Do You Still Love Me?

Behind the Artwork2 Comments

Close-up of eyes on Nude Self Portrait

Do you remember the last time you really, truly made eye contact with another person? We often consider looking someone in the eye to be normal and polite, but usually it doesn’t last long before we glance away. Staring into someone’s eyes is surprisingly intimate—there’s a reason we call the eyes “the window to the soul.” Many times, it feels too uncomfortable to stare for too long: What will our eyes, or theirs, reveal?

As part of my post-graduate work this summer, I asked my husband to join me in a two-minute stare-down exercise. The assignment was somewhat painful, tender, funny, and grounding, all at the same time. For this project, my husband and I sat about eighteen inches apart, facing one another.

As I set the timer on my iPhone, my husband immediately took my right hand, and caringly held it throughout the entire two minutes. Within the first 30 seconds, as I stared into his warm brown eyes, we both smiled big, which made us both laugh. My husband asked, “Are we allowed to talk?” I let him know that we weren’t supposed to. Then we regained our composure—a reset—and resumed the stare-down.

As I observed his bushy brows, once a dark brown with flecks of red, but now completely white, they twitched and made some playful, tiny movements. I smiled again. My whole body felt relaxed, while my left hand rested peacefully across my lap.

In the second 30-second interval, a single tear fell from my right eye and slowly made its way down my cheek. I’m not sure I had ever felt such a slow migration as the tear’s downward movement took its time. My husband’s eyes warmed. I continued to try to emit “I love you” messages with both of my eyes. I saw his eyes blink a few times. I felt sadness, fear, vulnerability, and comfort, as I inwardly pressed into my husband’s strength.

I wondered, “Does he still love me, too?”

In the third 30-second time period, a second single tear finally streamed down my left cheek. This tear had remained on the edge of my left eyelid throughout the first minute. I wondered if it would ever become heavy enough to fall. When the tear finally fell, it wasn’t in a hurry either. By raising and then scrunching his gray brows, my husband seemed to ask, “Are you ok?”

I tried to communicate back through silent, Morse-code brain waves, “Yes, I am resilient. I love you.”

The final 30-second period seemed very long. I felt insecure as I stared into my husband’s eyes. Did his passion for me still burn? Did he see my deepening wrinkles and double chin? Was I still beautiful and alluring?

Nude Self Portrait (detail)

Nude Self-portrait: A study in brokenness, vulnerability, and resiliency (detail)

Time seemed to move so slow. But with each passing second, his eyes only grew warmer. He never wavered. His gaze remained constant.

My eyes never left his. I still belonged to him after almost four decades. Our years, full of adventure, spanned three continents, from Japan to Germany and everywhere in between. Memories poured through my mind: laughter, tears, walks, date nights, conversations, a daughter, fights, a son, misunderstandings, cross-country moves, another son, an international move, a third son, four grandchildren, and more lovemaking.

I suddenly picked up my phone to see if the timer was still going. It felt like we had gazed at each other for an eternity. But we had another two seconds to go. At the end of our two-minute stare down, my husband affectionately dried the tear off my right cheek with his two fingers. I leaned toward his tender touch. We both smiled. As we stood up, he wrapped his arms around me and drew me close.

Throughout this two-minute exercise, my eyes were tempted to break away, even for a second. But as I pushed past the discomfort, I experienced a new intimacy with my husband. Somehow, the brief exercise advanced our marriage to a new level of trust. For the rest of the day, my soul felt at peace: My husband still loved me, and I loved him.

Nude Self Portrait

Nude Self-portrait, Pamela Alderman, Mixed media, 75 x 28-inches, 2020

Does the Golden Rule Still Work?

From the Heart

Healing Leaves Project

“Identify someone different from you; then the two of you go serve someone else. The best way to have reconciliation is through service. Not through racial seminars,” said Dr. Tony Evans, a famous black pastor, in a radio interview after the unjust and brutal killing of George Floyd. Dr. Evans’ quote stood out to me, because it points to the type of movement needed for our nation to heal.

While listening to the radio and lamenting the loss of George Floyd’s precious life, I wondered how I could be part of the solution, to help bring about meaningful change. The Healing Leaves Project came to mind. For this project, we pasted leaf-shaped Post-it notes with hand-written messages—words like “love wins” or “show empathy”—around the protest zone in Grand Rapids, Michigan, and prayed for healing.

On Sunday afternoons for the month of June, my Healing in Arts team and random individuals we have met on the sidewalk have been sticking these notes, which speak hope into our pain, on store windows, street benches, and lamp posts. We even gave a pack of leaf-shaped notes and a Sharpie to a stranger who wanted to participate.

Healing Leaf Post-it notes and Sharpie

In thinking about what more I could do to be part of the healing process, I remembered a situation from several years ago, where I learned some lessons on how to solve conflict through helping my neighbor and living by the Golden Rule—treat others the way you want to be treated. Here’s my personal story:

We have lived in several states because of my husband’s work. In one place, we had African-American neighbors move in next door. We appreciated these new neighbors, a young mother, whom I’ll call Monica, and her children, because our children would have new friends in the neighborhood.

