The Secret Ingredients of Mud Pies

Mud Pie
Detail of 30"x40" painting in progress titled "Ivory's Mud Pies" still a part of Ces and Her Fiesta Dishes series.

Do you remember eating mud pies? Didn't they taste good? There you were a little girl, shoeless, looking so forlorn and lonely because you played alone and adults think that when a child plays alone, she is lonely which is not the case at all. Children who play alone are not lonely and sometimes they are not really alone. You made mud pies and pretty soon you had a feast of mud pies and what do you do? You invite your friends to the mud pie party and they all come and they are all nice and then you start eating "chomp, chomp, chomp..." and then you hear a voice. "Get inside! Where are your slippers? That is dirty! Wash your hands!..." (By the way, my Mother used to tell me I had big feet. I never really think i did but now looking at the photo, I did have big feet!)

Do you know why mud pies heal? Because of their secret ingredients. Mine had potent ingredients and for a long time I struggled to recreate my mud pies with my friends. They were satisfied with these ingredients: imagination, creativity, fun, laughter, freedom, joy, sharing and mirth. Alas they melted and dissolved., and with these mud pies some friends who have come and gone and a few who pretended to be. The ones who helped me bake with all the ingredients will remain until I die. After my friendship pantry was raided and destroyed, I struggled to find the last three ingredients. Recently I started baking them again. I am cautious but hopeful. And so I started to make another mud pie again. I have all the ingredients I need. If you want to know the last three ingredients you may have to wait. I struggled with these little tykes' eyes. It does not look like rocket science but I think another painter will understand. It took me six hours to just do the eyes and faces alone. They are part of a 30"x40" painting which may take a while.

Pearl Grey, Dedicated To My First Sister

Being born to wise parents and wise sisters and brothers does not guarantee one wisdom. I struggle with this. I am forever catching up.

Pearl Grey's Dream Sequence (This Morning)
30"x40" Oil on Gallery stretched canvas.

Pearl Grey (Last Night)

30"x40" Oil on Gallery stretched canvas.

Chartreuse and Scarlet can't hold up a carafe to their sister Pearl Grey when it comes to dreams. In fact it is believed Pearl Grey sleeps just to dream. Pearl Grey, Chartreuse and Scarlet are Fiesta dish colors. Perl Grey and Chartreuse are retired. Scarlet is still an active color.

The pictures I painted for Pearl Grey's background are real paintings. The nurse painting is one of two paintings I did from a study (Diablo de Uteri) I did many years ago (above left). The paintings like my life are interrelated, interconnected inside out, outside in, round and round.

Today is both a day of joy and poignant remembrances. Today my Father died ten years ago. He passed away on the day of his first child's birthday, my eldest sister. I used to miss him a lot and I cried for a couple of years when I remember him but I realized he lives in me and so I stopped crying and started celebrating. Thank you Tatay, for everything and for being my father. My eldest sister was very close to my parents when we were growing up. She grew up being a pseudo parent and if I have been disrespectful, defiant or unkind to any of my sisters or brothers all of whom were older except my younger sister, I cannot ever remember being so to my eldest sister. I looked up to her when I was a child, literally and figuratively. Hahaha! Seriously, I was smitten with her. She walked with grace with her head held up and she spoke English with a beautiful accent and diction.

