on who I really am, what I really want to be, and how I want to continue living my life.

I had a friend once tell me in her experience as a mother, her son never said the kinds of things her daughter would say to her in an effort to intentionally hurt her feelings. Women seem to know how to hit each other below the belt for that gut wrenching effect. I was able to empathize with her. I saw and heard it happen all of the time growing up. But in all fairness I have heard some guys say some pretty nasty things to their mothers. I'm pretty sure feelings were hurt just as deeply.

As I type, type, type away, I'm trying to lasso my ideas together to make a succinct point. I'm not sure I can do it because my writing skills are a bit scattered. I feel more at ease reflecting my feelings through pictures. Every one of my pictures has a meaning but it's not always very obvious. There's no play button in the corner of the picture to push to hear the meaning in voice...words of description...a definition to go along with the image.

My recent image depicts a little girl in a huge window looking out over what could be a fairy tale kingdom. Seeing the world as she wants to see it...magical and full of opportunities. Full of wisdom. Full of hope. Full of wonder. But most of all full of beauty and love. Only seeing the best the world has to offer. Am I trying to tap on that proverbial fountain of youth through the mind of a 58 year old woman? Maybe. Maybe that's what the fountain of youth really is; portraying the world through the eyes of a child with the wisdom of years lived. (Some fairy tales were written to warn children about the dark side of the world. Hansel and Gretel was written to warn the young about the evils of seemingly kind strangers. Aged wisdom through the events a child could understand.)

I've often said I love the decade of my 50's. Now that I'm closing in on the next decade of my 60's I'm looking forward to how much more I might know about myself and my life...provided good health prevails...provided how my version of the fountain of youth prevails. In my mind I feel just as young as I did in my 20's, just wiser. How many times have you seen the question on Facebook "how would you relive your life if you knew what you know now?" I've been seeing it a lot lately. I guess my postings are fitting into an algorithm of artificial intelligence identifying me as age appropriate for such thoughts. (lol)

My point being that I hope my art continues to connect me to my life and vice versa. Seeing my life as a constant learning experience. Treating my art pursuits with the zeal of a perpetual student of the arts. Noting the wrongs I see without allowing myself to become victim to those wrongs. Or, at the very least, trying not to proliferate those wrongs.

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The Shadows

6/6/2017

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Thumbnail sketches from 1980 - by Lisa Tettimer

I've never posted two blog posts back to back before. I guess I have a lot of words roaming around in my head that I need to let out. Yesterday's blog had nothing to do with my art, or did it? Maybe it will lead to something.

While walking on my treadmill lately I've been revisiting my art school years. There are two or three sketches from that time frame on a bottom shelf of a workbench next to my treadmill in the basement and I keep looking down at them as I walk. I found them last summer when attempting to clean the basement. They are stained with mold and are smelly. Even still, I've been thinking about framing them. Not because I think they are good but because they seem to be a place marker in the growth of my art. A place where I stopped. A place I'm compelled to revisit. In a way framing them would be a way to honor that place. A way to honor my gift.

Shadows by Lisa Tettimer. Silkscreen print 10 of 10 - 1980. Based on the first thumbnail sketch above.

As a student of the fine arts all those many years ago I was taught to create art in very traditional methods. I learned the skills to produce art in a number of mediums all the while honing my drawing skills. The instructors would actually say that they required their students to learn the traditional skills, to draw well, to paint like them, and to create like them. In the end they would expect the students to take all of the skills learned to make their own version of art. If their students ended up painting or drawing like them they had somehow failed to truly learn the most important lesson the instructors taught...to speak their own voice through their art.

At the end of my time there my preferences were leaning to the depiction of the human form, shadows, negative space, orbs and symbolism. My color work was not where I wanted it to be. I figured that would come with time and practice. But it wasn't long after I graduated that I just stopped doing "my" art. I stopped doing it for a lot of reasons and for no reason at all.

