Sunday, January 10, 2021

Artnotes: Daily Chat


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Dog of Many Colors Blair Pessemier  acrylic/canvas 14 x 18" 35 x 46 cm   475.00
For many years, I tried to write a little something every day.  This practice flourished in the cold dark winter, but in the summer I was like a cicada, out having fun, not giving a fig for habits, especially good ones.  
Pepper Up   Laurie Fox Pessemier  acrylic/paper 17 x 25"  41 x 63cm  350.00
In about 2011, after my mother died, I started calling my father daily, and speaking to him for ten or so minutes a day.  I would tell him how I saw the first butterfly, or how there was frost on the yard (my dog thinks of it as grass gelato).  We would make bets about who would win the election, or the world series.  I would tell him my newest hair-brained scheme.  He would talk to me about how he took a walk early in the morning, by the light of the moon. He would sit on the bench in the park in the afternoons, listening and sometimes kibitzing with the other old men. He and I rarely reminisced; he hated to talk about the past.   And we steered clear of politics, although we were both of the same persuasion:  love one another.
Greek Chapel Sifnos  Blair Pessemier  acrylic/canvas 12  x 16"   30 x 40 cm   450.00
Sometimes it seemed a bit of a bother, but once I got on the phone, it was really wonderful.  I learned to listen, to see humor (my father loved to joke, and laughed easily), to appreciate that we could see things differently.
Oysters   Laurie Fox Pessemier  acrylic/canvas 12 x 16"  30 x 40cm  450.00
When I think back on this, really, it's  like pandemic visiting – not being together but checking in.  This year, I have heard about other people who are doing that – just visiting for ten minutes, asking about each other. These conversations tethered my day, and my Dad’s, and he would thrill when I called from some exotic place.  
Sounion   Blair Pessemier  acrylic/canvas  16 x 13"  41 x 33cm  525.00
(who's itching to travel?)
It occurred to me this was like writing every day.  But it directly touched another person, and for that I think it’s better.  For me, at least.  After my father died, in 2018, I kept what I called the “mosquito journal” – I’d write to him in the way I talked to him.  But, with no input on the other side, it was not so rewarding. In the big picture, it’s why I always quit my daily journal.  
Our Backyard in Winter   Laurie Fox  Pessemier  acrylic/canvas  13 x 17.5"  33 x 45cm  450.00
I do speak to my friends more regularly these days.  I spoke to someone new this week.   People who would visit once a year now call once a month.   But I really miss the daily chats.

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