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I hadn’t heard the word kerfuffle in years; so when it tumbled from an attractive newscaster’s lips, I chuckled. People of “little import” cause kerfuffles. They try to make a big stink out of nothing, but end up looking foolish themselves.

These kerfuffler’s stir people up whenever and wherever they can, but their arguments fall flat for lack of evidence or interest. Afterward they slink away only to come back again and again to stir the waters of confusion and uncertainty. Their efforts never amount to anything more than the proverbial hill of beans, but the resultant anxiety they cause to the target or victim may last long after anybody else remembers.

These trouble makers reside in almost every profession or walk of life. Their voices are usually louder than the rest and their complaints often influence the uninformed or the angry. Instead of contributing positive solutions and inspiring cooperation, they try to divide and conquer. Their agenda is usually selfish and their goal is power and destruction. Sometimes they win and sometimes not.

I’m generalizing, of course. Most of us have probably caused a kerfuffle or two in our lives. Seldom are things black and white. But there is something to be said for those who do all the work and hold onto their views in spite of the haranguing of others. They plod along faithfully and patiently, and provide input only when their asked or to smooth ruffled feathers. They add consistency and strength to any group or team.

High fliers bring talent and skill to the table, but they can’t be bothered with details. They are long-range planners with a wide overview. Their contributions bring direction and purpose. But as soon as you ask them to roll up their sleeves and help, they are off on another tangent, planning the next big event. Their calendar is always full.

The point is, it takes all kinds of people to run a business, manage a corporation, or provide leadership in our communities and in our world. We can either be the workers who help move things along or we can try to hinder the progress of others. We can be the drones who eat off the fat of the land (or the hive), or we can use our talent and skill to form alliances and shape ideas.

Some people are motivators. They challenge and inspire others to share their gifts and join in the cause. This person is the key to making any combined effort or project enjoyable and worthwhile. Cooperation ensures a positive outcome. If you have a leader who can motivate others to action, productivity is higher, job satisfaction is increased and success becomes a reality.

I have a long list of paintings I want to create. Whenever I get an idea, I quickly jot it down. Some of these gems blossom and some wait in the wings; never to become more than a fleeting wisp of ethereal brain matter.

Many good ideas are beaten down with the big stick of apprehension or common sense. Do I really want to do anything so risqué? Would anybody buy such a painting if I did create it? These are the kinds of nagging fears and inhibitions we are told to avoid. They are the pitfalls that drag us into the dark abyss of self-doubt. They make us question our ideas, our inspiration and skill even before we get our ideas off the ground.

We are our own worst enemy. We sabotage ourselves at every turn. First we’re too young and inexperienced; and then when we gain knowledge and skill, we chastise ourselves for not being “at the top of our game.” We ruthlessly compare ourselves to others. We’re not smart enough, good enough, or skilled enough. Someone else is always better.

Finally if and when we reach some semblance of success, we wax melancholy, worrying that perhaps we’ve already reached our mediocre pinnacle. We fear that our encroaching age may make us obsolete or irrelevant. We humans are so predictable. We want to be this unique and special gift to humanity, but we give up before we’ve even gotten our big toe wet in the gene pool of competition and exposure. We not only fear failure, we fear success.

When was the last time you truly believed in yourself and in your ability to not only complete a project, but to fill that empty hole inside where your unfulfilled dreams reside? What is trust but an innate belief in one’s worth?

Does the seed question that it will eventually germinate, blossom, and reproduce? No. It simply does what it was born to do: grow, develop and bloom. The same things we were created to do. We were born to grow, develop and bloom. But rather than nurturing our hopes and dreams, we smother them with insecurities.

The seed sprouts because it is created to grow upward, forever searching for the light. Our fears are born in darkness and by constantly looking inward to measure whether we’re happy or not. Instead of reaching up to our source of strength and inspiration we become self focused. Dreams must be outward focused. We reach out and up trusting that we are capable of better things because we are “gloriously and wondrously made.”

An intense desire to share your vision of life with others can pull you out of yourself and stop the unfruitful tail spin of self-defeat. When you love your craft and trust in your own inner passions, the thrust will automatically bring you fulfillment and completion.