Even though I stopped pursuing "my" art I never stopped drawing. I wove my ability to draw into my everyday life. My favorite subject matter became my children, my garden, animals, and characters from mythology and fantasy. I fulfilled my need to make things. I planted a garden, landscaped my yard, made stained glass windows, and built rooms onto my house. I became a parent. I raised my family. All of this and much much more would result in who I am and the art I create. I lived my life.

Now there is now. I traveled beyond "my" art and back again. That certainly doesn't negate any of the work I have done in the between. What I once saw as a road bypassing "my" art I now realize was very much part of "my" art. (Don't two parallel roads get you to the same location?) It was the building blocks I needed to take me back to the place marker that I left behind. It was also the growth and maturity I needed to allow me to continue with focus. I'm actually very proud of all of my work through the years. I've sold many pieces through galleries. I've also gifted a large part of my work to family and friends. I design, make and sell art jewelry. All of it has been "my" art.

These days I've started to say "I can" and "I am" instead of "I can't" and "I'm not". I look at my work from the past, compare it to the work I currently do and I recognize that I do have a personal color palette that came about through time and practice. I allow myself to work in whatever medium I want, do whatever subject matter I choose and explore more than one style of art. Is my work good? Does it speak to others in the way I want it to? I don't know. I hope so. Even if it doesn't I'll just keep painting in the shadows.

Shadow of a Woman - In Progress - Oil sticks and oil pastel on canvas paper

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To Kill or Not to Kill a Mockingbird

6/5/2017

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As is usual when it gets hot out the air conditioning fails. Or it always seems to be so. We keep finding ourselves in the heat of the moment so to speak...my husband and I. Yesterday it seemed as though our aged heat pump unit had gone kaput. We had escaped the need to replace the system last summer by way of a very honest repairman. He was able to reconnect a set of corroded wires but said there was no guarantee. We were lucky. The system lasted the remainder of the summer and all winter. So today my husband started the process of getting estimates for a new system.

Fortunately the warmth of yesterday settled into a cool evening with a breeze that we enjoyed throughout our little house by strategically opening windows and running our ceiling fans to optimize the draft. Typically we both fall asleep to the sound of the television but last night the drone of the traffic on Route 4 lulled us to sleep. Around 2 o'clock in the morning we both woke to the song of the mockingbird.

This morning we exchanged our reaction to that bird. But first I have to tell you I love the mockingbird that serenades our yard. It can be found on the highest limb in our front yard singing its songs pretty much everyday of the spring, summer, and fall. And it was just yesterday, in the morning, that my husband spoke of how irritating he found the bird. This morning he felt no different in his dislike for the bird but the intensity of his dislike had increased exponentially. He said if he didn't think it would have scared me to death he would have shot that bird last night. Instead he just closed the windows in his bedroom and found the silence he needed to fall back asleep. He is a very light sleeper and said if he hadn't been so tired he would have just gotten up to drink his coffee as he does many early mornings.

My experience was much different. I haven't been sleeping well myself, hot flashes, night sweats, and aching tossing and turning have consumed my nights. My c-pap machine has been waking me up instead of keeping me asleep like it should. I wasn't looking forward to a night with no air conditioning but I did manage to fall asleep. When I woke up to the bird's song I thought "how pretty". I didn't know mockingbirds sang in the dark of the night and it didn't take long for me to fall back asleep listening to the mockingbird.

They say opposites attract. This mockingbird thing that we experienced just proves that old adage. We both had to laugh this morning over our very different reactions to the mockingbird.

It ends up my husband got to cancel the appointment with the first HVAC guy he called for an estimate. His second call was to the guy who fixed the unit last year to make an appointment with him to get an estimate. This repairman said it didn't sound like the same issue as last year. He came over about an hour later and fixed our unit once again. Before we found him last year we were told there was no fixing the unit by two different companies. He is pretty much guaranteed our business when we do get the new system.

