Debra Darvick

Martin and I spent 12 days on the Amalfi coast this past spring.      If ever there were heaven on earth…. This is just one of the many shots I took.  If you would like to share in a bit of the sights we enjoyed – Sorrento, Amalfi, Pompeii, Herculaneum, Ravello, Capri, Naples – I can send you a link to the albums Martin is preparing.  He’s the pro and you will swoon at the images he captured.

Each month, Martin’s photography club assigns a new challenge.  This month they were to take a walk around town and capture abstraction in the mundane.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it here again, I love to see the world through Martin’s eyes.  This one (have you guessed it yet?) took my breath for a moment or two and then again when I figured out what he had photographed. Don’t stop, Martin.  Don’t ever stop showing us the world as you see it.

photo credit: Martin Darvick

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it’s a gift to be able to see the world through Martin’s eyes.

photo: courtesy of Martin Darvick

Many of you know how dearly I’ve wanted to learn how to draw and explore creating visual art. This March will make 9 years since I began making good on a pledge to myself. I would chase away the ghosts, silence the inner voices saying I had no business picking up a paintbrush or a drawing pencil.

The Birmingham-Bloomfield Art Center has become the place for fulfilling that pledge. I’ve taken classes there on and off for years: pottery classes (wheel and handbuilding); a pleasant watercolor workshop; a disastrous drawing class that was way over my head; two fabulous out-of-the-box mixed-media classes.  About three years ago I fell into a rhythm and began learning from a marvelous palette of teachers. They have guided me with patience, compassion and a drop or three of firmness until finally, I am beginning to see with an artist’s eye.

For the past week, I have kept this page on my desk. It was our final assignment in Drawing 2.       I struggled mightily, redrawing lines, erasing, repositioning shadows. Our teacher offered a steady stream of encouragement and precise suggestions for improving our work. I measured and remeasured, asked my eyes again and again, What are you actually seeing?

Bit by bit, the woman in the photo became real. She has dimension. She expresses a mood. I still can’t totally believe that I actually drew this. But      I did. Of course there are improvements to be made, refinements to be learned. I’ll get there. I’m keeping her on my desk a while longer. The ghosts have been silenced. Instead, I look at her and hear her invite me to pick up my pencil again and again and once again.

I don’t know who I was with or how we got on the topic but ashtrays came up. A friend remembered that when she was a child, when company was coming, it was her job to polish the silver ashtrays.

The conversation reminded me that I have one of my grandmother’s ashtrays. It is heavy enough to do some real damage should I drop it on my toe. It doesn’t particularly inspire fond memories, or any memories for that matter.  Like most in their generation, my grandparents were big smokers so I assume this ashtray got plenty of use. No longer. It’s been in the basement for years taking up a small square of space.

Have any of you repurposed an ashtray? How? I can’t exactly imagine using it as a serving dish. I already have a catch-all for the car keys and at this stage of the game I don’t dare change the routine. I could float a single flower blossom in it.  That could look chic. Or maybe a pillar candle? That would have some resonance of its original purpose. I’m not going to take up smoking.  Stay tuned.