A new studio fell into our laps quite suddenly last weekend. Beautiful light. A kitchen, a bathroom, a dedicated cutting room, a dedicated shipping room. Storage galore. Manna from heaven. Happy-happy-joy-joy! Also work-work-work—but we’re not complaining!

We were constrained by a lack of space before, as it takes a lot of space to produce paintings as large as ours. The new studio will allow us to double or even triple our offerings.

Last week I was lamenting that I hadn’t been able to paint in a few weeks. Next week, I’ll be able to paint more than I ever have before! Wheeeee!

—Melynda

Having survived the theatre stint (must post pics!), a “vacation” (mothers don’t really get vacations, you know, ‘cause everyone must still be fed and clothed and tucked in and watched over), the holidays (shopping, wrapping, cleaning, family intrigue), and the rest of 2008 (don’t get me started!), I’m happy, but exhausted. The worst thing is that it’s been several weeks since I picked up a brush, and when that happens I begin to feel as though I’ve got a blindfold on as a dull colorless feeling settles over me.

Do you know what it’s like to take a sip of juice first thing in the morning? That burst of tart-sweetness hits you, your sense of taste is insanely acute, and suddenly you’re wide awake like magic (instead of trying to claw your way out of a sleep-induced fog for the next 20 minutes like I am). Painting is like that for me. The colors and textures make me feel wide-awake. The paint on my fingers and brushes seems eager with potential. I feel gloriously alive. I love what I do.

I hope you love what you do, too. If not, maybe it’s worth asking yourself why. Just a thought….

Wishing you a very happy new year, I am

Yours,
—Melynda

The Wekiva River Players is a non-profit group that gives anyone a chance to participate, whether it’s onstage or in theater tech (costumes, lighting, sound, sets, etc.). It’s a great thing for families to do together. Anyone, at any age, can help create the magic of a stage production. It’s rewarding and fun—and a whole lot of work!

My own family has been involved with WRP for years. My eldest brother’s two girls began performing with the group when they were youngsters. They’re grown now and out of the house, but their parents David and Bernice continue to devote hours and hours of their time to this worthy cause. They’re powerhouses, and they amaze me. They put in a lot of work, and their house is usually strewn with sound and lighting equipment (WRP, mature enough at 14-years-old to be needing a permanent theater building to call home, is still too young to afford one, so storage space is at a premium.)

In the past, I’ve served as lighting and spot operator and as set artist, but for the coming
two plays, I’ll be painting two huge backdrops—one a deep-dark, scary forest for “Hansel and Gretel,” and the other a colorful Italian piazza for “Pinocchio!” Both of these shows will be performed by the group’s Junior Players—kids 14 and under. They’re fabulous—especially my own daughter Julie Rain. In past productions, she’s been behind the scenes helping me and the other techies, but this time she’s helping out by filling in for another performer who had to drop out on short notice. This will be her first time on stage (Break a leg, dearling!).

In addition to Julie Rain’s starring role as “Villager Number Five” in “Pinocchio!,” my husband will be building sets, and my eldest daughter will be manning a spotlight—a job she enjoys (These will be her 8th and 9th shows serving as a lighting tech.). My brother is serving as tech director and stage manager. My sis-in-law is props mistress and ticket salesperson. My mom, as usual, is a “gofer,” a “cleaner-upper,” but I know she’s also standing by as a general fix-it-supra-genius.

In keeping with the I’m-just-a-girl-who-can’t-say-no! background music you’re hearing, the two 10’ x 30’ or so backdrops aren’t all I’ve said “yes” to. I’ve also agreed to create and paint a pot bellied stove, a puppet show-with-tent thingy I have no idea how to do (yet), a sandwich board, a huge witch’s oven, and three street salesmen’s carts.
Add this stuff to all the other stuff I normally do, and—whew!—I’m going to be one busy artist-mama-sister-daughter-teacher-businessperson-housekeeper-techie.

Theatre ho!

Known as The Bird Lady of Altamonte Springs, Ann lived in a house filled to the rafters each March through September with baby birds all needing to be fed every 20 minutes. The rest of the year, there were “only” a couple dozen hungry mouths to feed. There were also broken wings to set. Antibiotics to give. And the cleaning—oh! That was never-ending, too. I never saw Ann sit down.

It was expensive to care for the birds, and Ann willingly lived in poverty to be sure her charges didn’t go without. Caring for the birds was a 24/7/365 job—one that paid nothing at all. She lived on a wing and a prayer. Sometimes people would leave donations when they brought in a bird, but most did not. Ann didn’t grumble about it much. She was used to it, and, frankly, she just didn’t have the time.

My eldest daughter and I had the privilege of volunteering at Ann’s place for a short time before she passed a little over a week ago, Sunday, August 31st 2008. She was only 63. We’d been flirting with pneumonia (amongst other wee cavorting beasties) at our house, and we hadn’t wanted to give anything nasty to the birds or to Ann, so we’d stayed away for a while and hadn’t heard of her flight until today.

We immediately went to her place to see if we could lend a hand. I dreaded walking to her front door knowing Ann wasn’t there. The house was closed, her grown son not home, but I was heartened to find that all the birds had been taken care of already, absorbed into the small cadre of volunteers, two of whom—a lovely mother and daughter—were sitting in Ann’s wild-yet-beautiful front garden when we arrived. They’d been drawn there, they explained, out of love and an inexplicable need to be there.

We understood.

