Birds Eye View

I wasn't going to weigh in on this heavy topic. Why would we possibly need another outsider looking in to share their opinion? I would be just fine continuing to bake pies, and start a puzzle on this pre-Thanksgiving evening. Yet, my thoughts turned not precisely to Ferguson and the uproar from the grand jury for not indicting Darren Wilson in the #Fergusondecision, but close to it. How can I weigh in on a community that is in tumult, so much so, that citizens are coming out to stand guard at businesses against potential looters? My husband has never had to make a choice to risk his personal safety for the protection of our community. This #mommaintheburbs has never even witnessed a street riot. My heart was sad for all of those that chose peace, yet feel like they still have no voice. 

Then I remembered my painting "Birds Eye View." I realized that was the precise angle I could provide. This white middle class momma in the burbs has sat with both sides of this debate. "Birds Eye View" is a painting of the areial view of a prison from the perspective of both the armed guards in the towers, as well as the geese that inhabited the open yard inside the wall each season after they returned from the south. 

I went to college with uniformed Police Officers in Utah, so you can best bet most of them, heck, all of them, were white. I earned a Bachelors of Science in Criminal Justice, and went up against hundreds of men and a few other women for a position at the city police department. I made it through the written and physical exam, to the panel interview. And bombed. My #rebelyell must have shown through just a little too strong. I was ranked somewhere in the 50's for possible candidacy. Whittled down from a few hundred applicants. Many that wanted to serve and protect, some that wanted a paycheck and the gun that went along with it.

I went on to accept a position working inside a prison outside Boston as an instructor for a rehabilitation/reintegration program for violent and repeat offenders. I facilitated groups with inmates which came from many of the different urban neighborhoods inside and surrounding Boston. I worked with all races, and ethnicity, but just like most prisons the black population was heavily represented. It was then I got my education in the disparity between our communities. Not their prison community, but the ones they were coming from outside the wall, and the ones I had been raised in. 

Us vs. Them. It is ingrained. Community Policing, cohesion and cooperation between the citizens and the cops was a pipe dream. And both sides were to blame. It was then that I realized that I wasn't there to rehabilitate, I was there to give them a different perspective, a hope. I was this college educated white girl who would listen, and shut down the drama. I would cut to the chase, and call them on their shit. I wouldn't allow them to blame the cops, or turn victim during the relaying of their arrest. I couldn't allow for the group to become a forum for excessive use of force by police. But I did not minimize. I think I gained some cred the day I looked an inmate in the eye, and said something to the effect of, "I know arrest methodologies by the force are not clean cut and innocent. But, you and I, we only have today, and we can't change that. Today, we can only change you." I saw it in his eyes, recognition that I wasn't here to minimize or allow exaggeration of  his plight. I was there for their future. My respect was hard earned.

Excessive force is a reality. Police policing communities that they have no inside investment in, that is a problem. What would be your take if you weren't seeing the picture from the birds eye view but the ground level. Everyday, from your infancy. If us vs. them was all you knew, and no one really demonstrated otherwise? 

I am not saying Darren Wilson was guilty. I am not saying Michael Brown deserved what he got. I am saying members of the black communities are overly represented in the prisons. I am saying that is a problem. I am saying police officers should be able to do their job without fear of retribution. I am saying police officers should NOT have immunity. I am saying racial profiling is a problem. I am saying indictments happen on a lot less evidence then was brought to the grand jury in this case. I am saying a trial isn't a conviction. I am saying that I want progress. I would hope I would have raised my voice from my cozy southern house back in the 1960's during the race riots. So, I do so now. There is a disparity. I am saying it is a cluster. Conversations need to occur. Take a "birds eye view", a different perspective, preferably one that isn't behind your screen. If you look closely at the painting there is a lot of darkness on the ground level, but some windows of light shine through.

"Birds Eye View", 16x20, Acrylics on Canvas, 2012, Janelle Jensen Fritz

Clouds Illusions

"Clouds Illusions", 60X48, Janelle Jensen Fritz, 2008.

This past Saturday night I welcomed the nostalgia of the season from past years of attendance with my mother and sisters and went to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints annual Women's Meeting. I also brought a friend that attends a local Baptist church. I will admit the focus on temples didn't make me very comfortable. Thankfully, there was plenty that did. 

