“Of all God’s gifts to the sight of man, color is the holiest, the most divine, the most solemn.” John Ruskin

To my memory, I grew up in a pretty colorful environment. In  the 1950’s, our  house was turquoise,  and our car was fushia. In our living room – bright lime green chairs and flamingo pink curtains. In the kitchen, colorful Fiestaware dishes. But the experience of color that lit the fire of an artist in me, was watching my mother paint a trio of circus themed paint-by-numbers for my soon-to-be baby brother’s nursery. I watched at her elbow daily as the paintings took shape, mesmerized by the tiny color- filled paint pots, the smell of turpentine, and the magic as she placed one color next to the other until forms took shape as a giraffe,  an elephant, a circus pony. It was nothing short of magic to eye of a six year old. I watched till the very last brush stroke was placed ever so perfectly on the end of the giraffe’s tongue  – a tiny dot of  shiny white. My mother was a genius! I wanted to do that someday too, and as time passed, I did that and much more.

Fast forward to me an artist in 1972,  a new mom, setting up my soon-to-be son’s nursery, hanging that sweet and colorful memory on his wall. I still own that treasured set of paint-by-numbers, and they have photographs taped to back of them.  One of my mother proudly propping up her new son in his blue polka dot diapers with the circus paintings on the wall behind them and another, me with my new baby boy, and  the same set hanging behind us.

Now, it’s 2013 and that set  of paint-by-numbers hang in my Texas studio as a constant reminder of  how color can in fact, be the greatest gift to the sight of man, and a nod to my mother, for raising me in such a colorful, joyful environment.

There is a Hindu festival called Holi, during which crowds of celebrants hurl colored powders at each other in commemoration of Krishna’s pranks. It’s a frenzied scene of crowds with whirls of color and the faces of people covered in hot pink, yellow,  and orange. So as solemn and holy as John Ruskin’s comment on God’s gift of color is, I prefer the Holi celebration where worship is a loud and joyful festival of color. But he is most certainly correct on the divine part.

May you live in a world of  joyful color.

Consider your heart a cocoon from which dreams emerge.

(detail of canvas collage, COCOON, by Catherine Massaro)

( featured photograph by Catherine Massaro)

“I’m a member of the last generation of American children whose parents, especially mothers, did not worry about us almost constantly .” 

These are words from one of my favorite column writers on parenting, John Rosemond. www.rosemond.com

How I  loved the freedom I had as a child. Especially in the summer when our only requirements were to be home at 6 o’clock sharp for dinner, know where your brother and sister are, and don’t bleed out. Cuts were fine, bruises were fine, anything that required stitches or expensive trips to a doctor were not fine. We survived summers on great big bandaids and hydrogen peroxide. That’s that great stuff that bubbles up when it hits your wound and disinfects whatever evil you fell into. We looked like wild animals by the end of summer, just in time for school to start. Then came haircuts, hard shoes, and a return to schedules and accountability. Yet checking in was still slim. Dinner at 6 sharp NEVER changed, but it was up to us to seek out mom if there was trouble, and that was to be avoided if at all possible. Mostly because she was busy working and expected us to figure it out ourselves – which we did. It made us independent  in behavior and independent thinkers as well.

My mom was there for us though, solid as a rock, both soft and prickly. My independent streak drifted well into high school where I was consistently in trouble as I tested the boundaries of just how far I could go with practicing adulthood. I had many hard landings, including one very memorable expulsion. And just when I thought I had pushed the boundaries way past tolerance for even my father, I found a greeting card on my bed, with my dad’s handwriting on it. My father rarely, if ever, got involved with discipline problems which were my mother’s realm. So it was a surprise, to say the least , that my father had commented on my expulsion.

The picture  on the card was the famous Norman Rockwell painting of the little pig tailed girl, bruised black eye, all disheveled from a schoolyard skirmish, waiting on the bench outside the principals office – she had an impish smirk on her face. The inside of the card read simply,

HANG IN THERE.

Signed…

Love, dad

I still have that card, and still value how few words it took for him to tell me that it was my battle to fight , no matter what form it took, and love would be there to back it up.

Parenting back then was both soft and prickly … just like real life.

