Anything is Possible . . .

Or Baseball's Opening Day as a Metaphor for Life

This may actually be news to some of you, but I'm a HUGE baseball fan. Today is Opening Day and every year for the past 12 years, I'm reminded of this day in 2002 when I flew home from Germany and that same evening, went to the Oakland Athletics' Opening Day game. So today, as I wait to go out to the ballpark, perhaps even sit in the rain (!), I feel compelled to post my story about that day, April 1, 2002. I hope you enjoy it.

It’s another miserably cold Opening Night at O.Co Coliseum in Oakland. I’m sitting with my German born husband in our outfield seats, layered in thermal underwear, jacket, hat, scarf, covered in a blanket and I’m still cold. But I’m extremely excited because baseball season has finally arrived. My husband, however, is slightly less enthusiastic. Unlike me, he was not born into the love of The Game. He has come to it through me, and I have to say, has become an educated fan, understanding most of the nuances and general managerial strategies. However, don’t ask him to explain the infield fly rule, or expect him to sit happily through a nine-inning blowout or pitchers’ duel. He’s usually ready to leave the park by the end of the 7^th inning (which, not coincidentally, is when they stop pouring the beer). He also appreciates baseball more at day games in the summer months when he can sit in his shirtsleeves in the warm sunshine, down a cold one and savor a Saag’s sausage.

I, on the other hand, was born in the Steel City of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, home of the three time World Series Champion Pittsburgh Pirates (1960, 1971, 1979). My dad was a huge baseball fan. He always listened to the Pirates when he wasn’t at work, only turning the radio off in disgust if the Pirates were losing in a complete rout. My earliest memories of The Game are as a five-year old waiting for my dad to join us from his downtown office and go to a glorious Saturday afternoon double header at Forbes Field (two games for the price of one – heaven!) When he would suggest we leave at the end of the 7^th inning of the second game, I was the one who would say, “But daddy, we don’t know who won yet!” During the more difficult adult years when I was estranged from my parents, the only way I could have a civil conversation with my father was if we talked baseball. The season after my dad died, I often went to the A’s ballpark alone two hours before the game started, just to be able to sit quietly in the stands, take in the evocative smell of the freshly mown greener-than-green field, listen to the crack of the ball off the bats during batting practice and feel the excitement build as game time approached. At times I’d feel closer to my dad in those moments than I did when he was alive.

Tonight, dressed in his well-worn down parka with an $8 beer in his hand, my husband turns to me and says, “You know the only reason I’m here with you tonight is because I remember the look on your face the Opening Night we were here after your breast cancer surgery. The look, those tears welling up in your eyes . . . well, how could I refuse?”

“I know,” I answer, so softly I’m not sure he even hears me over the din of the baseball announcer booming, “LET’S HEAR IT FOR YOUR 2012 OAKLAND ATHLETICS!” as the team takes the field.

 

It was ten years ago on April 1, 2002, baseball’s Opening Day, when I arrived back home from my six-week journey of mastectomy/reconstruction surgery and healing in Germany. Was it the height of optimism or a stupid April Fool’s joke that made me buy my A’s tickets weeks in advance of the surgery – optimistic not only that all would go well but that I would be up for a night at the ballpark on the same day as the flight home from Europe?

During most of the 11 hour flight from Frankfurt to San Francisco I was sitting with a pillow between my stomach and the seatbelt to protect the still tender scar which traversed from hip bone to hip bone where the surgeon took my perforator vessels and stomach fat to create my new breast. But mostly, I was thinking about finally being home in our wonderful light-filled house in the Oakland hills with our dear dog O’Keeffe, and yes, soon to be cheering for my Oakland A’s.

When my husband helped me through our front door I was still walking gingerly so as not to make any unexpected moves that might aggravate any of my freshly healed scars. O’Keeffe came bounding over, wiggling and whining excitedly. He expected I would bend down and give him more than the usual huge hugs and endless tummy rubs all over his happily shivering furry body to make up for all the ones he missed over the long month and a half I was away. But try as I might, all I could manage were soft loving pats on his head. When I looked up from a slightly disappointed O’Keeffe, I wasn’t sure WHAT I was seeing. As I finally focused, I saw Kim and Jennifer from my husband’s office in the kitchen arranging platters of food, other friends milling about in the dining room and living room, flowers in vases everywhere – a party was happening and I was the guest of honor!

