Rainbows can be bridges across troubled waters. Gifts from God, from darkness into glorious light. My personal rainbow was His gift of art.
(This is a long post--please read it to the end!)
I have been drawing ever since I could hold a crayon. My earliest pieces include childish copies of "Snow White" from an early book with stylish art deco illustrations--possibly Arthur Rackham's. A beautiful princess with long, flowing curls and a laced bodice over her gown. (In fact, I was so taken with her story that I begged my Mom to buy me a dress with a laced bodice for my first day at school. It was more expensive than she had budgeted, but she did it anyway. Lovely memories...)
Both at home and at school, I was always known as "the artist". But, it was scoffed at as a vocation. My Dad was proud of my ability at first, and took my art to a famous NJ artist named Michael Jacobs for a critique. And introduced me to Jim Avati, famous for his lifelike paperback covers. Later, another illustrator named Paul Lehr looked at my work and complimented me for my oil painting of a prospector's cabin... Paul's friends--other freelance commercial artists--hired my Dad for remodels, and consequently I met other members of the "art community". They encouraged me, and once gave me a small project: Design a patch for a dog club (prophetic...) But, I was taken out of school at 16, put to work on my Dad's jobs, placed in charge of all the farm livestock, and assigned the care of my aged grandfather. No social life, no dreams, no future...
After years that grew more and more isolated and restricted--and filled with endless work projects--we were spending some time in an old farmhouse that my Dad had bought in Canada. Other than the Bible, we were allowed very little reading--one approved magazine was "Sports Afield". I think it was early 1975 or '76. My sister was reading the newest issue and pushed it across the breakfast table to me. "I think you might want to see this." The article was "Sporting Art Today" featuring the new and exploding genre of wildlife art, and masters such as David Maass, Maynard Reece and others. It was my epiphany. My love of the outdoors, my experience with animals, and my passion for art all came together at that moment. I knew this was my calling.
Many fights ensued--including threats of hell for my soul. But art was the one thing I finally fought for. My first sale was just before Christmas 1976. Shopping malls were a new phenomenon and invited artists to set up, to attract the public. That first painting was a little gem--morning light on a snowy spruce outside my studio window. I was on my way....
I believed that I could do it, and the Lord blessed me with great response. Looking back, some of my earlier paintings make me cringe, but some were really excellent. Ducks, deer, dogs... Local hunters snatched them up, including some poetry/posters I wrote about the emotional experience of hunting. "This is how I feel, Alice! I didn't know how to say it!"
To me, this is the essence of true art. It should not be so esoteric as to require a critic or "expert" to explain its meaning to the average person. Art should resonate with the viewer, re-creating the depth of emotion/nostalgia/pathos/joy that first inspired the artist to paint.
I did my first dog portraits at a sled dog race in Upstate New York. My fee was $35... I began to branch out into retrievers and pets, and charge higher fees. This became my niche within the genre of wildlife art... Soon, I was winning awards for sporting dog art-- Ducks Unlimited Artist of the Year (NY State and VA)--and my dogs appeared on the covers of magazines like American Brittany, Labrador Review and the Ruffed Grouse Drummer. And in 1978 I was accepted as an exhibitor in the prestigious Easton Waterfowl Festival, then THE premier wildlife art exhibition. I was a recognized wildlife artist!
My confidence grew, but I was still leading a dual life. One of cult slavery at home, the other as my own person at the shows. Dad soon boasted publicly that he had helped me become an artist--partly true, after he saw that it was making money. But, the fact was, he couldn't bear losing some control over me. I let him control me and my life until God took him in 1986. (I both loved and hated him, mostly feared him...when he died I was devastated until I realized I was free...) Until then, the Lord was my refuge and strength, despite the raging fights, the beatings, the tears and chaos as I tried to reconcile the "Christianity" we lived and what the Bible actually said. I knew something was terribly wrong, but could I dare to believe that my entire life/worldview was all a lie? I continued drifting down the dark and murky River of Life passively accepting "my lot"...
Meanwhile, God gave me some rainbows, glimmers of hope and peace, until He set me free. One was a glorious experience. Private, between me and the Lord. Although I called out across the field for my family to share it, none came. It is mine alone.
I think it was July 1978. We were at our getaway place on the north side of the Thousand Islands, Ontario, where I had a tiny front room for a studio. The day was dreary, grey with drizzling rain. Late in the afternoon I was emotionally spent, so put on boots and poncho, and went for a walk down the dirt road to our other old house, an abandoned Victorian farm. Turning west on the laneway, I trudged up toward the barn--and saw a strange 'vision'. The wild grapevines on the northeast corner of the barn were glowing! The lowering sun had sent out some shafts of brilliant light from under the clouds, far to the west, and was backlighting some of the leaves. I was spellbound.
Suddenly, off to my left, in the middle of the overgrown field, I realized there was a flurry of activity. Bird wings were flashing white in the emerging sunlight, centered on some old elms and a rockpile. They were harassing something in the brush. Predator! I envisioned a fox or other wild creature, so I dashed off through the thick wet weeds to see. No fox escaped, but soon I saw something far more unusual.
There, crouched in the grass, was a young male kestrel (sparrowhawk), wings spread defensively, his huge dark eyes challenging me. He had been bravely fighting off the flock of angry birds. I leaned down and scooped him up, gently folding his wings against his body, and placing his little talons around my fingers. One was dark with dried blood from a recent meal.
A wild hawk in my hands! I was overwhelmed with awe. His plumage was almost complete--blue-grey wings, speckled breast, rusty back, banded tail. But the tufts of baby down at his eyebrows gave his youth away. Even then, his eyes glared at me fiercely, directly at my face. Almost amusing considering his fragile size. His hooked beak was open, threatening me with certain death...
Meanwhile, the dark clouds overhead were breaking to the west. Late golden sunlight flooded the landscape, glinting off the dead elm branches, sparkling on the raindrops hanging on the brush, gilding the huge windswept white pine on a rocky ridge to the east.
And to my further delight and amazement--rainbows overhead! Glowing color arching high across the deep grey sky. Not one, but double, the second a mirror image of the first. Then, echoes of tiny rainbows underneath...I have never seen anything like this day, before nor since. I could scarcely breathe with the ecstasy of the moment.
A wild hawk in my hands, brilliant sunlight overtaking the miserable day, and multiple rainbows over it all. A miraculous fantasy...
I know now it was God's prophetic promise to me. A future using the gift of art He had given. Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future..."
So, as I came to myself, I went back toward the old Victorian farmhouse, where I knew the kestrel family had a nest in the rotted eaves. Before I quite got that far, I saw the female sitting in a gnarled apple tree by a shed, anxiously watching me with her son. I threw the fierce little boy up into the air toward her, and they flew off together. Around the barn, around the very corner which a while ago had been glowing in the darkness. Now, all was light.
.
