When it is all said and done, my favourite story of friendship and art, is the one about my first, and thus far, only internet friendship. About six years ago, I discovered by happenstance an artist who was posting mini paintings on Facebook every day. As a gift back to the universe following a challenging personal experience, this remarkable talent was not only painting and sharing these tiny treasures with the world, but giving them away to the first person who was lucky enough to claim them. Naturally, I was right on board with this project and looked forward each day to her post. I managed to claim one, Bryan claimed two. We were the happy recipients of a tiny cow, a tiny winter scene, and a tiny tree (credit: Lisa Graziotto). Tiny, as in the size of a penny. All sorts of people followed this virtual art show, and all sorts of people loved this daily reminder of beauty, skill and generosity.
At some point, the artist and I started to communicate. And then one day, I think we both realized we had become friends. In the following years, we sent messages and letters, gifts and surprises. We still do. I have received tiny stones, note paper, and one Christmas, even some cookies in the mail. But most importantly, I have received art. Some to keep and some done as very personal commissions for us to give as gifts to very special people. Portraits of our new nephews and an almost-but-not-quite granddaughter captured precious moments. Engagements and weddings commemorated.
In our own collection, there are quite a few examples of Lisa’s work, but there are some that represent extra special moments, memories and stories. We begin with where we live. This tiny (yes, it is only the size of a penny) painting of our house was commissioned for my birthday one year. The skill involved in these minuscule brush strokes is astounding, the fact that it represents this place where we live and keep our collections, makes it perfect. Our home for nineteen years. A treasure chest, a shelter, a comfort, a luxury and a safe refuge from all that swirls around us.
There are paintings that represent our lives. My work, our travels and ourselves. It is no secret that I have been known to offer rocket candies to piano students to cure a variety of ailments. They are good for headaches, bad moods, frustration and, of course, an old fashioned sugar rush occasionally needed for a thousand reasons. Knowing this, Bryan conspired with Lisa to create a lovely oil painting of a packet of rockets for my fiftieth birthday. What could be more appropriate to hang above the piano? I am reminded of much as I look at it every day. Much. It makes me happy and has opened up conversations about art and painting with many children. They are fascinated that it is possible to have an oil painting of candy. Some understand, some are baffled (yes, some think it is very weird). But the fact that I know someone who can paint so well is, apparently, mind blowing. There is something magical about seeing a child realize that art is real and accessible that makes this particular painting extremely powerful.
Art is a constant companion in our home. But it is also ever present when we travel. Several years ago, we were able to go to Saint Petersburg in Russia. Definitely an art lovers' destination. Upon our arrival, we were quite excited and, as we often do, posted a photo of the view from the apartment we had rented. It was a funny view of the rooftops, power lines and the glorious dome of the Saint Isaac’s Cathedral. I vaguely remember Lisa commenting on how it would make a good painting, and replying that that was her department. Shortly after we returned home from this grand adventure, a small parcel arrived in the mail. Within it was my view. A view that never fails to bring back memories of a trip filled with history, beauty, new experiences, food, art and music. This is what an artist can offer. This is what we can receive.
And then there are the eyes. A few years ago, Lisa decided to do an eye project. It was called, I see you. She collected eyes. Carefully creating small paintings of people’s eyes, capturing their beauty, their character, a single moment. We have one of each of us. It is our version of a family picture, our own portraits, although slightly less grand than those seen in castles and museums. Mine is based on a photograph of my eye the day following cataract surgery – a brand new eye, a bit tired but seeing clearly for the first time in several years. Our eyes watch over us. And every now and then, I am startled to see myself within that small representation. And I am reminded that I have been seen.
Lisa and I have had some laughs, we’ve had some serious conversations, we’ve been supportive. About a year and a half ago, we finally met in person. It was as though we were long lost relatives. Funny how someone can become a soul sister, just like that. It has been a difficult year for this friend of mine as she has battled cancer, and I have learned much from her strength, her courage and her dogged perseverance. I have looked at her art on my walls and been inspired, and I’ve been reminded to carry her in my heart as she’s gone on her voyage towards renewed health. Art does many things, serves many purposes. For us, it brought together two people who would surely never have met otherwise. It required us to become friends. Because we saw, and we understood. This is what art is, this is what art does.
carla, i don't know why i did not see this posting in your blog! i'm sorry that i overlooked it, didn't comment, looked like i ignored your writing but i just discovered this today (july 26, 2022). your words are so beautiful, and exceptionally kind. the universe truly knows how to bring together two people who need to spend time sharing our creative ups and downs and just being who we 'are' with each other. i am grateful each day that you and bryan have become my friends and allowed me into your circle (and on your walls). life is grand when creative souls share time. thank you for being 'you'. your voice, your music, your 'you-ness', make this trip…