I was completely overwhelmed! No one had ever given me a surprise party, and here, my sweet husband had arranged it all while he was with me in Germany. I was at once flabbergasted, amazed, touched, overjoyed, and thrilled – all mixed together with the pent up emotions of being “done” with breast cancer, being truly healed, being whole in my body again, being able to start living my “real life” with the heavy burden of breast cancer left behind in Germany along with the suspect breast tissue.

It was 5:30 PM, the house was full of well-wishers all enjoying the food, drink, each other and seeing me home, healthy and happy albeit a bit tired from the trip, when I made the announcement:

“I’m sorry, but we have to leave in a couple of minutes to catch BART to the Coliseum. I have tickets to the A’s Opener tonight,” I said in an almost apologetic tone.

I don’t think there was anyone in the room who could believe what they had heard. But also, I don’t think there was anyone there who really knew me who was truly surprised. My closest and dearest know my passion for The Game, how every spring I am energized by getting to know about all the new players; sinking into the familiar sounds, sights and smells of being at the ballpark; enthused by the possibilities of a new season and the thought that “anything can happen” really. Anything is possible from a young team with good pitching and good hitting.

“But, hey, if you want to continue partying, please feel free. Just lock up when the last one leaves,” I added with a smile.

On that note, my husband and I layered on our warmest clothing, put the bag of peanuts in the backpack and headed on out to the ballpark. I may have walked a little slower than normal up the stadium steps to our seats right behind home plate in the Plaza level, but I couldn’t remember when I felt more alive, or more grateful to be just another fan supporting her “2002 Oakland Athletics”. The tears came a moment later, when, settled in, with the blanket over us both, we watched the first pitch thrown by then A’s starting pitcher, Mark Mulder.

“Steee – rike!” The umpire‘s call rose above the cheering crowd.

Yes, a new season of possibilities, the perfect start to my “real life”.

A's Opening Day Festivities at the O.Co Coliseum 

Ten years later, I turn to my husband, put my hand on his leg and squeeze. It’s another A’s Opener. We’re freezing our butts off, but its baseball!  And yet, I’m feeling warm down to my bones, knowing, like this time every year, anything is possible . . . even being cancer free. 

“Steee – rike!”

Brandon McCarthy, Oakland’s new “ace” just drilled one over the plate.

Be Careful What You Hope For . . .

    Or Good things do come to those who hope - with a little elbow grease. . .

Open Studios - 2013

When I last wrote, I was wondering if all the effort expended in participating in Pro Arts Open Studios would be worth it. Actually, I barely managed to make it happen as I was down for the count just 4 days before with what the emergency docs pronounced as a case of “mild pneumonia”. They sent me home with antibiotics and told me to stay in bed until the 103 degree fever broke and I got my energy back. I want to state right here and now that I could have never made Open Studios happen if it weren’t for my very good studio mates, Tyrell Collins and Suzanne Lacke, who not only helped me get my studio in “showtime” order at the last minute, but also afforded me a place to go and have a nap when I needed to during those long 11-6 days of “being on”. And then the extraordinary help I received from my dear husband and friends who took time to be with me from start to finish, and even took on the role of sales person when I was having a nap.

Who said “it takes a village”? Well, it took a village to get my studio open this year and I am forever grateful.

But when I wrote my only hope was that it would all be worth the effort, I never imagined what would come to pass. First of all, I’m delighted to say the work was well received. Even though we didn’t have very large crowds those two Open Studio days, many who came by, bought. After I tallied up the receipts and looked at my less bulging shelves at the end of the two days, I was very satisfied. Even though it was a monumental endeavor, how could I be anything but happy with the outcome?

That was in June.

Sometime in August, I got this email:

  Bobbie:
I was browsing through the Pro Arts Open Studio catalog, and came across your artwork. I have reviewed your website and would love to have some pieces for future exhibitions. I am in the process of opening a new fine art gallery in Alameda. I am interested in meeting you and discussing your work. Please email or telephone me at your earliest convenience.
Kind Regards, Gary Comoglio

This email from Gary Comoglio, started the wheels in motion, and stirred up the most amazing, affirming, exciting series of events I’ve had in a long time. After an hour studio visit, Gary picked 7 pieces to exhibit in his new gallery, the Gary Francis Fine Art Gallery in Alameda for a November/December exhibition called “The Art of Giving Art”. The reception is November 8 from 6-9 PM.