The ugly truth is out! Unless you have a bank account like Jane Fonda or Cher, eventually you’re going to fade, rumple and sag. The time will come when you can’t hide your age behind a MuMu or a Caftan. Bye and bye, gravity takes its toll.

The idea for this article came while I was ironing. It’s a chore I hate and one I do as little as possible; but, hey, the fashions of spring and summer seem to require ironing in spite of the “no fuss” labels.

If there is any compensation in pressing out those wrinkles, it has to be the upper arm exercise required to push my outdated steel steam iron across my tottering ironing board. They’re both almost as old as I am.

When elephants get wrinkled and leathery it’s quite fashionable. Their tough skinned outer wrapping protects them from assault and predators. Unlike human beings, the oldest elephants in the herd are given respect and power. They’re not ignored or put out to pasture just because their old.

Older people are difficult to draw or paint. Some artists draw lines for wrinkles which make them harsher and more unattractive than they need to be. Shading will produce a more subtle result. By highlighting the highest skin areas on either side of the shading, you get a softer wrinkle.

My husband and I recently had our photograph taken. The photographer asked us if we’d like a “touch up.”

“How much?” I asked him.

“$60,” he quipped; “but it will remove spots, wrinkles, and even the sag under your chin.

Humph, I thought to myself. The proofs looked pretty good to me.

“I want my children and grandchildren to recognize me,” I said as I added a disgusted “No, thanks!”

Why are we so afraid of aging? Why do we treat our seniors and middle-aged population as if they’re no longer worthy? No longer capable of holding a job?

We should equate aging with wisdom. Knowledge and experience is nothing to sneeze at.

I’m saddened by our youth obsessed culture that lives from one high to the next either drug induced or in exaggerated self adulation. The newspapers record their escapades and their fall as if none of it really matters, but it does.

We only have one life to live. I for one am trying to make the most of it – wrinkles, sags and all!

Someone once said: “The basis of good art is drawing. If you don’t know how to draw, you’ll never become an artist.”
The question is do you believe that? And if you don’t, what is the basis for your opinion?

Throughout the years there have been many artists and creators who have won the test of time and their work still charms audiences today; artists that could not only draw, but were masters of illustration and animation.

Popeye was launched in 1929 debuting in a minor role in the comic strip “Thimble Theater.” Within two years, Popeye was the star of the strip. In 1933, Popeye became such an instant icon that spinach consumption in the US went up 33 percent during the 1930s many years before I was born. I became hooked on Popeye through my father who loved to read comic books after a long day at work.

In 2004, Popeye celebrated 75 years of being loved and adored and is still going strong. I discovered Popeye collectibles in the early 90s, and by then there were others who purchased and stashed away their favorite King Features characters. Today my collection sells on Etsy: http://www.etsy.com/shop/AnfinsenArt

Other illustrations, comic books and cartoons I loved as a kid were created by Walter Lantz: Woody Woodpecker, Andy Panda, and Wally Walrus to name only a few of the characters that danced across the movie screen and cavorted through the pages of my personal stack of comic books.

Here is a Link to one of my favorites: Walter Lantz 1947, Frederic Chopin – “Musical Moments” with Woody Woodpecker and Andy Panda.
http://youtu.be/gZ6sdMUmIFA

In those days, kids traded comic books. Those with the largest horde were envied. Horror comics and movies were also adored. On Saturday morning at the movie theater we screamed and shuddered through the horror flicks. Frankenstein, Zombie mania, and Abbott and Lou Costello kept us wide-eyed and glued to our seats.

As an illustrator, Walter Lantz was way ahead of his time. Before Political Correctness came along to modify and tame, Lantz created without inhibitions or guilt which was typical for the age. Today, some of his early cartoons are banned for their racial content and stereotyping. But even this cannot take away from the magnificent characters and stories he created. Taken in its totality, the career of Walter Lantz proves that the man was a genius, way ahead of his time.