I had a crush on my own sister. Hahahaha! She is also the only sister who gave me a lot of slack and always intervened on my behalf to save me from the dungeon, the gauntlet and the firing squad when every entreaty failed and I made everybody's lives miserable by my antics and bad behaviour. She explained to my Mother that "Ces is different, maybe we should experiment with her. She does not respond to traditional child rearing and cultural trends." BAM! I got a pass. Not really. (In the "Sisters" painting I depicted my sister wrapping her hand on me).What happened was the happiest of childhoods. I still got punished for misdeeds but my eldest sister gave me my first watercolor, charcoal, pastel, colored pencil sets and sketch and drawing pads and construction toys. She also let me shared her bedroom with her! Instead of sleeping in the girls' room, I slept in my eldest sister's room. She took me everywhere with her. She let me touch things. She will always be my favorite teacher, second to my mother, in fact my sister was my fifth grade teacher. The school had no choice because she was the special education teacher for the gifted and some people believed that I was just a little bit gifted. One Saturday, she took me to school with her. The school was closed but she needed to inspect the repainting job. The classroom had a massive solar system painting overhead. I picked up the brushes, of course! but it was wet so I shook it, just like a dummy, and the turpentine splattered all over my eyes. I screamed "I am blind! I am blind!" My sister knew just what to do. When we got home I was afraid she would tell our mother what happened and I was afraid Mother will be upset with my carelessness. She did not tell her. Wow! I decided I will love her forever and she can do no wrong by me. My sister is the kind of person who emphasizes abilities over disabilities, and believe in everyone's capacity to do their best.

After my grade school years, my sister went on to become a professor, author and authority in Special Education. She was a Fulbright scholar and professor in the U.S. and is an author of several books on Special Education. After she retired from her professorial job, she continues to teach and manage a school for disabled children.

Oh my, my sister is truly great and wonderful. She makes accomplishments , achievements and honors mere tasks. Why my brothers and sisters are I achieved academic success is because of her guidance and inspiration. Every friend of mine who I leave in my sister's company returns in awe not because she is wonderful and awesome in many ways but because she is very unassuming, humble, compassionate and extremely kind and gentle. I make it my prerogative to beam with pride., of course. This morning I received an email from her and she wrote

"Dear Ces, your blog is sooo good, I do not miss reading it. I think, no, I'm certain, I have a gifted sister. We have not seen you for a long time but your blog, with our pictures sometimes, makes distance less an enemy. Don't you sleep?"

Hah! There you go! I think so much of myself sometimes and my sister knows how to make everything real. My sisters are sometimes distraught that most of our family photos do not have my elder brother who studied at a university in another island or was always away for work. My eldest sister loves him very much. He is her favorite because they shared so much during their childhood including the Japanese occupation (he was a baby and she was a toddler). The first big painting I did, above, (36"x48" is a depiction of my mother, my eldest sister and brother). Here's a picture of our two brothers for you Inday.

Happy Birthday! I love you. You can ask for anything and have anything you want from me.

Sisters

The Daughters of Hope (Esperanza). 36"x48" Oil on Museum stretched canvas.

I have shown this painting before on my blog. It is a painting of me and my sisters. This afternoon I was cleaning my email accounts and found some personal folders with saved emails. I noticed that some of these emails were prepared blog posts. I thought I'd share this one with my blog friends. On Sunday we will be celebrating my eldest sister's birthday. It will also be my Father's death anniversary. Incidentally my Mother also died two days before my second eldest sister's birthday.

The Secret World of Sisters

Wed, February 28, 2007 9:22:28 AM

A sister smiles when one tells one's stories - for she knows where the decoration has been added. ~ Chris Montaigne

Sisterly love is, of all sentiments, the most abstract. Nature does not grant it any functions. ~Ugo Betti

Children of the same family, the same blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent connections can supply... ~Jane Austen, Mansfield Park, 1814

A sister is a gift to the heart, a friend to the spirit, a golden thread to the meaning of life. ~Isadora James

My Sisters

I love Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice because of the sisters. I also love Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women for the same reason. But unlike the two novels, my very own life story with my sisters, do not involve jealousy or envy. We are six women who love one another, yet there were times we wanted to wring each other's neck when we were younger. If sisters are our best friends, then I am blessed with many. They make other best friends slightly best. There is an unwritten bond among us. It says "I will never leave you, I will never abandon you." It’s almost a religion. I cannot get rid of them even when it is convenient for me that they are not there. Whatever I do they will still be there.