Thanks mom & dad.

50 \ 50 chance there is a roll of toilet paper under that skirt…however, I did not look. After all, who looks up a lady’s skirt?

it’s what you see.

GO GET YOUR OWN GLIMPSE OF GOD

I wake up every morning eager to be inspired by what life has to offer me. I can do this because I made a conscious decision to live in the question – to embrace uncertainty and change. Uncertainty and change  are the only real constants in our lives anyway. They are the only two things we can always be assured of day in and day out. When I wake up, I know these two things will be my constant companions.

So how do you organize your days around uncertainty? Here’s how – by looking for connections and staying wide-eyed and ever curious about living that day. Decide to spend the day dwelling on the threshold of adventure and see what comes to you rather than chasing down a dream or goal.

It is my contention that your dreams and goals can come to you, simply by changing your intention. 

…and the Buddha said on his deathbed ,

                                                                               BE YE LAMPS UNTO YOURSELVES.

I’m taking my annual trip back to Buffalo next week to see my friends and family.

Part of the whole ‘growing up in Buffalo ‘ experience is a connection to Niagara Falls, which was virtually in our backyard and a place we went to often on a lark. (that meant skipping school)

It’s a good thing we did not have iPhones or smartphones back then. We would have been caught more than we already did. Photographing ‘the falls’ and being photographed by it, are great moments that must make George Eastman smile down from heaven every day.

My father introduced me to the camera and developing pictures. I have boxes of pictures. Real ones. The ones you hold in your hand and can’t seem to throw away. I don’t want to anyway. Those old pictures, and new ones that you make a print from are a shared legacy.

Hold it in your hand.

Carry it in your wallet.

Let it get all dog eared and funky.

Put it in a photo album, or tuck it in a sketch book… keep it over a lifetime, and then, just before it crumbles, find a way to preserve it and pass it on – all raggedy and loved.

Worthwhile things should endure, because a disposable legacy, is no legacy at all.

1. groceries

2. dry cleaners

3. water plants

4. catch up on emails

5. laundry

6. recycle

7. call mom

8. notice something beautiful

DON’T FORGET TO TAKE TIME OUT TODAY TO NOTICE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL.

(photograph by Catherine Massaro)

Yesterday was the Dalai Lama’s 78th birthday. I love the Dalai Lama. I love the baby Jesus too. And Buddha as well. I mean, what’s not to love?

It wasn’t always that way for me. Religion was so damn confusing to me as a child. Being raised Roman Catholic had lots of rules, but it narrowed down to one basic rule … having faith. No matter what confusing question I posed to the nuns at Sunday school, the pat answer to all the mysteries in my life was always answered with…have faith. This answer was very unsatisfying to me. I was looking for some real answers. Why are all those children in Africa starving? Why did my dog have to get run over by a car? Where is that pony I prayed for every year? Then as I got older – what’s the deal with that Vietnam War? Why are so many people dying of cancer? Why did my friend commit suicide? The world’s problems kept getting bigger and more out of control. I heard no good answers, and faith  certainly wasn’t cutting it. I was a fallen Catholic.

The road back to any kind of faith came after a 3 year experience with the Unitarian Universalist Church. The first year I attended happened to center around the teachings of world religions. Each service was a different speaker, about a different country and its’ religion, and the after service refreshments were pot luck donations of food that featured the culinary experience of that country. And as the adults were upstairs at the service, the children were downstairs learning about customs and geography and beliefs of the children of those different worlds and world religions. Gosh it was eye opening. Suddenly the commonalities of world religions started coming together for me and I began to get my own sense of how religion could work for me.

                                I learned it’s better to believe too much than nothing at all. 

And the best thing I learned, was in the beautiful words of Vincent Van Gogh – “But I always think the best way to know God is to love many things.” I think the Dalai Lama would like that birthday wish. Love many things.

Anyway, don’t get all worried about religion, having one, following rules … we all find our way if we have an open heart. So go get your own glimpse of God. Because the only possible spiritual path is your own experience.

And HAPPY BIRTHDAY Dalai Lama!

(photo detail from FORSAKEN , canvas collage by Catherine Massaro)