Walter Lantz 1947 Overture to William Tell on YouTube
http://youtu.be/VKKR4JJMqoQ

The creator of Raggedy Ann and Andy, illustrator Johnny Gruelle, endeared earlier generations to the magic of toys coming to life while their owners slumbered. Even today, many parents have introduced their children to these red-headed rag dolls. In 1970 at the height of their popularity, an animated film called “A Musical Adventure” enchanted children everywhere. A short YouTube clip highlights a scene where the toys awaken from their slumber.

http://youtu.be/vQXlAi_-nW4

Sitting at the salon waiting for a haircut made me lament the amount of time it takes for pure “maintenance.” Not only do we spend hours keeping our body’s clean and our fingernails and toenails trimmed and polished, but we spend time each week exercising, eating, and sleeping.

I know, I’m being anal (it’s what I do best!). The thing is where do we draw the line? Where do we find time to do what we love; to write, to read, to paint, to draw? Add to that composite the demands of a job and family and you get my point!

The key is learning to use your limited free moments wisely. Snatches of time can be used for birthing ideas, drawing on a potential canvas, or jotting down a few words or sentences in the rush as they come to you. My best ideas have actually come to me while driving, ironing, or fixing a quick meal.

I keep a pen and paper handy in every room in my house. I have a moleskine notebook in my purse, in the car, and where I watch Television. I use them constantly, even on the go. As I was running errands today, I jotted down the word “maintenance” as an idea for this blog. Afterward, the movie “When Harry met Sally” flashed forward. The film is a timeless classic that illustrates beautifully the principle of high maintenance, and low maintenance. The crux of the matter is that we’re all high maintenance, only about different things.

I use a certain product that only Sephora sells. Another “must” is found at Ulta several miles away. If I were less picky, I might be able to compromise and save money on gas and time; but as I said, I’m high maintenance. Most of us want the best for ourselves, even though we could sacrifice and scrape by with something less.

Normally, I hate to shop. Oh, I love to spend, but I hate to try on clothes. I’d rather order an outfit online and hope for the best than struggle in and out of my clothes on a hot muggy day in Florida.Choices. That’s what it’s all about. I would rather wear my grungy paint clothes any day than worry about shopping for a new outfit that I may wear some of the time.

I really get into my groove when I’m slapping paint around. I’ve ruined more clothes thinking that I’ll take a few swipes at a canvas before running to a meeting or a dental appointment. My stack of paint clothes has grown the past few months from two outfits to five. My husband would call that high maintenance. I say, whatever it takes to keep on painting and keep on trucking to do what you love!

I used to think my ex mother-in-law was an old fuddy duddy. She was a rock hound, of all things, who spent precious time polishing stones. She also made fragile sand paintings inside of bottles that disappeared in a heartbeat if one of them got pushed over. She spent hours in her garden. Her house was an absolute dust bowl!

On a positive note, her grandchildren adored her and gathered around in joyful anticipation when she started one of her “projects.”
I thought of her the other day as I gathered still more poinciana seed pods to add to my collection. “Have I reached that predictable time of life,” I wondered, “when simple things seem much more precious than the purchased junk we usually settle for to clutter our lives?”

Out of guilt, I did try to neaten up my seed collection; more for those who would look askance at my seldom used dining room table which is now covered with beautiful “finds” from the fields and walkways where I exercise.

My ex mother-in-law had it right. She would rather spend her days in the garden and out in nature than cleaning a house that grows dusty each day and needs to be cleaned again and again to keep it pristine. She was part of a culture that believed frivolity and self-indulgence were sinful and artistic endeavors were frowned upon. I suspect she may have been a frustrated closet artist in her day. Her stone jewelry and sand paintings were cherished by many.

She emptied her heart and used her fingers creating things from nature that may have been considered useful and practical. There was no guilt in leaving her cleaning behind to work in the garden, to cull the weeds that needed tending to or the people at church and in her family who needed her. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” she’d been taught and so hers were busy all the day long.

I feel closer to her today than I did back then when she scrutinized my habits and frowned upon those times of relaxation as if they were sinful. Today, at long last, I understand her. I feel a kinship with her yearnings; probably many of them unfulfilled. She would never have admitted it, but she was an artist in her heart of hearts.

The wasted moments of our lives do go by in a heartbeat. Soon we all grow old and in the looking back we wonder what we’ve missed? In hind sight, the tender moments spent with a child are far more precious than the accolades of others that are fleeting and fickle. The tick tock of the clock sounds louder and we wish we could squeeze every drop of laughter and sunshine into that place within that holds them dear.