Ann’s garden is a peaceful place, filled with circles of stone and string, feathers and vegetation—a Native American thing I don’t pretend to understand. Ann hailed originally from Scotland, but she was fascinated with Native American culture, believing as she did that all living things were connected. Sitting in that garden, it’s easy to believe.

Today, as always, the place was dotted with perennials of reds and lavenders and yellows—most of them chosen with the birds’ comfort in mind rather than the people’s. Her many wind chimes filled the air with happy, gentle song. But the garden, which had been alive with dozens of birds every single time I’d been there over the years, today boasted but a single mocker (as Ann called them). I wondered—as I always will—if it was one of her orphans or one of their offspring.

Though most often gruff with people, with birds Ann was…how can I describe her? She was an angel. She cooed to them and talked to them, sympathizing with them and praising them as she gently, deftly, swiftly assessed their condition. Watching her during a new arrival’s triage was mesmerizing. I don’t know why, but the birds almost always stilled, calm in her hands, as though they understood she would care for them. And care for them she did. She was an honest-to-goodness, self-made expert. And she loved them. Curmudgeonly as she seemed at first, if you got under her skin you discovered that Ann loved all good people, whether they had feathers or not.

As I sat in her garden today, weeping, I realized suddenly that Ann would be mad as hell about it. “What’s all this nonsense?” she’d scold, gruff as ever. “I’m dead. So what? Use what you learned here, and get on wi’ it!”

I will, Ann. Thank you.

What I learned was that there are hundreds and hundreds bird and wildlife sanctuaries all over the world. We all pass by them regularly and never know it. They’re often ordinary-looking homes whose insides would have your mouth gaping. Like Ann’s home, they’re filled with baby and injured animals and staffed by selfless, loving people—people who need help desperately.

Ann Young went without in order to care for her birds. Ultimately, it seems, that selflessness cost Ann her life. Another of her volunteers reports Ann wasn’t feeling well over the weekend but wouldn’t consider going to the doctor. I’m sure Ann measured the cost of a doctor’s care in meal worms or other things her birds needed.

Don’t forget Ann wasn’t the only one going without. Just a couple hours of your time—or dollars—per week can do an enormous amount to help these angels-on-earth. You don’t need to be an expert to be of use to a sanctuary. And, believe me, you won’t regret the small sacrifice of time or money. My life has been so greatly enriched for the short time I was with Ann! I fed a tiny bird no bigger than my thumb. And I hugged a woman whose heart was bigger than the Universe.

Please look up “refuge” in the phone book right now (Really-truly now! Now, before you forget!), or call a veterinarian, animal control, or the Humane Society to ask about wild animal refuges in your area. Do it for the animals. Do it for yourself. And, please, do it for Ann.

The store could very well be completely open right now; it’s fully functional, but it needs a tweak here and there to look just right and function the way I want it to, and the web designer in me doesn’t want it to go live without being perfect.

Actually, I never want to let any project go until it’s perfect.

I’ve blogged about that before. Sometimes you just gotta let go of something, or you never will. And sometimes, you must give yourself permission to do things imperfectly from the get-go. Painting is like that. For an artist, too much control is a Bad Thing (unless you’re a Norman Rockwell type), because results in creative constipation.

In this case, it’s resulting in a serious log jam of paintings in the studio.

Some areas were hit with 25+ inches of rain and many homes were flooded, but our area received “only” 15 inches. Flooded, debris-covered roads and an overflowing swimming pool I can deal with. No houses in my area flooded, and for us the rain wasn’t so terrible—at least for humans. But the animals, now—they suffered.

I was sickened to see that, after 3 days of solid rain, the poor starving swifts were forced out of their chimneys by hunger. We saw dozens flying low to the ground, searching for insects in the rain—and at high noon rather than at twilight. That never happens! There just aren’t any flying insects in the rain. I hope the swifts made it through—though I didn’t hear any of their distinctive calls in the sky tonight, and I’m worried for the wild little feather people out there.

And Fay isn’t finished visiting. At this moment, she’s literally gushing over the welcome she’s receiving in Alabama and Georgia, states which both need rain desperately. They’re still suffering a nasty drought that has been lingering since last summer. Last fall, we took a working trip to the mountains of North Alabama. There’s a gorgeous waterfall there on Lookout Mountain that I love—but when we arrived in October it was barely dribbling over the edge and into its deep gorge. We literally walked across a completely dry riverbed above the falls. Not anymore. I’ll bet the gorge is a torrent now. I hate to think of all the animals that have been taken by surprise by the sudden flooding of the gorge after such a long dry spell.

Stay safe up there, guys, okay?

An email exchange from a couple days ago:

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Hi Melynda,
I have contacted you before about your work, but wasn't able to afford it at that time. I would like to check on the price of a custom piece that would be 66x66. I want the size to be 60x60, but need to leave enough room to stretch it. I hope to hear back from you soon.

Thank you,
Jodie (name changed)

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Hi there, Jodie!

It's great to hear from you again. Unfortunately, your email arrives right as I have a 102 degree fever and I feel like I'm coughing my guts up! LOL How 'bout I delay a proper reply until after I stop feeling like crap? Trust me...you want me to reply later, as I tend to charge more when I have to incorporate drool and other questionable art materials into the work. ;-)

TTFN

Yours,
--Melynda

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I will definitely wait!! I don't want any foreign objects in the painting!
I hope you feel better.

Jodie

Ah…frackin’ design! New colors, new textures, new, new, new! We hate our new online digs!

It’s definitely a love/hate relationship right now.