Making Sense Of It All

I remember when I was a little girl, probably around 5 years old, I asked my Mom why was I alive and why had I been born. At that time, my Mom had been raised as a Catholic, but she put it simply. She showed me her bible and told me the story of creation in child format. And that was my first introduction to God. She planted the "mustard seed". Of course, as I got older, many questions came after that first one. My Mom is what many would call a "Bible Thumper". As far back as I can remember, she was always studying the bible.  I'm not talking studying, I'm talking intense research complete with concordances, context in Hebrew, etc.  There are many areas of the Bible we have disagreement, but I can respect what God has revealed to her.  The common thread we have is that we have hope. We believe that after we cease to breathe in this life, another follows -- a perfect life that has been promised.

                              

I believe that my life has purpose. There are many times I have questioned that purpose. I have had much suffering in my life. Those who know me know the stories. Some of my suffering was as a victim and some of the suffering was caused by own free will of choice. Needless to say, the suffering was sometimes unbearable. Some of the suffering was so bad, there are thick intense scars, but I believe those scars are what made me stronger and able to move forward. I know I've disappointed.

Although I proclaim to be a Christian, I have not always lived up to that example. I have made huge mistakes in my life. Mistakes that caused hurt and broken relationships. Mistakes that were financially devastating. I believe mistakes are better defined as on purpose choices with a bad result. Sometimes those choices would send me into a deep depression and I felt my life had no purpose. But always, because of what I was taught and studies for myself, I hear that small voice tell me, "This too shall pass.". And it does. Then hope returns. Because of my flawed life, I am not one to judge others.

So what is the point of this blog? Lately, I've been reading a lot of stuff in media about how Christianity is a radical belief system. As radical as terrorism. I don't know if it is said out of ignorance or if these individuals really believe that to be true by studying and exhausting all other beliefs. If you believe that to be true, then I'll respect that you have studied what you believe and have come to that conclusion. But why not let me continue to believe in what I believe without tearing what I have studied and what I believe to be true?

I believe that God has instilled in me a yearning to exist forever. I believe that life is a gift. I believe in a purpose and a plan that doesn't make sense to me now, but will be revealed to me by God when deemed the time. I believe that I can pray through Jesus Christ to my Heavenly Father for whatever I want and according to His will is answered.These prayers are not always for myself -- I am a constant prayers warrior who will be happy and ready to pray for others. It may not necessarily be the answer I want, but none the less, it is answered. I have experienced miracles through my prayers. And those prayers are always answered in His time and not mine. I believe the Holy Spirit, through a whisper, directs my path.  Most of all, I believe I can pray for forgiveness. And because of this, I don't live hopelessly.

I believe that we are living in the last days of this earth (look what is happening with the middle east and throughout the world) and that the true purpose and plan of salvation will be revealed through the second coming of Jesus Christ. I may not live to see it transpire, but one thing I know is it is my desire to be part of the group that meets up with Him!! So, let me hold on to that hope and my belief, because no matter how it is contradicted or deemed untrue, my belief has a very happy ending.

How I Love The Beach Life

For most of my childhood, my family lived near the beach.  We lived on Pennsylvania Avenue right off of Pacific Coast Highway in Lomita, California.  To this day, I love everything about the beach.  I love the ocean, the sand, the smell, the sound of seagulls, the sound of the waves, the sound of boats in the distance, the boats and ships sailing in the distance, the surfers, the sound of laughter, the crowds it draws, the boardwalks, the shops, the food and just the sheer chaos of it all.

When life gets a little too overwhelming, I like to go sit on a bench in front of the ocean.  My favorite escape when I lived in California was the San Diego beaches.  I loved Corona Del Mar too!!  Corona Del Mar was more isolated and the tide pools were incredible.  Then like every other isolated spot, it gets discovered. I feel closest to my Creator near the ocean.

I love to paint anything having to do with bodies of water.  I love painting elements that live in or near bodies of waters.  I didn't realize how much until I started taking inventory of my art.

 

Creativity At Its Best

I often ask myself, "Why do I want to paint?", What is the driving force within me that makes me want to paint?"  I probably ask these questions every time I pick up a brush or want to create something artistic.  If you have seen my art, most of what I paint doesn't exist.  I enter into a state of colorful euphoria.

I have days where I'm discouraged and feel that my art isn't good enough.  Then I ask myself, "Good enough for who?"  I pray over each piece I start.  As I'm creating, I get a wonderful feeling.  I get so much joy over painting.  I have finally come to a realization that if I find joy in painting and what I create, why does it matter who likes it.  Don't get me wrong, I love that other people other than myself like my art -- my collectors are awesome.  However, I can really pull myself down thinking that my art isn't good enough.  I've had to stop comparing myself to other artists and what they create.  We all have a different level of education and training.  What should matter is that art brings me joy.  Art lets me escape into a world outside of the one we share.