From the very first day they moved in, the kids got together after school to play basketball or baseball in our yard. At times when the kids played, small conflicts occurred. For the most part, these skirmishes were easily solved between the children. But sometimes, Monica and I had to get involved to help solve the disagreements and restore the peace.

It’s fair to say that Monica and I both made some mistakes over the years as neighbors. Some of these mistakes caused friction. Overall, though, things flowed smoothly.

But one day, when I brought over some food as a gift, Monica got really offended. She explained that this particular gift insinuated that she had less than me. Because of my gift, she established a new boundary line between our homes; a line she didn’t want crossed—“ever again.” I felt surprised and disheartened at Monica’s strong response. After sincerely apologizing, I prayed for a chance to reconcile with her and make things right.

A few months later, an opportunity came to help Monica in a natural way. One day, as she was struggling to back up her car around another car parked in her driveway, I took a risk and went over to help her. It took about forty-five minutes to help direct her, but when Monica finally maneuvered around the other car safely, she got out of her car and ran over to give me a hug. In that moment, the tension that had existed between our two homes over the previous couple of months disappeared, and peace was finally restored.

Healing Leaves message on lamp post in downtown Grand Rapids. Michigan

Monica taught me how to be sensitive to others—what may be a gift to one person isn’t necessarily a gift to another. She also showed me the importance of humbly listening to others and respecting their boundaries so balance and harmony can exist. The Golden Rule and a willingness to change, on my part, helped reestablish peace between our two homes, and our kids continued to enjoy their backyard sports.

Years later, I discovered that within a five-house radius of our home, different neighbors showed love to Monica and her children through unique acts of service. One neighbor drove one of Monica’s sons to football practice. Another neighbor went to watch another of her sons play basketball. And a third neighbor invited the boys to the lake and taught them how to swim. There was no organized effort in the neighborhood to help Monica raise her children, yet several neighbors did their part to seek the common good for all.

Yellow Ribbon – Coming Soon

General

Design planning for the Yellow Ribbon installation at ArtPrize 2020

Military families tie yellow ribbons around trees, representing empathy and support, to say to our veterans, “Welcome back home.” The yellow ribbon also symbolizes suicide prevention. Expanding these traditions, Yellow Ribbon consists of three wooden trees designed by the artist, in partnership with Kent County Veteran Services, and includes the hands-on involvement of the veteran community. The broken-looking trees feature stories of resilience despite PTSD, military sexual trauma, and veteran suicide, battles still being fought.

To interact with the art from the safety of their own homes, the audience will be able to contribute messages of gratitude for the freedoms we enjoy via social media (watch for more details in September). Then Pamela’s team will attach the messages to the overall piece with yellow ribbons—uniting and inspiring our entire community with the message of hope and healing.

Here’s a peek at our work in process:

Wood sculptures for Yellow Ribbon installation in progress

Painted tree sculpture for Yellow Ribbon ArtPrize 2020 installation

It’s time for our summer break. We hope you get plenty of time to enjoy the sunshine, stay healthy, and make some new friends! See you back in September for the debut of Yellow Ribbon at ArtPrize 2020!

ArtPrize 2020 Preview…Shhh!

Behind the Artwork

Veterans and their families help create Yellow Ribbon artwork during workshops

While preparing for ArtPrize 2020, Pamela has been leading various art workshops with Kent County Veterans Services. At the workshops, veterans and their families have sponge-painted special metallic paper, which Pamela will use to fashion the ArtPrize work. A special collection of eight mosaic-paintings created by veterans will be selected and incorporated into the overall design as well. All workshop participants are invited to create unique paintings.

Veterans and their families help create Yellow Ribbon artwork during workshops

We would like to thank the following West Michigan veteran organizations for sponsoring our workshops:

  • 92 For 22
  • Kent County Veterans Treatment Court
  • Blue Star Mother of South-Kent and American Legion 305
  • Blue Star Mothers of Ionia, Kent and Montcalm and Ray I Booth American Legion
  • Ottawa-North Kent Blue Star Mothers and Marne American Legion
  • Grand Rapids Home for Veterans (private donor)
  • Holland Home Independent Living

Veterans and their families help create Yellow Ribbon artwork during workshops

Veterans and their families are welcome to participate in the upcoming workshops: (Stay tuned for details)

  • 92 For 22
  • Finish the Mission Veteran Relief Fund
  • Veterans Upward Bound Program

Kent County Veteran Services is partnering with Yellow Ribbon for ArtPrize 2020.

Wood sculptures for Yellow Ribbon being created in Zero-Day woodshop

A special thanks to Zero-Day for their valuable contribution to Yellow Ribbon.