Because of them I will never lose my childhood. With them, I remain half-woman, half-child. Everyday they remind me of my childhood, a happy one. Our childhood home was very noisy. We also had two brothers. Oh, our poor Mother! She had eight feisty, competitive, strong-willed children. She heard it all, each vying for importance and at times of quarrel, wishing the other to be sent to live with relatives. Yet, in my sisters’ arms I find solace, comfort and love. Sometimes I am reluctant to tell them my worries because it is their nature to help and relieve my burden. The eldest told us once that we could not be successful if one of us struggles. If siblings are the people with whom we practice fairness, kindness, loyalty, cooperation and caring, then I had excellent practice. I seldom see my sisters these days, it has been years for some. There is an invisible link among us that only we can see and feel yet it was never more so visible when we gathered around our dearest Mother as she lay dying and finally when we buried her. Her passing made our bond permanent.

Lifting The Cloud Over My head

Sky outside my window on January 31, 2010

My friend Pamela is a brilliant, creative, gifted woman, artist and analyst who inspires me and makes me thankful for the blessings in my life. After my walk yesterday, I stopped by her office to see how she was doing. Her office is two floors above mine. It is filled with art and toys. In half an hour we had a marathon conversation of topics ranging from core measures, work emails and memos, photography, art, exercise, relationships, friendships, death and loss and making time for one's self without feeling selfish. I went back to work and an email landed in my Inbox. She wrote a poem for my Skywatch! Isn't she magnificent?

Sky Watch

by Pamela Mahan-Rudolph

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The heavens are on display,
But I haven’t time to see it
Too busy, too distracted, too
self-absorbed.
Trying to get to the next thing,
To the next moment, that is not now.
But the sky beckons me,
With its wispy, wind-splattered white puffs,
Sunlit colors of blues, yellows, oranges and even grays.
So, I look again, I pause for a breath, and I see--
the sky, all its beauty
shining bright and alive before me.
I realize that life, is right here,
right now--
Only this moment.
I sigh, in relief
That I have finally arrived,
Lived to see it
In all its glorious display.
2/2/2010

I don't even care that the skies have been gray these past several days, I really need to look away from my screen sometimes and look out the windows and even at the walls filled with colors and drawings of the people I love. The sky above was the view outside my window last year before a storm. How is your sky today? Go check out the other skies below.

click!

Da Internet

I am just quoting, you know. I did not mean to post today but I was surfing the web and found this article.

"British scientists found that the longer people spent online, the less likely they were to be happy." Are you happy?

"A small group of the worst affected individuals were both depressed and addicted." Aaaaack! Read the article here:

Internet surfers caught in a web of depression

"But it was not clear whether using the internet causes mental health problems, or whether people with mental health problems are drawn to the internet."

What is your mental health problem, hmn? I think they hit the nail on the head! I need to consult with my psychologist. Does this include Facebook, Twitter, online dating, online shopping, Blackberry, chat, online gaming, message boards - AAAAAAAHHHH! I am going for a long walk!!!

Le Grande Chartreuse

Chartreuse, Scarlet's sister. Oil on 30"x40" Stretched Gallery canvas. Still unfinished.

Several years ago, I painted the picture on the right and called it Medium Green Tea. During that time period I belonged to a message board called Medium Green Fiesta. It was a fun group where everyone talked about Fiesta dishes and just about everything under the sun really. It later moved to a new site but I forgot my sign on and password and by then I got so busy with work and, ahem, blogging and of course my art! That is why my blog is titled Ces And Her Dishes. I wanted to talk about my new obsession. After two posts about dishes, I ran out of things to talk about.

Those of you who have been visiting me for quite sometime will know about Scarlet, left. The last time I saw Scarlet, she looked very happy in her new home. Two weeks ago I tried to paint but nothing came up. I always struggle with a new canvas. I have this idea plus I usually have done my study but when I pick up a brush, it does not want to follow any study or preconceived idea. Paint, paint, paint...nothing. I saw Scarlet's picture and a thought entered my mind. She is thinking about her sister, so that was it. I painted her sister. There she is above. her name is Chartreuse.

