These days, I am up to my eyeballs in paint. I'm preparing for an upcoming exhibition, RESCUED: Dogs of Pet Haven. I will be displaying a sneak preview of the series at Pet Haven's Fall Benefit on Saturday and will hang the rest of the show Sunday night. Needless to say, the pressure is on. Luckily, when it comes to art making, I seem to thrive under pressure.
Last night, in need of a break, I sat on the floor with my sleepy pup, Ella, and studied/scrutinized the work surrounding me. There are now so many paintings that I've run out of room to hang them. Before sitting down I had been working on the portrait of a beautiful boxer/American Bull dog mix named Spice Girl (now Bella, her adopted name). She was rescued by Karen Good of Red Lake Rosie's Rescue. Her back led was injured when they found her, and she carried a litter of pups, of which only 2 out of the 5 survived. Her leg required amputation but has healed well. The best part of this story is that she's been adopted by a family who loves her beyond words. There is a strength in her that had me hooked from the moment I laid eyes on her photograph.
As I work on her portrait, her gentle eyes and strong demeanor cause my heart to break open. Sitting on the floor, with my pup snuggled warmly on my lap, I noticed that my work has "matured" in the past year. The thought struck me as odd since it is a concept that I would normally attribute to the work of musicians as they grow into their work....musicians like Norah Jones or Ani Difranco or Bonnie Raitt--the ones that started young, got famous, and stuck with it. Perhaps it isn't so much that my work has matured, rather that it has become more purposeful. As I find myself more deeply involved in my endeavors, it is interesting to me how this deepening shows up on the canvas as well. I don't get used the sensation of my heart breaking open, no matter how many times it happens in a day or a year. I think, instead, I've become more sensitive to it.
The other day I finished a portrait of Hazel, a pit bull mix also taken in by Pet Haven. Hazel is a Hurricane Katrina dog and, two years later, is still waiting to find her forever home. I can't tell you how badly I hope that this painting will help her get adopted. The painting captured such a look of yearning. She splinters my whole being into a million pieces.
Then there's Peanut. I have to admit that I love the way Peanut and Hazel bring balance to one another. In painting Peanut's portrait I was overcome by a feeling of sheer joy and exuberance. I mean, just look at her! Peanut was rescued from a hoarding situation where she was neglected and starving.
And this is what I love about rescued dogs: their resilience.
My heart can break open a million times during the course of the day, but it always comes back to hope, to love and, yes, to resilience. All I know is that I am profoundly grateful to be doing this work. These days I have been painting from the time I get up until the time I go to bed. Despite the exhaustion it produces, I would not give this up for anything.
In my studio, I have what I call the "Wall of Dogs." It is where I put all the photographs of the dogs I've painted. The wall is full. But not nearly as full as my heart.
Next week I will be moving into a new studio space. Oh, sweet anticipation! It's a good thing because, currently, I am bursting out of the seams of the space I'm in now. I'm looking forward to the extra space for many reasons...and with it will come an even bigger "Wall of Dogs." My only question is: how many dogs can one heart hold? I have a feeling that the answer to that is: a lot.
This post was originally published here.