Collective Art During COVID-19

Behind the Artwork

Examples of Lunch Bag Art

During the recent pandemic, when our government gave a “Shelter in Place” order, many of us have faced a new struggle of being alone behind closed doors. For the first time, I heard some of my friends say, “I’m lonely.” To counteract this situation of prolonged isolation, I have been looking for new ways to still be creative and engage others safely through my social art practice.

For our Lunch Bag Art project, I invited Facebook followers to hand-paint lunch bags for Kids Food Basket, a local nonprofit that supports at-risk children. To my surprise, over thirty-five people volunteered to join our art team, including residents from a local nursing home. So, while people were stocking up on toilet paper (true confession, I bought an extra pack, too), I also purchased hundreds of paper lunch bags, along with one hundred and fifty mini crayon packets to go with some of our specially designed “coloring-page” lunch sacks. So, some of the children will receive a DIY project with a crayon pack tucked inside the lunch bags.

Lunch Bag Art kit/drawings

Then I assembled each volunteer’s art kit, containing one hundred lunch bags, instructions, and supplies—sponges, paintbrushes, foam plate palettes, mini bottles of paint, and even an empty yogurt container to wash the brushes. The kits were labeled with the volunteers’ names and placed on my front porch for pickup, maintaining social distancing rules. Then the completed lunch bags were returned to my front porch a few days later.

Lunch Bag Art kits on doorstep

Volunteers included kids, teens, young professionals, moms, grandmoms, and friends of friends. One friend from out of town and another Instagram friend even mailed their decorated lunch bags to my house. Everyone was so excited to be part of this project, because it was a welcomed relief from a prolonged period of social distancing. The project gave everyone something to do. Plus, this creative opportunity provided a chance to pass on hope and healing to children in need.

Finished art on lunch bags

This pandemic has reminded me to appreciate the simple gifts in life, like an evening walk with my husband, eggs on the grocery shelf, and seeing new opportunities to encourage others through art. As an artist who creates hands-on experiences, I’m learning how to adapt my art practices to help keep others safe but in ways that are still impactful for our rapidly changing culture. Thanks to a wonderful bunch of Healing in Art’s team members. Because of their hard work, the message of hope and healing has been passed on to over 2,000 children struggling with hunger through the beautiful, hand-painted lunch bags.

Finished art on lunch bags

Light Up Hope

Behind the Artwork

Close-up of Light Up Hope

While learning to adapt in times of uncertainty, some things never change—like our basic need to connect with others and our desire for beauty. So, in the middle of a pandemic, I’m searching for new ways to create art and spread hope. For a new project called Light Up Hope, I purchased one hundred and fifty paper lunch bags and six hundred battery-operated candles to make luminaries for my neighborhood.

Then I contacted over a dozen neighbors and asked if they wanted to participate. Admittedly, a few of the neighbors I had rarely spoken to, or even met, though we have lived in the same neighborhood for over twenty years. But everyone said, “Yes.”

Light Up Hope project lining neighborhood streets

After lighting the paper lanterns, one neighbor got a little emotional. A second neighbor said that her family went on a special outing to drive past the lights. And a third neighbor responded with a note: “Thanks for doing this and reminding us of our Hope.” This small, healing project ended up encouraging so many neighbors, including a few who are hurting right now. While peering from our windows, the sacred beauty connected us—house to house—and revived our sense hope.

Childhood Studio

Behind the Artwork

Childhood art studio

Through an art class, I have been recently introduced to artist Rochelle Feinstein. Feinstein writes about the importance of chronicling the creative process and each stage of making. She explains that these various periods became special markers.

For her, the history of making started when she was only four years old. Her space, a child sized bed, “supported a menagerie of stuffed animals, systematically arranged by color, size, and species.”[1] Though unaware at the time, Feinstein, from a young age, was already setting the stage for her future studio work.

Reflecting on Feinstein’s creative journey, I had my own epiphany. After living everywhere from Japan to Germany and places in between, my husband moved our family to my childhood home in the Midwest. Years later, after our children left the homestead, I have a whole house with unoccupied spaces to expand my studio into. As the light changes throughout the day, I shift my projects from one room to the next, following the sun from rise to set.

One sunny morning, while sitting on the floor of my childhood bedroom to work on my next ArtPrize installation, I realized that I was in the exact spot where my artist’s heart first formed. My studio practices started in that very room. As a child, I spent hours after school on the floor in my bedroom, creating mini-installations from old shoe boxes, Dixie cups, fabric, sequins, and all kinds of other found treasures. In that moment, I uttered a prayer of gratefulness—my creative journey had crossed two oceans, three continents, only to return back home to the humble floor of my childhood studio.

Mock-up model for Yellow Ribbon installation

To design Yellow Ribbon, I started with a paper pattern. Next, I created a foam board model.

[1] The Studio Reader: On the Space of Artists, Grabner, 2010, University of Chicago Press, Rochelle Feinstein, p 21.