One Good Tern

One Good Tern / Oil on black canvas /  5x7 / $68 including shipping

sold!

THESE DAYS, I FIND MYSELF wondering about white privilege and how I exhibit it. About whether I am racist. Whether I, as a white person - and particularly a white person in the South - am blind to racism. 

While I don't think that I am racist, I do recognize that I have always felt more or less apart from people of color. I never heard the term "white privilege" until a couple months ago, though I am certainly a full-blown example of it.

I grew up well-off in a mostly white town, and went to majority-white schools. I've had a few black friends over the years, mostly school and work friendships that pretty much ended when life and jobs separated us - the same as most of my school and work friendships with white people. 

As an adult, I've lived in several black neighborhoods, and never thought twice about moving in. In one, I was memorably the butt of much laughter at my reaction to chitterlings (ick) shared with me by one of my black neighbors. Frankly, I had the same response to turnip greens shared with me by a white neighbor here. 

I admit to being fearful when I encounter groups of black male teenagers - but I am just as fearful when I encounter groups of white male teenagers. 

I've painted people of color, black and brown, and have sold paintings to people of all shades. One of my grandsons is half-black, and his son, my great-grandson, is, as well.

Here in majority-white Wachapreague, John, who is half of the public works department, is black, and calls me "Miss Carrie," or he did, until Peter died. Now, he calls me "Carrie." I don't know John's last name - but I don't know JD's last name, either. He is white, and is the other half of the department. He has always called me "Carrie."

Yesterday, I heard an African-American man in the post office talking about a change of address form, and I found that I wanted to barge into the conversation and introduce myself and welcome him - but I thought that might be disrespectful. And I couldn't tell from the part of the conversation I heard if he were coming to town or leaving.

I realized later that if he had been a white man, I'd never have considered butting in. And if he had been a woman of either race, I'd have jumped in with both feet.

Today, the men from Thornton Services came and installed my new heat pump/air conditioner, and I asked one of them (they were brown-skinned, probably native Spanish speakers from who knows where) whether I should give him the check (a larger check than most I've written in my lifetime) or whether I should drop it by the office.

He said I could do either, and went on to say that some homeowners didn't trust him and his co-workers with the big checks. He didn't say it with any heat, just related it as something that happened. I gave him the check. 

So I tangle myself up in this a little bit, but when I examine myself, I think I find that I am not a racist - but that I could be more aware. I believe I am a person who has grown up with the sort of race blindness that comes with white privilege.  I could be more active in the fight for racial equality. I will pay attention, and work to become more aware. I hope I am already on my way. 

***
A Last Thought

Risk

And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took to blossom.

- Anais Nin

Sanderling

Sanderling / oil on black canvas / 5x7 unframed / $68

sold! 

IN MY WORKSHOP Saturday, we painted chickens. We were on the legs and feet when I mentioned that I'd never felt chicken feet (or eaten them, though here in the South, you can buy them in a package in the meat section of the grocery store). 

Diana Davis, a friend, a superior chicken painter, and a woman who apparently knows her fowl, said that chicken feet are soft. I had always figured they were bony and hard, and heavy, so I was surprised. 

I have felt birds' feet on my hands, and what I remember is pointiness and spring, and my amazement that something that weighs so little could have so very much life. 

***

Workshops

SINCE WE HAVE BEEN shut in and isolated, I've been giving painting workshops on Saturdays, on my Carrie Jacobson Artist page on Facebook. 

The workshops are free, and last about an hour. It is what I can give to help people find some creativity, some color, some joy in a dark and difficult time. You don't need to be an artist, though some terrific artists paint with us - and some very much beginning artists do, too. All experience levels are welcome, and all, I think, feel welcomed.

So, please join us! This Saturday, at 1 p.m. Eastern, set yourself up with something to make art with and something to make art on. I'll be using a palette knife and oil paintings, but you may use whatever you like. People painting with the group have used pencils, charcoal, pastels, crayons, watercolors, acrylics and who knows what all else. 

The workshop is on my Carrie Jacobson Artist Facebook page - https://www.facebook.com/carriejacobsonartist . Go there a little before 1 on Saturday and look for me Live. You'll find me at or near the top of the page. 

The videos are archived after we finish, and you can find them all here - https://www.facebook.com/pg/carriejacobsonartist/videos

I'll post a photo during the week of what we are going to paint. I think it will be a vase of flowers, perfect for spring! 

***

Gratitude

TODAY, I AM GRATEFUL for the lightning that flashed Saturday, off in the distance, when I awoke past midnight. It was exciting, and brilliant, and made me know that summer is coming. 

***

For Today

"Art is who we are. It facilitates self-realization in everyone."

-Philippe Benichou

Tern

Tern / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68 including shipping

sold

RAIN PELTS THE AWNING over the kitchen window, as I sit at the kitchen table on this dark, windy morning. I am pretty sure the sun will come up, but in these mornings when night lingers - and lingers longer because of the storm - I sometimes, with a hitch in my throat, wonder: Will today be the day the sun does not come up? 

Of course not, I reassure myself - but I will keep glancing out, until I get the answer. 

***

For Today

The Germ

A mighty creature is the germ,

Though smaller than the pachyderm.

His customary dwelling place 

is deep within the human race. 

His childish pride he often pleases

by giving people strange diseases.

Do you, my poppet, feel infirm?

You probably contain a germ. 

- Ogden Nash