Incidentally, Scarlet and Chartreuse are Fiesta dish colors. Rose, Marigold and Heather are also Fiesta colors. I wonder what they would look like. In the meantime I am just happy with Scarlet and Chartreuse. I will hang Chartreuse somewhere in my home looking towards the west. What was more fitting than to paint the Medium Green Tea painting with Chartreuse? Alas, Chartreuse uses a polka-dotted cup, which is her favorite. I have not signed Chartreuse yet. You know what that means, anything goes.

An Inkaholic's Trees

My name is Ces and I am an inkaholic.
I listen to music, like this:
Click on the Play icon (triangle)



while I draw trees...
until my wrist gives out!

Obscured By Wires and Billboards

I don't hate Mondays. It's just that it follows the weekend and when I am not on-call during the weekends, I make a point of being lazy. I spent all weekend doing nothing but drawing. I drew for 26 hours starting Friday night. I sat on the same chair in the kitchen drinking coffee and drawing while occasionally checking my email on my phone and the nearby laptop. Ugh! I hate that I subject myself to these electronic gadgets. My mind was busy thinking about my life and what I was doing with myself. Obviously not much that weekend. My daughter joined me and she went online doing homework assignments while chatting on her laptop and text messaging on her phone. Daisy, our gentle and loving dog sat beside us and we occasionally got off our derrieres and wrestled with her on the kitchen mat. At one point she leaped on my daughter's lap begging to sit on the chair next to her. She obliged. I did not mind. My son sat down with us from time to time and so did my husband. That weekend if they wanted anything from me they had to come to the kitchen. I did not cook but we did not starve. There was food and my kids are teenagers. At one point I felt guilty that I was not providing meals, I ordered pizza.

I am grateful for so many things. First off my family and my friends. I have terrific friends, truly wonderful friends who I value more than the diamonds, the gold and pearls... obviously I am not that crazy about jewelry but I am crazy about how my friends stimulate my brain and hold my heart when it bursts out of my chest, including male friends who step in front of me to protect me from any situation that would threaten my safety when my husband is not around to do it for me.

Darn it! I meant to talk about the sky on my daughter's birthday!

On Monday evening, my husband and I picked up our daughter's birthday cake. I had an awful Monday workday full of meetings and my checklist was burgeoning with new tasks. I managed to get the major things for that day out of the way. I could not even remember the sky outside my office window but on the way to the bakery, WHOAAAA! I look up and the sky was ablaze. I had no camera so I took these photos with my mobile phone. It was disheartening, the billboards, wires, posts and traffic obscured my view. I hated that I live in a big city but settled with the realization that at least we are better off economically than most states, so I just thought of these things as symbols of survival but I could not contain my excitement.

I looked up and made a sign of the cross on my chest thinking that the heavenly show was prepared especially for me. How self-absorbed can I be? But I honestly praised God for giving me a spectacular performance. My husband loves it when I get this excited. He tried to chase it without veering off too far from our destination.

On the parking lot of the grocery store, we met a friend whose truck had a flat. He had gone home to get another truck but first, he told us he wanted to show us a picture of his new girl. I thought he meant daughter. He showed us a picture of his new girlfriend. He was beaming with pride. She used to be a Playboy model. In the meantime, I had to politely listen and was missing my sky show!

By the time our friend was finished gushing I looked up and this is all what was left of the heavenly spectacle.

We went inside and picked up our daughter's birthday cake; went home and I cooked her the "simple" dinner that she requested. We celebrated her 14th birthday. Overall, it was copacetic.

For My Dux Litterarum: An Acer Grove and Hydrangea Flowers

Cluster One

For my Dux Litterarum who tickles my brain and always has the most wonderful things to say about my drawings even if I am making faces at them. Below is the full picture. The image above is a high resolution area detail. I drew thirteen smiley faces and three lizards. Can you see some of them?

On the left: Maple grove with hydrangea bushes on foreground. I am disappointed with the image. I don't have a scanner large enough to capture this 14"x17" Bristol Board drawing. I was only able to scan a limited area. Another thing, I can't get too excited over this illustration. I think I used too much ink. I should have left some white spaces. This drawing exacerbated my carpal tunnel syndrome, but it is much better now. I repeatedly listened to Pink Floyd's song "Wearing the Inside Out" while drawing this. Do you think it may have adversely affected me? I love that song. It inspires me to create. Is that alright that I am dedicating this to my mental ninja friend even though I still feel lukewarm towards it?