Check out his website:

www.garyfrancisfineart.com

Last Friday evening, I attended the Grand Opening of this beautiful space located in a very classy renovation of an old furniture store in Alameda. We happened to meet the owner of the building who is and should be quite proud of what he has done. Once you walk into what seems like a blend of the kind of alleyway you might find in New Orleans and/or Italy, you find yourself looking into the windows of one interesting storefront after another – a lovely women’s apparel shop, a cigar and European spirits store, an artists’ come-in-and-create-your-own art studio, to mention just a few, and then, of course, the Gary Francis Fine Art Gallery. It fits perfectly in this setting.

That's Gary on the right, looking mighty pleased.

The alleyway to the Gary Francis Fine Art Gallery

 
Now, feeling rather buoyed by having this new venue to show my work, I was encouraged to start thinking about other galleries where my work might be a good fit. 

So I took the leap and wrote to a gallery I’ve admired for years because of its specialization in Asian art, especially Japanese prints and pottery. Here’s how I put it:

I spent a remarkable month in 1976 with other potters on an intensive tour of ceramic artists in Japan, including Hamada, whom we met, and Shimaoka, whose work I collected and then a month touring on my own. Since then, I find my own artistic sensibilities have been influenced by the Japanese aesthetic.
My latest series of clay vessels have come out of my continued search for the beauty in imperfection, or Wabi Sabi.

And I included this particular piece to make my point:

 

China Dream - pinched/coiled/torn with Smokey Gray glaze & cobalt oxide

Sending this has resulted in a series of back and forth emails with the gallery owner, all of which have been, to my utter amazement and delight, quite positive. I’m looking forward to the possibility that my work will find its way into his marvelous gallery. When and if that happens, the loud scream you hear out over the Oakland hills will be mine! And, of course, I’ll then be able to tell you where else you might find my newest work.

So the lesson learned? Be very careful what you hope for. With a little (or a lot) of effort, it can result in more that you could have ever imagined.

 

Once again taking the Open Studio Leap . .

Or Just Another Excuse to Clean up the Workplace?. . . 

Right brain vs left brain

 

Sometime ago when I most assuredly was not in my right mind (or more likely having lost the memory of all the stress, hard work and angst that was bound to come), I agreed to join my good studio friend and artist, Tyrell Collins in participating in the Annual Pro Arts East Bay Open Studios this year.

When I had my studio in a separate building at our house in West Berkeley, I managed almost every other year to join the over 400 East Bay artists who most generously opened their doors to strangers and friends alike. There, I was on a virtual corridor of studios and so, more often than not, people came who had no idea about my work, what they were about to see or about me personally. I’ll never forget the woman with 6 year old in tow who came in from seeing my “Open Studio” sign on the corner of 8^th Street and University on a Sunday and asked me, “What are you asking for it?” I wasn’t sure which piece she was interested in until she made it clear she was wondering what the rental price of my studio was!  Open Studio/Open House – same thing in her mind.

Opening my studio has always been an interesting ride, although exhausting. What I remember now very clearly is it usually took me about a month to clean and organize the studio in order to show the work in the best light and then another month to get the studio back into working order. And this was when I was a lot younger! This year I will be spending the next couple of weeks before opening on June 1 actually working on the pieces I hope to show. Hopefully, that will give me enough time to get the studio in “show” order. If not, at this point in my life, I’m getting more attuned to the attitude, “what is, is.”

But already, there has been a lot to do.  Once I decided to actually pay my Pro Arts dues and sign up, there was a list of dates to remember – a date for getting the digital image and studio info to Pro Arts so they could include it in their 64 page color directory; a date for getting the 16” piece I planned to install in the Pro Arts gallery for the month long exhibition; a date for posting 8 images on my personal online Pro Arts page along with my artist’s statement and resume; a personal deadline for getting postcards and any other marketing materials printed . . . and I’m sure I’m forgetting something else I’ve had to press myself into action to accomplish in the last few weeks.