It didn't take long for the house to cool down and I'm sure that mockingbird is safe from my husband's sights. Thank goodness for such an honest repairman...for our sake and the bird's.

By Ryan Hagerty - This image originates from the National Digital Library of the United States Fish and Wildlife ServiceThis tag does not indicate the copyright status of the attached work. A normal copyright tag is still required. See Commons:Licensing for more information.See Category:Images from the United States Fish and Wildlife Service., Public Domain, Link

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Little Pitchers Have Big Ears

4/6/2017

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My new habit of daily walking has stirred up quite a few memories from long ago. Today one resurfaced that gave me pause as to what relevance it might have in my life today. The poem regarding how people come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime gave me a guide to measure my memory and I placed it easily into the reason category. I'm not exactly sure for what reason, but I've been dwelling on it all day and have come to the conclusion that I can pretty much make its relevance as important as I want it to be in my life. In many ways I can relate the story I overheard as a young child to other events and people in my life. Both in the past and in the present. Giving so much merit to the memory by playing it on a loop in my head conjured up both compassion and empathy along with the thrill of witnessing a moment of courtship (so to speak) between a beautiful young woman and a ruggedly handsome young man.

I don't remember my age other than I was very young. If I had to give it a good guess, I suspect I was 6 or 7 which would make the year 1965 or 1966. During this time span I had a playmate whose parents employed a babysitter that lived in their home with them. I guess you would say she was a nanny although she wasn't called such at that time. She came to live with them from their hometown in another state, so they knew her well enough that they trusted her with their children. In exchange for watching their children they gave her a small salary which included room and board. For some reason I have the impression it was to also give her opportunities that weren't available to her in her hometown.

One afternoon the babysitter brought my friend to play with me outside in my yard. I remember playing in the side yard by the clothesline with my playmate while the babysitter talked to a young man who came to visit with her while she watched us. I'm not sure if they realized how attentive I was to their conversation or if it even mattered to them that I was listening. Their fun loving playfulness with each other caught us girls up in their moments of laughter and we giggled as she challenged his strength by saying he couldn't pick her up because she was too heavy. Much to her pleasure he picked her up in his arms just like a groom would pick up his bride to carry over the threshold. After he scooped her up he twirled her around the yard until she begged to be let down.

After the laughter faded their conversation took on a much different tone and my memory starts to become somewhat disconnected. I'm not sure I have the sequence of the events he revealed about himself in the right order. I'm not really sure whether the laughter or the story came first. Nonetheless, he started telling her about some intimate moments in his life which seemed to start with him being in the military. What he went on to share about himself is what impacted my young mind.

He had fallen in love with a woman who was a heroin addict. In his effort to help her recover from her dependence on the drug he thought he could use it with her and then just stop to show her how easy it would be...to be an example of how will-power and personal choice would be the answer to overcoming her addiction. That didn't happen. He too became addicted with just a few uses. Maybe this is where the military came in because he went on to explain how painful his detox from the drug was even though he was in a hospital setting. I remember him using the term cold-turkey. A term I would later come to know its meaning. I also remember him saying he knew he could no longer be in a relationship with the woman even though he still loved her. The drug still consumed her life even after his recovery.

Whether this moment was meant to be some form of cosmic foreshadowing in my life is debatable depending on one's beliefs. Later in my young life and throughout a large portion of my adult life, I would live through the pain and turmoil of addiction within my own family. Some of those addictions would be overcome and some not. There aren't too many people in this world that can say addiction hasn't touched their life in some form and I am no exception. One cannot imagine the true impact it has on the lives of those who suffer with it, how truly difficult it is to overcome...if ever, or the impact on family dynamics unless one lives it.