I was in one of my frump moods regarding my art and I just started talking to God and asking Him to help me to create things that have purpose and meaning.  As most of you who follow my blog know, I'm recently retired and I'm trying to subsidize my retirement income.  I have to say, I've been somewhat successful in this area.  The fact that I sell anything is amazing to me.  So I asked God to help me to be creative and to reach people who like my art and may want to purchase it.  I asked what can I do that is different.  So upon opening my eyes, I saw a bowl of stones in front of me.  Then my inner voice (who I call God -- when it isn't my idea), said, "Turn those stones into bread!"  At first I thought -- how blasphemous -- to everyone that knows who said that to who!!  But then I got it.  I'm old -- bread translated to money.  At first I thought, "Yeah, right!!"  I sold five stones in the first week!!  In fact, I've sold many in the last couple months!!!  Thus my Stone to Bread Series was created.

It's so exciting to do commissions too.  It's also a huge responsibility to me when someone asks me to paint their concepts.  I'm very prayerful when I start a commission.  So far, every commission that has been entrusted to me, the collectors are very satisfied with the results.  What is a huge compliment is when the collector says to me, I don't want to put any idea in your head, just give me one of your colorful originals!!

Thank You Collectors Of My Art

These past few days I have been working on opening up some exposure to my art to other artists using social media.  I am blown away by the artistic creativity that exists.  There are so many options to purchase art.  I just want to personally thank my collectors who own, have bought my art and continue to support it.  You have so many options, but have chosen to buy and display my art.  I can't tell you enough how appreciative I am of you!!

Progression of Creativity

I love when a collector gives me an opportunity to do a commissioned painting for them.  Some give me concepts and others tell me to just create a Cindy original.  I love the Cindy originals.  I always tell my collectors that when I do a painting, I say a prayer over each one.  I always ask God to give me something in the painting that will reach the collector on an emotional level.  Always, even when a particular piece wasn't commissioned by the collector, the person collecting my art is moved in some way by the piece. Even when provided a concept by the collector, it still becomes a Cindy original, because my perception of what they describe could be totally different from what they imagined.  I've not yet experienced someone not liking the paintings I have completed for them.  Thank goodness.  I always provide them an out though.  I tell them if the painting isn't taking the direction they wanted it to take, I can always sell the piece I am working on to someone else.

My artist friend, Robin Maria Pedrero, has on many occasions shown the progression of her art projects.  I am thrilled to see her creativity evolve from just a splash of paint on her canvas.  It's amazing to see.  In fact, I have many artist friends on Facebook who have shown their progression of art projects.  So recently, I've been trying to do the same thing.  I usually try to show the progression of a piece to my collectors who have commissioned me.  I want to see their reaction as I add elements to the painting.  There have been times that I wished I hadn't taken that extra step in a painting and wished there was a photo shop feature for taking those strokes back.  And there have been times, when I haven't done enough.  I love being able to share progression with all my collectors and social media friends.  The feedback they provide is so encouraging!!

It really thrills me, when I receive a new follower or a comment from someone who has never seen or collected my art.

Below are the progression photos I took while creating "Living Color".

Accident Prone

I've been very fortunate in my life to not have an issue with being accident prone.  My brother however has had his fair share of being accident prone.  I remember at least once a year, my parents were taking my brother into the emergency for one reason or another.

I didn't witness one of his first accidents, but my mother can tell the story well.  He was just a little guy and was helping my Grandmother do the wash.  In the 50's and 60's they had a washer that looked more like a robot than a washer.  I'm sure he was very fast and happy to help her wring out the laundry.  This process was done by using a wringing mechanism on top that resembled the inside of a copier machine where the paper is dispensed out.  It had several rollers that would squeeze the water out once inserted.  Somehow, my brother got his little arm wrapped up into the laundry and if was fed through those rollers.  My mother said Grandma was fast to catch the switch and roll him the opposite direction to remove his arm.  I remember for the longest time, he had a scar from that day.  I guess that's why they modified that machine.  It was more common than we knew.

I remember all us cousins running around at my Grandmother's house.  My uncles worked in construction and many times, would park their utility trucks on my Grandmother's front lawn.  On this particular day, as we were all running after each other, most probably playing tag, we decided to run around this utility truck.  Of course there were those of us who would fall down, but get up and brush ourselves off.  But that wouldn't be the case for my brother on this day.  He got too close to the edge of the truck and caught the top of his eye lid below his brow on a hook or piece of metal that was sticking out on the edge.  I know to this day, you can see the scar still above his pretty blue eye.

Halloween always seemed to play a disastrous time for my brother as well.  In particular, I can recall a year when he was Dracula and we spent our Halloween at a park.  Again, it involved several children running around.  It is because of our costumes in the 60's that we have rules and regulations regarding how costumes are made.  My brother took a tumble.  It was quite orchestrated.  He took a rolling effect.  Then my parents heard the cry.  He fractured his arm that evening.

