It Is What It Is

St. Eugene de Mazenod

Patron Saint of Dysfunctional Families
mixed media shrine

Last year I told my husband that if we were rich we could leave the country during the holiday season and escape to some place where they've never heard of Christmas. Christmas has been kicking my ass for years. About ten years ago I decided that enough was enough, and every year since then I have been letting go more and more of all of the deadline induced anxiety and guilt induced panic. I've been examining all of the weird capitalist driven hype surrounding the (not even his actual) birthday of Jesus Christ, the most socialist, egalitarian, non-materialistic holy person to ever walk the earth. I've deconstructed the crazy messages foisted on us by our unrelenting capitalist economy, like that a sweater bought at the Gap for Christmas is somehow much better than that same sweater all of the other 364 days of the year, and that the actual Spirit, the Real Meaning of Christmas can in fact be purchased, wrapped, and imparted to the recipient in the form of that sweater from the Gap! They will actually experience a warm, happy glow and hear tinkling bells, and they will love you for it. Yeah, I've been actively deprogramming myself, and I've been trying to figure out how to celebrate Christmas in a way that is meaningful to me. I've been very frank with myself about being realistic with my time and resources. And that is all great. Year by year I've been letting go more and more. But there is something I struggle with every year, and that is not how I do Christmas, it is with whom I do Christmas. Which is what this blog is really about.

U R TOAST
detail of St. Eugene de Mazenod shrine

I suspect that the average person feels really, really bad at Christmas. Because the perception is that everyone else's family is having a Christmas card picture perfect jolly old heart warming time of it from November until January. Everyone except us, that is, with our alcoholics, weirdo recluses, co-dependents, martyrs, people prone to angry outbursts, the dead who we miss terribly, and those who choose to be estranged. Somehow it seems so important that on this one day everybody be who they are not, and this big Christmas expectation can condense and intensify our feelings of sadness, loss and disappointment about what is lacking in our family relationships into crisis proportions. I also suspect that the reason for all of the crazy doing, spending, and rushing around is that it serves as a huge distraction from how bad we feel. Because, let me tell you, the less crazy Christmas doing I do, the more painful feelings I have to get through about my family relationships.

"Old Great-Grandad Booze"

detail of St. Eugene de Mazenod shrine

That being said, a step back and a look at the big picture is in order. I believe that each person was purposely put upon the earth for one, or some, or all of these reasons: to teach, to learn, and to witness. I believe that I could not possibly be the person I am without my family: all that is good, all that is bad, and everything else has made me grow. I am discovering that when I stay rooted in what is I am not derailed by sadness over what is not. It has been a hard lesson to learn—forty years in the making—that I have been spending the holidays with the idea of who I want my family to be as opposed to who they are. I love them and accept them in sickness and in health, in absence and in presence, in grumpiness and in shame inducing nagging all of the other 364 days of the year in varying degrees of compassion (on a 0-10 scale). Yet on Christmas I expect some facsimile family. They don't exist. And they always disappoint me. Not like my real family, from whom I know exactly what to expect and who are consistently themselves, December 25th or no. And so I must own, that they were not screwing up my Christmases, I was. Thank God I am finally getting a handle on why Christmas kicks my ass. And so my plan this year for serenity, sanity, and hopefully enjoyment is as follows:

1. I will practice this wisdom from the Dalai Lama: " I am open to the guidance of synchronicity, and do not let expectations hinder my path."

2. I will remember these wise words from St. Milarepa, himself the child of a dysfunctional family: "I have understood this body of mine to be the product of ignorance, composed of flesh and blood and lit up by the perceptive power of consciousness. To those fortunate ones who long for emancipation it may be the great vessel by which they may procure Freedom. But to the unfortunates who only sin, it may be the guide to lower and miserable states of existence. This our life is the boundary mark whence one may take an upward or downward path. Our present time is a most precious time, wherein each of us must decide, in one way or other, for lasting good or lasting ill." (emphasis mine)

3. I will pray. A lot. Especially to St. Eugene de Mazenod, the patron saint of dysfunctional families. I will ask him to look over us and to help me detach with love.

4. I will talk my husband's ear off, and the ears of my other trusted friends, so that I can stay centered, see the big picture, and not be ruled by my feelings.

St. Milarepa
mixed media shrine

I think I can reasonably expect to survive.

Art Show- Opening November 27th!

My husband and I are having an art show! We will be hanging a lot of new work, and the gallery is also full of wonderful work by other area artists and crafters! I hope you can stop in and support a great independent local business!

St. Dymphna and the Lights of Gheel

St. Dymphna and the Lights of Gheel
watercolor 3.5 X 5.25

I know an incredible woman. She is the survivor of childhood incest, suicide attempts, abusive relationships, addiction and severe depression. She has, thank God, had the strength to not only survive but to thrive, to recover, and to heal. I make all of my St. Dymphna paintings and shrines with her in my mind, not in appearance, but in feeling and experience. This painting shows St. Dymphna as a very young girl, surrounded by a dangerous storm and blown by a powerful wind. Her hands are so thin and small, almost too small to keep her light from going out, almost too small to save her, but she is praying, going inward, asking for serenity. The lights of Gheel are behind her, a safe haven, a place where she can find help and protection. She just has to see it, to cross the distance without giving up hope.


I feel so blessed to know my friend, to witness the miracle that is her beautiful self. She has helped me to heal from my own problems. Every time I see her I am filled with wonder and gratitude at her strength, that she is here, and that she perseveres with such grace. Amen.