Drugs take the life of loved ones not only through overdoses but through the breakdown of their internal organs caused by the degrading effects the drugs have on their bodies through the years. In my experience I have seen how difficult the recovery is and how easily the relapse can happen. Over and over again. I have lived through the split in family. I have witnessed the pain and suffering of parents, wives and children. I have witnessed the generational predisposition to addiction. All the while unable to do anything other than stand in my own form of suffering. Both willing and unwilling to be an enabler. Willing to be supportive if asked or not. Buffering the reality of it all from my own children and realizing that hiding the reality of it was in itself a form of enabling the illness and allowing it to continue on its path of destruction. A path that would lead to the death of my brother at the young age of 51. Even though his life was tumultuous, to say the least, and caused a great divide in our family he had a heart of gold. Truth be told we lost him when he was in his twenties when his addictions took over. When he lost his free will and never got it back completely.

All those years ago my young mind absorbed the information I overheard that sunny afternoon and stored it for my entire life. In hindsight, I realize how it was a snippet of my life that attuned me to the ebb and flow of life. How strength gives way to human weakness. How pain and laughter can coexist...be juxtaposed...be copacetic. How the sharing of ones laughter, sadness and pain are all part of getting to know one another intimately. Like the courting ritual of two young people that I witnessed so long ago.

Little pitchers have big ears - This English expression (idiom) refers to little children overhearing and understanding more conversations than their parents might think. The allusion is to the ear-like handles often found on smaller pitchers.

A view of today's sky over the Patuxent River - photo by Lisa Tettimer

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A Cauldron Full of Wishes

3/14/2017

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It never fails. I'm working on getting new pieces of jewelry made for a specific show and I get side-tracked by all of the pieces of metal from past projects that are still laying on my work bench. I start seeing new elements from the leftover metal from the negative space of the things I've made before and the dominant theme of my thoughts for the day or week just seem to emerge in a 3D composition. It's never planned. At least not in the traditional way. No sketches were rendered, no written list of materials, and no idea how or whether the project will turn out.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about wishes, among other things. The kind of wishes that are unspoken and invisible and stay gathered in the far recesses of one's conscious thoughts. The kind of wishes that are mostly rhetorical in nature but wishes nonetheless.

Recently I've also been thinking about the ongoing debate about whether a society, or humanity as a whole, can believe in both God and science. It has always been my humble opinion that yes, it is possible. For all of the wonders that God has bestowed upon this earth, it is humanity (and only humanity) that has created the sciences to understand all that He has given us. Why would a greater power than mankind give us the ability to question "why" if we weren't supposed to use that question? Even if it should only be used to help preserve all that sustains us. But unfortunately science can be used for both good and bad. So, it is one of my grandest wishes that only good prevail in the use of science.

These earrings started from flat football shaped scrap brass sheet metal. I used a cheap little ball peen hammer and a traditional metalsmithing technique to "raise" the sides of the cauldron bowl. The handles are made from fine silver wire, hammered and stamped with a starburst motif. All of the components along with the soldering are done with rugged finesse. The flaws are not hidden or reworked. It is never my intention to produce perfection with these projects. I strive more for an aged weathered patina and the look of quality from a learning craftsman. The star dangling above is perfect though, just like the ones in the night sky. At least as perfect as a man or woman can produce a shape symbolic to our natural world. (It's a purchased charm.) All of the components are brought together with an imperfect flat ring of fine silver.

As I raised the sides of the cauldron my wishes filled the hollow space. Like the wishes of a child in awe of the surrounding world; my cauldron will always be full even when one of my wishes is no longer a wish. Another wish will certainly fill the void.