Now I watch the dust settle on the furniture and baseboards while I capture some fleeting thought that may burgeon into a masterpiece that only I can see. I listen to the critics and hold my tongue. Before me I see yesterdays trail of tears and frustrations melting onto canvas or paper in a colorful crescendo of joy.

Eat your heart out, I think quietly; this one’s for me!

I was a tomboy growing up. I preferred monkey bars or playing cowboys and Indians to playing with dolls. When my mother couldn’t find me, I was usually up a tree, literally. I viewed every tree as a challenge that must be conquered.

My favorites were the mulberry trees that grew near our street. I’d straddle a branch and stuff my face with unwashed mulberries until their semi-tart taste had satisfied my sweet tooth. When someone walked beneath me, unaware of my presence, I felt all knowing and powerful.
From up here, I could see into adjoining yards. I knew who was home and who wasn’t. It was a hiding place where childish secrets could be discovered and shared later when the time was right. It also gave me space and time to ponder the wonders of the world and my place in it.

In those days I often ran around in my underpants, especially on hot summer days. Once while helping my mother with the ironing, I burned an elongated triangle on my mid-section. That was the last time I ironed without being fully clothed.

The next day, dressed in a sun top and a pair of shorts, the burn now covered with a still-wet scab, I climbed a wide-spreading oak tree. By this time my legs were so long it was easy to step from one branch to another and scale to the highest gnarled branches. In the process of climbing, I scraped my midriff against the rough bark peeling back the scab and revealing a seeping red sore. The pain was excruciating. I scrambled down so fast I turned my ankle when I hit the ground running for comfort and a bandage.

I once scaled a tree so high I was afraid to come down. My mother’s younger sister scolded me at the foot of the tree and demanded I come down the same way I went up. Although we were close in age, she was my aunt, and loved to Lord that over me. If I didn’t do what she said, she was sure to tattle to my mother.

I don’t know what happened to the girl I once was? Later in life, I was afraid of heights. I wonder now if the scolding’s and threats I received put a fear in me that later I associated with heights? At any rate, as a teen I climbed to the top of a water tank and was then afraid to descend the ladder and come down. This was the first time in my life I’d been afraid of heights.

I cured myself of my fears by rock climbing, repelling and experiencing a zip line. I discovered that as long as I focused on the rock face (my goal), I was unafraid.

I continue to love the splendors of nature. There’s nothing like the scent of fresh pine mingled with frying bacon and potatoes or fresh caught fish on a crisp morning in the mountains. I celebrate still the wonder of God’s glory in every sunrise and sunset. I rejoice as an artist in the beauty I’m privileged to paint.

Sitting at the salon waiting for a haircut made me lament the amount of time it takes for pure “maintenance.” Not only do we spend hours keeping our body’s clean and our fingernails and toenails trimmed and polished, but we spend hours each week exercising, eating, and sleeping.

I know, I’m being anal (it’s what I do best!). The thing is where do we draw the line? Where do we find time to do what we love; to write, to read, to paint, to draw ? Add to that composite the demands of a job and family and you get my point!

The key is learning to use your limited free moments wisely. Snatches of time can be used for birthing ideas, drawing on a potential canvas, or jotting down a few words or sentences in the rush as they come to you. My best ideas have actually come to me while driving, ironing, or fixing a quick meal.

I keep a pen and paper handy in every room in my house. I have a moleskin notebook in my purse, in the car, and where I watch Television. I use them constantly, even on the go.

As I was running errands today, I jotted down the word “maintenance” as an idea for this blog. Afterward, the movie “When Harry met Sally” flashed forward. The film is a timeless classic that illustrates beautifully the principle of high maintenance, and low maintenance. The crux of the matter is that we’re all high maintenance, only about different things
.
I use a certain product that only Sephora sells. Another “must” is found at Ulta several miles away. If I were less picky, I might be able to compromise and save money on gas and time; but as I said, I’m high maintenance. Some of us want the best for ourselves, even though we could sacrifice and scrape by with something less. Normally, I hate to shop. Oh, I love to spend, but I hate to try on clothes. I’d rather order an outfit online and hope for the best than struggle in and out of my clothes on a hot muggy day in Florida.