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I recently came across a wonderful blog. I myself do not have a mental illness, but some people who are very dear to me do. I grew up, as most people do, without a real understanding of mental illness. Our society does not meet confounding behavior with compassion, but with outrage, derision and scorn. I feel that this blog really sheds a lot of insight and will be helpful to everyone in gaining understanding of ourselves and others:

chelise.typepad.com/also_my_healing/

St. Anthony of Padua

St Anthony of Padua is the patron saint of lost things: objects, obviously but also people, relationships, and faith, the kind of losses that can really kick your ass. It took me until a couple of years ago to fully realise that loss is a part of the human condition, that when we show up here it's part of the deal and that I'd be a lot better off if I could accept it. I was able to discover this very important piece of information because I was in grief counseling. I was in grief counseling because my brother has ALS and because our Gramma Sara died suddenly and unexpectedly. Unlike my beloved grandfathers and great- grandmothers she was not ill or in decline and I had no reason to expect that I would not see her later that day or the next as planned.

This St Anthony of Padua shrine is about losing my Gramma Sara. When I was sketching out ideas for a St. Anthony piece the memory of cleaning out Gramma's house kept coming back to me. Gramma had lived in that house for over fifty years. My dad and uncle grew up there. We had the luxury of waiting six months before having to touch anything. At first it was strange, but then exciting as all sorts of interesting things were unearthed from drawers, closets and cupboards: love letters to my Grampa, photographs, vacation souvenirs from long ago, the pinking shears my dad loved cutting paper with as a child. And then, it was empty. I think it was the sight of Gramma's closet that really hurt, that really felt...final. All of the familiar clothes that she inhabited, her shoes, her lady-like pocket books, were gone, dispersed amongst us or donated to the women's shelter. The shoe rack- where I had stashed the box of chocolates she begged me to hide on her so she wouldn't eat them when I was six- gone. I got my sweet tooth from Gramma Sara. So the emptied closet was what I used to communicate that feeling of loss in this shrine.

back of shrine: drawing of Gramma

I treated the top of the shrine like it was the top of Gramma's dresser, which was a place of great interest for me as a child. I used the space to tell the story of what happened and also evoke that which is particular to her: the dresser scarf, her pincushion, the drawing which came from a photograph of Gramma on my Uncle John's First Communion day, her earring. The pincushion became the holder for the painting, or retablo, of Gramma's soul leaving the hospital, where she passed away. The toy ambulance tells how she went to the hospital, that it was sudden, an emergency from which she could not recover.






The small painting itself shows St. Anthony of Padua finding Gramma- because he finds what is "lost"- and guiding her to Heaven. I painted this for my own comfort, because I wanted to believe that Gramma continued on in her journey, her soul evolving and growing, healing, free from worry and knowing peace. Word has it, though,that she and Grampa John are still at the house, where my youngest cousin and his family are now living. I'm not sure wether to worry about this or not: are they stuck, or simply choosing to stay by the family they were so devoted to in life, in the home they made over fifty years ago?

A Little Pick-Me-Up : $5 and $10 dollar print sale!

5.25"x 4.25"

Saint Jude is the patron saint of hopeless causes or difficult situations, and I think that the world at large could use his help right now. There are a lot of people who are being adversely affected by the economy, and there are many more people who have never, even in the "good" times, known financial security. I work for a private, not- for- profit human services agency. I see good people struggling every day to provide for their families on less than ten dollars an hour. If we are lucky and the state budget allows there may be a 1 or 2 % increase on occasion, but these cost of living adjustments don't cover the actual cost of living and no one ever gets a raise just because they are a great employee who does a wonderful job, yet we have so many people who are caring and dedicated employees . In honor of these people and the valuable work that they do, and everyone who is out of work, under-employed, or working for minimum wage, I am offering Saint Jude prints for 5 dollars every day so that everyone who wants one can have one.

I always base my St. Judes on my brother Wally because he has turned a lifetime of difficult circumstances- autism, epilepsy, ALS- into a beautiful life full of meaning and love for his fellow human beings. Jesus told St. Jude that whoever loves Him, He will find them and make his home with them, which is why I like to show him in or with a house.

In addition, I am offering both of my new Saint Monica (the patron saint of mothers) prints for 10 dollars each until June 30th, so that everyone who wants to can buy their mom, wife, partner, grandma, or any other fabulous mom they know a lovely Mother's Day gift!

6 X 8.50

This painting is about how hopeful we are, as parents, that everything will go well for our children, but how little control we actually have over what will be. We have to accept that and still do our very best for our children. St. Monica is shown here praying for the well being of her unborn child, serene and centered despite her precarious surroundings. In her halo is my favorite quote from St. Monica -"Nothing is far from God."

This particular St. Monica was inspired by my mother-in-law, who is incredibly cute and pretty and who nurtures all living things, be they children, animals or plants. �

5"X 6"

This St. Monica painting celebrates being the mother of an infant and the impulse to want to surround them with all that is soft, sweet, and happy for the short time in their life that you can. She was inspired by my baby daughter and my mom, the wonderful woman who supported and encouraged me as an artist from the time I was small.

All three of the original paintings were done in gouache . The prints are printed on archival paper with archival inks. To purchase a print please go to www.jennysdresserdrawer.com/Shop

I wish you peace,
Jen