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A Purple Rubber Duck

1/8/2017

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I have to preface this post with some insight about me. Most who will read this know that I worked as a classified employee in the public school system for over 34 years. During those years no matter what my job title was I always considered everyone my boss; everyone from administrators to teachers to other classified employees to the students and to their parents. It's my nature. I always put myself in the position of doing things that nobody else wanted to do because the job was too mundane or not important enough to spend the time doing. I always felt those kinds of jobs needed to be treated like they were the most important jobs in the system. My intention was to always give an artistry to the mundane or the seemingly not-so-important routine tasks. It was in that way I could honor all those who I admired in the educaton field...that is if someone were to notice. (And if I am totally honest, I also did it for the steady income and the health benefits.) Even though I enjoyed the jobs I did there was never much fanfare and there was always a downside. Some days were very overwhelming or depressing to my soul. Some days were even humiliating, but I'm pretty sure I never showed just how much a bad day took its toll on me. Except to those who cared to notice. Because of this I learned to be like a purple rubber duck. If you don't already know, I'm pretty thin-skinned. A trait some consider to be a character flaw. I always have been and always will be thin-skinned. I see and feel things through a series of vibrations, through my eyes, through my hands, through my skin and in my brain. At least that's the way it seems to me. I valuate this character trait as my secret to being an artist...It's better to let the bad things roll off my back than to develop such a thick-skin that I stop feeling or allowing the vibrations in.

A purple rubber duck sat among the stapler and tape dispenser on my desk at work. It was a gift. A gift from one of my bosses. I think she probably had many rubber ducks in her desk drawer. One for each person she met that took everything to heart. She was good at seeing those things in the people she worked with and in the people she advised. She knew there were people in the world that would never develop thick-skin so other coping skills would be in order. She was one of those school counselors like Michelle Obama just honored. She was an educator in the public school system. A system I truly believe in and value as one of the most important bases of our democratic republic. I only had one other job in the school system after she gave me that duck but it moved along with me and took up residence on a new desk with a new set of interactions and a new set of coworkers.

Fast forward to...yesterday. I thought about that purple rubber duck when I was painting in my studio. At first I thought I had pitched it out with all of the other things I brought home from my desk. But then I realized it was in one of three places from when I last organized my life. I found it in the third place and it is now taking a prominent spot in my studio. Even though I'm retired from my day job, I still need to let things roll.

I thought those days of worry were over but they're not. I've come to realize that no matter what I do in my life, I have thin-skin. It's a fact of my life. There will always be things that bother me. Things that vibrate in a most uncomfortable way. Things that I feel passionate about...things that I didn't realize I feel so passionate about...things that I believe in...things that I didn't realize just how much I believe in them....things that may very well change. Things like the freedoms we value today in our democratic republic. Will they be in place when my granddaughters become adults? Will these freedoms become enhanced and broadened or will my granddaughters experience a more watered down version of today's freedoms or no freedoms at all? Such profound and somewhat disturbing thoughts on a silent snowy day. Thoughts that stir my passion and all the while I painted The Fairy Tree.

The Fairy Tree

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Shadow of a Woman

9/8/2016

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Photo by Lisa Tettimer

I've always been intrigued by shadows. Sitting in front of my kitchen window in the late afternoon sunlight today sent me for my camera. The texture created by my new bamboo shades reminded me of an abstract painting. A sunlit self portrait with no details. Blurred lines and simple color. And for some reason when I was choosing which picture to use for my blog it made me sad...very, very sad.

I am in the mid years of my life. I ruminate about the human experience. All of the flaws and all of the splendor of the human experience. I ruminate over the sadness I have experienced, the joy I've known and the simple day to day ordinary that lies between the sadness and the joy. I think about why it is that I have so little self-confidence. Why I consider myself to be less valuable than those I place upon pedestals. And all the while I know why. I know the answer is in my sadness. The thing that makes me the saddest. Loss.

Every now and then I allow myself to wallow in my own self-pity. Putting it in words to share with others. Not for sympathy. Just to share. Just to say "this is me". And then I stop and I go back to finding the wonder in my day to day living. Being a creative soul. Making things to serve my own peace. Looking for a way to hide the sadness of my shadow.

Photo by Lisa Tettimer

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Bill's Mermaid

7/16/2016

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My father-in-law was a waterman...in every sense of the word. He worked the water from a very early age. He literally came to this county by way of water to work the nets at Flag Pond. He was an Eastern Shoreman that made his home on the western shore.