Choices. That’s what it’s all about. I would rather wear my grungy paint clothes any day, than orry about shopping for a new outfit that I may wear some of the time. I really get into my groove when I’m slapping paint around. I’ve ruined more clothes thinking that I’ll take a few swipes at a canvas before running to a meeting or a dental appointment.

My stack of paint clothes has grown the past few months from two outfits to five. My husband would call that high maintenance. I say, whatever it takes to keep on painting and keep on trucking to do what you love!

Why is art one of the most popular methods used in healing? We certainly don’t need more artists in the world. What is it about the practice of touching brush to canvas that heals the soul?

My conclusion is the “focus” that painting requires. The very act pulls you out of yourself and takes you on a journey of line, color, texture and form. Feelings are given life and anguish melts into fluid that is pushed and pulled into a heartfelt story.

There is beauty in the finished product. Discoveries are made about one’s self. Inner turmoil is released and anger spent. As paint flows, tears run. The horrifying and ugly are confronted and expressed. Unspoken words are visualized and controlled rather than running wild in the fear worn caverns of the mind.

Afterward the cleansed heart heals, the pain dissolves, and the artist is refreshed. Is it any wonder that people want to take up art to see what they’ve been missing?

That’s exactly how I began to paint many years ago. A friend, knowing that I was depressed and struggling with a growing family and a difficult marriage suggested I join her in a neighborhood class taught by an artist in her basement studio. I tagged along, not knowing what to expect.
It was love at first brush. I found my niche! And in the process, I lost myself completely in each canvas. In the process, my self-esteem blossomed, my coping skills increased, and I never looked back.

For some, healing begins with music. I met a wonderful woman who heals with her guitar and a song. She visits hospitals, rest homes and other areas where suffering is paramount. Her comforting melodies have helped terminal patients get a grip on their illness and passing. She has increased hope in the hopeless.

We have all witnessed disabled children make great strides around animals such as horses and dogs. They overcome fears, gain self-confidence, and feel better about themselves. The warmth of touch and connecting is a key component. Discover your passion and begin the healing!

Advertisers use symbolism to help viewers relate to their products and to help them remember. Their purpose is to “endear” their wares to potential buyers. It seems to work. Who can forget Apple’s logo: the apple with the bite taken out of it, or Target’s red bulls eye, or McDonald’s golden arches. We look for these symbols on the highway when we want something to eat. We file these symbols away in our minds and think of them when it’s time to shop or to make a purchase.

On my morning walk, I saw a parked car with a small chrome fish on the trunk. Immediately, I recognized the owners as Christian, at least in name and desire to share their beliefs with others. According to tradition, ancient Christians, during their persecution by the Roman Empire in the first few centuries after Christ, used the fish symbol to mark meeting places and tombs, or to distinguish friends from foes.

According to one ancient story, when a Christian met a stranger on the road, the Christian sometimes drew one arc of the fish outline in the dirt. If the stranger drew the other arc, both believers knew they were in good company. The fish was formed from the Greek word: Ichthys. The lines for the word form an actual fish outline. Current bumper-stickers and business-cards use of the fish hearkens back to this practice.

According to the Huffington Post, Religious symbols are a way to unite members of a common faith tradition, and to indicate to others the religious tradition they represent. Take their quiz and see how many symbols you can identify.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/10/20/religious-symbols-signficance_n_3964458.html

Artists place their signatures on every painting. Some of them are unique and unlike any other. Sometimes a symbol is created that becomes that artist’s trademark; remembered and identified. A few famous artists’ signatures have become classics. We recognize them in an instant.

And who can forget the signs of the Zodiac. Even though many frown on the practice of using horoscopes or signs to predict life events, they are all around us and difficult to avoid. The use of these signs is condemned in the Bible, yet I’ve known many Christians who playfully peak at their daily predictions and then quickly forget them.

Many famous people, even Presidents and their wives have been known to rely on them for decision making or to predict a bad time. Personality traits are identified for each sign and almost anyone can see themselves in their birth month.

As a marketing ploy, having an identifiable logo or sign can promote your business. A trademark that people recognize or a name that evokes feelings of satisfaction is a real plus!