Our family loved to take trips to Palos Verdes and the beaches in the Los Angeles area.  In some of the beaches, there are bluffs.  I remember my father taking us on hikes on some of those bluffs.  I was terribly afraid of falling down them.  The trails got very thin.  I remember yelling at my father for taking us on those trails.  My brother seemed to be more fearless than myself.  After our hike, we would usually venture down into the water to play in the sand.  My brother and my Dad were playing some game which involved either a ball or Frisbee.  Well wouldn't you know it, the ball or Frisbee got stuck on top of a bluff like area at the beach.  My brother, being the enthusiastic retriever ventured up the side of that bluff.  I remember my Dad asking him how he was going to get down.  He responded that it would be easy.  He took a few steps and then from the very top of what seemed like three stories at the time, my brother in all his glory came rolling down the side of that bluff with dust being exerted from every part of his roll.  Then the thud at the base of that bluff.  Of course, we all ran up to him to see if he was alright.  I don't remember if he broke or fractured anything that day.

Then there was the Fourth of July.  I don't remember my brother getting injured during this holiday, however, when I was in middle school I remember holding the infamous Roman Candle.  I always felt like the Statue of Liberty when I held on to one of those enormous sticks of explosive sparks.  I usually held the Roman Candle away from me as always advised by my parents.  This one time, it was heavier than usual and I leaned in against my blouse in my abdominal area.  My Dad lit that and I was so enjoying watching how it turned from a bright glow to different colors and the sound it made as all that fire blew out of the top.  I started to feel something burning on my stomach and pulled the Roman Candle away and there was fire coming out of the bottom as well and had burned a hole clear through my shirt.  And that is why, we no longer have Roman Candles to hold on to.  Then there were those fireworks that you would hammer into the tree and watch whirl.  I don't know how many times that darn thing would come off the nail and twirl toward me and into my long hair.  I guess that's why those don't exist anymore for your average firework consumer.

Determination

I have some memories of my childhood in El Monte.  I believe at the time when I was about 6 or 7 years old, I was probably one of the smallest ones around.  I wasn't that outgoing.  In fact, I was considered the strange one (due to autistic behavior).  I had cousins who were very outgoing and were always the center of attention.  I used to admire that they knew how to do so many things and were fearless.

I have cousins who I thought should have been surgeons.  I don't know why at the time I thought it was acceptable, but a few of us would see our male cousins hanging around an old shed in my Grandmother's (Abuelita's) backyard,  They would be intently concentrating on a rock.  It was then that we realized what they were doing.  They were doing surgery on a poor lizard.  This particular one was called a blue belly lizard because it had a blue belly.  Evidently we had caught them after they had observed the working organs of the poor little lizard and one of them was proceeding to sew up an incision they had made.  After they sewed the lizard up, miraculously the lizard ran off.  God only knows how long that lizard lived after that.

These were the same cousins who thought it was great fun to throw each other into the cactus in my Grandmother's yard.  The whole house would run out when we would hear the cry of one of the boys coming from the back yard, because we all knew they had been thrown in the cactus.  All my Aunts (Tias) and Grandmother would gather around the poor victim and using whatever means and work at getting all those horrible stickers out of their body.  Of course the boys who threw the other cousin in the cactus would get a reprimand and then proceed to laugh at the one who was in the dining room getting the stickers taken out.

These cousins all knew how to ride skateboards and ride bicycles.  Even my cousin who was a little older than myself had a wonderful stingray bike she used to ride.  Her dad had adjusted the seat much lower than the older kids, because she was small in stature.  I used to admire that she was able to ride her bike back and forth from her house to my Grandmother's.  I didn't know how to ride a bike so I would run beside her always running out of breath.  Because she loved me, she would stop and then walk her bike until I caught my breath and then we would proceed again.  I remember thinking in my little girl mind, "I wish I knew how to ride a bike."

One day when there were no cousins around my Grandmother's house, I noticed that my cousin had left her stingray (I think that was the brand) bike laying on the ground up front.  I went over to it and awkwardly picked it up.  It seemed so big and heavy for me.  I had observed my cousin riding the bike, so I put my legs over and straddled the bar.  I put my foot on a pedal and pushed it down and fell hard to the ground.  I remember it hurt so bad.  But I picked the bike back up and did it again.  The same result over and over again.  The searing pain, over and over again.  I remember at one point seeing my knee scraped.  During this learning experience, I was able to get one pedal down and eventually getting the left pedal down, but falling repeatedly.  I remember crying.  But I was determined to ride that bike.  I must have been trying for hours and then it happened.  I pedaled a few times without falling and then would fall.  Mind you all this time, I couldn't reach the seat because it was too high.  I was doing a standing and sometimes sitting on the bar of the bike.  At some point, I was able to ride the bike in a full circle and fall.  Then by the end of my trying, I had mastered the balance and pedaling of the bike ride.  I was so happy, but there was no one to show.  So I took my chance and rode my cousin's bike up to her house to return it.  I remember feeling so proud that I had learned how to ride her bike.  I don't remember her reaction when I brought her bike to her.  I know for the rest of the day I was beaming.  I can only imagine what my legs looked like for days after. But, my determination paid off that day.