He had the typical reputation for a waterman during his day. He worked hard and he played hard. Hard Crab was his nick name. He was a man most didn't want to mess with and you really didn't want to mess with his friends. But I never knew him then. I never knew the man that had that kind of reputation. My husband thought his dad would scare me when I met him but he never did. Maybe it was because I admired the way he lived his life so unapologetically.

Bill always greeted me like my name was the lyric to a song he was playing in his head. Bill always made me smile. He also always made me feel special even though we never had long conversations or did many things together. Maybe it was just the way he said my name.

At the end of Bill's life he became homebound due to his failing health. I think one of the last long trips outside of his home he made was with my husband and I and our two sons. We took him to the new Orioles stadium after it was built. He was an avid baseball fan. Baseball had always been a huge part of his life when he wasn't working the water.

After Bill's death, his family celebrated his life out on the Chesapeake Bay as he had requested. Two boats held the family as they traveled to the place on the bay that Bill threw his pots over. With the motors off, words were spoken, prayers were said and roses were strewn into the water. It just so happened that one of the boat captains had the presence of mind to record the longitude and latitude of where the boats had drifted during the ceremony. I don't remember the exact coordinates that he recorded but this I do remember...the number 913 was part of one of the coordinates; the same number given to Bill with his crabbing license to mark his crab pot buoys. Bill was home once again.

My most recent illustration is still in progress but it is in honor of Bill. Thanks Bill, for being exactly who you were. My son's are all the better for it.

Completed 7/25/16 in Memory of William A. Tettimer, October 25, 1922 - July 12, 2000

Bill's Mermaid - Mixed Media (pencil, colored pencil, gold leaf and gold acrylic)

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My Dragonfly Spirit

6/22/2016

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Dragonfly Spirit

I just came in from sitting on my front step. I love watching the masses of dragonflies that dance above my yard and surrounding fields every year around the same time. I don't mean just a few dragonflies, there are literally hundreds of them and they are here for many days on end. I know the nature and science behind their gathering. There must be an abundance of their favorite food here since there is no water source any closer than Parker's Creek and the bay which are about a mile or so away from me as the crow flies. I just happen to have the honor of living at a location they choose to converge. It seems to be in their life cycle to meet here close to the summer solstice every year. The first time I looked through my bay window to see them in mass, "Oh my God" fell out of my mouth. It was an amazing sight to see for the first time and is so each and every year. I always look forward to their return.

They are a beautiful and amazing creature. Almost every culture in the world regards them highly and uses their symbolism in the essence of their collective being. This website gives a lot of information regarding their symbolism: http://www.dragonfly-site.com/meaning-symbolize.html

One of my favorite pieces of art I've done since I've lived here is called Dragonfly Spirit. She is a pencil drawing embellished with mixed media; beads and metallic threads sewn to the paper. Cut outs in her negative space reveal handmade paper and a feather headdress protrudes from the paper. She is my homage to the dragonfly.

I have only ever had a small digital image of her and reproduced her on small greeting cards and small prints until now. She just recently came home to me and I will be selling full size giclee reproductions of her. I will list her in my store when I have some ready to sell.

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Everyday People...Everyday Crowns

5/31/2016

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I see invisible crowns on everyday people. It's not that I see something that others don't see...others just don't imagine holographic crowns sitting on everyday people's heads like I do. Rays of energy that create an aura above and around the person, emitted from within their very being. Positive vibrations gifted to anyone who will receive their grace. Warm energy that settles the mind and calms the soul. Angels among us. Angels.

Other people see the same things that I do, they just use their words to describe the angels among us. Words like selfless, generous, caring, compassionate, wise and kind. Words that reflect their genuine character. Words that reward us just as their presence in our life does. Words that make our hearts swell with joy and with love. Words.

I see the warm golden white energy that makes those words real. I see crowns. Everyday crowns.