Eat

I don't know why I make decisions out of the blue, maybe because I can. I wanted to stop blogging but I keep missing my sisterfriends. I really had no reason other than I said I would. In the past it did not bother me that I changed my mind every few seconds. Now I am having a hard time being fickle. I am bothered by it. I am getting old. I want some constancy, but right now, I shall eat the words I said to Bella about not blogging for a month. With the long post below, you probably wish I stayed away, so...

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Modern medicine and American society, I can only say American because I can’t say much about the others, have given melancholy a bad rap. I can understand why depression requires chemical therapy but melancholy?
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I grew up in a home where introspection and pensive mood was a welcome and necessary state of mind. It allowed us to evaluate and reflect on our lives, our being and existence. I grew up in an introspective and reflective thinking family. Just imagine a slow Saturday morning before we started our chores. There we were in the shaded garden. My mother was sitting in the canopied swing talking to the fish vendor whose high pitched voice pierced the crisp morning air. My eldest sister M was walking with her head held up gazing into the horizon, thinking. I knew in her head there is some discussion going on or paper being written. My brother D was standing by the palm tree blowing smoke from his cigarette with eyes narrowed, thinking. I hated the fact that he smoked. My sister L was sitting in the wrought iron chair under an umbrella canopy reading and writing. My brother E was pacing back and forth, thinking, gesturing. He sometimes stopped and smiled at the young helper who meekly returned his smile or said something funny to him. My younger sister L was in the outdoor kitchen toying with and feeding the fire. I don’t know what was in that pot blackened by the soot from the burning firewood. My sister R was speaking softly, giving instructions to the two young female helpers who also spoke in hushed tones. My sister F… my sister F, she comes out smiling, says something and everyone turn their heads towards her. She is a catalyst for the fun and mirth that exploded in laughter or a chorus of loud and happy voices all speaking at once, conversations crisscrossing. My mother and the fish vendor stopped their conversation and my mother was proudly looking at all of us. Tia Aurea, the fish vendor admiringly looked at everyone and sometimes made a comment at one of the children. She was always complimentary to my sisters and brothers. With me she was free to tease and criticize. She said things like “Cee-cil look at you! You look like you are going to war in that outfit” or “Go to your mother and help her!” It never bothered me. People think they can say anything to me or command me but that is only true of the ones who are dear to me. Otherwise, I had the foulest, most sarcastic mouth to accompany my bellicose teenage decorum in that house. I gave Tia Aurea deference. She was our laundrywoman and the mother of one of my classmates in high school.
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For my part, I was with my father who was tinkering with his camera. He asked me questions and when I was younger I replied with an argument or defiant answer. The older Ces, the one who came back for a visit with her husband, was now swelling with love and desire to give him a hug or a kiss. My heart was pounding and telling me “Kiss him! Just grab him or hug him from his back and kiss him like you do so naturally with your mother.” Instead my body was frozen, it did not move. Instead I just answered his questions methodically with extra gentleness.
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Dear God! I loved him so much, my father, and I was so proud of him but it took me to leave the country to tell him I loved him. The last time I saw him, he looked so peaceful in his coffin. He looked like a thinner version of my grandfather, whose photograph of him in a white suit leaning by a tree, I used to gaze upon. I can’t remember my grandfather. He died when I was a young child.
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My children only met my father once. My son was four years old and my daughter was one year old. She screamed her heart out when I put her on his lap. As a toddler, she only preferred her father’s company and mine. Thank God my son sat with him, lingered, touched him and hugged him. My father beamed with pride. My son celebrated his seventeenth birthday two weeks ago.
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So back to melancholy, it takes me to some unknown journey. I did not mean to talk about my father; he just popped into my mind and in my heart.
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Today is my daughter’s birthday. She is fourteen years old today.