All this, of course, on top of getting the work done. And not surprisingly, getting the work done is really all that makes me feel that I’ve accomplished anything whatsoever.

No wonder very few of the artists I know have little if any interest in marketing their work. It’s a matter of dusting off and revving up the less often used left sides of our brains. Which makes the case for my point  – not being in my right mind when I signed up for Open Studios.

My only hope is this momentary lapse will be worth the effort expended.

Maybe you should come to my studio on June 1 or 2  11 AM – 6 PM and see for yourself?

http://db.proartsgallery.org/ebosGallery_13.php?iconNumber=210 

Cyberspace Connects My Past to My Present . . .

Or How A Facebook Friend Becomes More Than A Daily Click.

The Quad Cities

When an event occurs which somehow presses you into viewing the arc of your life, it’s a gift. I’ve had many of these “gifts” over the years, but the latest is perhaps the most surprising. And the most gratifying.

I joined Facebook a couple of years ago and honestly, can’t remember just how some of those FB friends actually became my FB friends. Were they “friends of friends” who asked to “friend” me or did they find me through my blog or my Twitter account? Confession: I’m rarely on Twitter these days. Any of you who know me or follow me here or on FB can imagine just how difficult it is for me to limit my thoughts to 140 characters! Much too frustrating.

Here’s how this cyberspace connection has connected my past to my present. In May, I got an email from Dawn Wohlford-Metallo, Director of Quad City Arts in Rock Island, IL, a gallery whose normal mission is to represent local and regional artists and help them get established in the art market.

“Quad City Arts has received a nomination for your inclusion in a special exhibition titled “Welcome Home Quad Cities.” This exhibit provides an opportunity for visual artists living outside of a 250 mile radius of the Quad Cities, who have Quad City connections to come back home and share their art with the community. “Welcome Home Quad Cities” will run from August 31-October 26, 2012.”

This would be a juried show and the email went on to say I should send three jpegs of work I could possibly send or hand deliver if it were to be accepted. And please include a couple of lines explaining my connection to the Quad Cities.

So I did. I sent three jpegs of my 2 dimensional mixed media pieces and three of my most recent clay vessels. And I wrote:

I was 10 years old when my family moved to the Quad Cities in the winter of 1956 from Pittsburgh, PA where I was born. We came because my dad's sister originally lived in Rock Island and we still had cousins there. My dad practiced ophthalmology in the old Jenkins Arcade Building in Davenport until he retired in 1973. We lived in a lovely house on Riverside Drive in Bettendorf where I went to Jr. High and High School. To this day, when people ask me, "Where are you from?” I always say, ‘Iowa’.

That was at the end of May. June and July passed without notice, and since I didn’t hear anything, I thought, “Well, never mind. It was nice to be nominated.”

Finally, the beginning of August I got an email from Dawn saying my clay work had been chosen. And not only did they want those three pieces but could I send three to five more? I was thrilled at the prospect of having my work displayed in my old hometown area, the Quad Cities. As soon as I could, I photographed, packed and FedEx-ed seven of my newest pieces to Quad City Arts.

A part of me was going home.

But the mystery of who exactly nominated me still remained. I had asked Dawn sometime in the beginning of the flurry of emails we exchanged but never got an answer. I couldn’t imagine who might have done this since almost every close friend and all of my relatives have moved away from the area. But then it came to me.

It was through Facebook that I met and came to know Elizabeth Shriver, a very talented ceramic artist who lives in Iowa City, Iowa. We have a lot in common besides working in the same medium and coming from or having lived in Iowa. We found out we both have aging canaries (hers – Warpy, mine – Caruso) that seem to go into their molting season at the same time. We both are tending home gardens which are producing way more tomatoes than we could ever eat. And we have similar views on politics, women’s issues, with similar senses of humor and indignation. Since our finding each other on FB, I look forward to checking in daily and seeing how life is going for Elizabeth, always delighted to see photos of her exquisite new work or that of other ceramicists’ pictures she shares.

It must have been Elizabeth.

Of course, I FB messaged her the question. And at the same time I got her answer, “Yes, it was me,” Dawn ended one of her emails, “I keep forgetting to tell you that Elizabeth Shriver nominated you.”

Mystery solved.

And so through the wonder of cyberspace, my past and my present are connected.

All I can do is shake my graying head and smile at the gift.