Symbolism is a way to my heart and spirit so I appreciated the apostle Dieter F. Uchtdorf and his parabolic analogy. 
“Part of our challenge is, I think, that we imagine that God has all of His blessings locked in a huge cloud up in heaven, refusing to give them to us unless we comply with some strict, paternalistic requirements He has set up. But the commandments aren’t like that at all. In reality, Heavenly Father is constantly raining blessings upon us. It is our fear, doubt, and sin that, like an umbrella, block these blessings from reaching us.”

#rainwithmybestie, photgraphed by Layna Mecham

I have to admit I have some tendencies towards the "all or nothing" Mormon mindset. My upbringing, the culture, my own understanding, has all contributed to this false interpretation. When I read the scripture in Doctrine & Covenants 82: 9-10  I saw the cloud, under lock and key... "I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say, but when you do not what I say, ye have no promise." When Uchtdorf used the analogy of the umbrella, I was enlightened, grateful, and humbled. I felt the truth of his description. I knew that it wasn't God that was inhibiting the pouring out of the blessings when ever I "do not what he says," but it is dependent on my decisions, my alienation's, my umbrella, my sin which then prevents the "streams of mercy" which He bestows constantly from the clouds which I am realizing are not under lock and key.

"Lady in Red", Richard Bourgault, 2014 

"Now I, now I know I wish it will rain down, down on me
Oh I know I wish it will rain, rain down on me now
Oo... I wish it will rain down, down on me
Yes you know I wish it will rain down, rain down over me
Just rain down over me
Just let it rain down, let it rain down, let it rain down...
Oh yea let it rain down, rain, rain down over me
Just let it rain down,
Just let it rain down, let it rain down
Just let it rain" -Phil Collins

 

Pathway of Transformation

I am no mystic. Although, I also do not discount symbolic representations. Perhaps I tread a gray line, especially when combined with theological principles. Yet, in my experiences, God uses symbolic and parabolic lesson to impart truths to me. Especially as they relate to transformations. 

In many faiths, or cultures there is a type of animal analogy or totem bestowed on individuals to highlight character strengths and weaknesses. My brothers received an animal in conjunction with their treks in the Anasazi desert. Each which typifies and exemplifies a kind of personification of the traits from the creature in which they were presented. The artist in me unearths symbols and when a particular presence acquaints itself unto me in an otherwise unorthodox proximity, I choose to delve a little deeper into its symbolism. The dragonfly has apprised itself in this particular sort of emergence in my own personal experience. 

Dragonflies are a common theme in Texas. It is even a hobby pastime, like that of bird identification, called oding. On one occasion, in my backyard, the actions of one dragonfly in particular were apparent and personal. It was a black and white dragonfly which would flutter from fence to fence while intermittently landing. During the points where it would stay still, it was black and white, whereas when it buzzed and fluttered it would appear in various shades of gray. If this wasn't a similitude of my essence, I don't know what is. I too flutter between the whites and blacks of the world and never quite know what hue of gray I am exhibiting. I have an incredibly difficult time putting off one and adopting the other. I flit between the grit and the virtue, and don't know quite where I land. When I consider this in the biblical context my mind is drawn to the prophet Elijah and his standoff with the priests of Baal. In 1 Kings 18:21 it reads...

 

"And Elijah came unto all the people, and said, How long halt ye between two opinions? if the Lord be God, follow him: but if Baal, then follow him. And the people answered him not a word." 

The standoff ensues. Elijah asks the priests to prepare a sacrifice and call on their god Baal to ignite it. Nothing happens. Elijah prepares the same sacrifice, except first dousing it in barrels upon barrels of water, which would essentially inhibit any ignition. Yet when he calls upon God, a fire appears and consumes the sacrifice of Elijah. Something happens.

A couple years back I completed a series of 3-D collage paintings which included two dragonflies, and two Indian Paintbrush flower depictions. All of them have been sold except one of the dragonflies which was the most imperfect of the set. It is almost grotesque, yet realistic, when looked at up close.

I now have it hanging in my bathroom and realize it was always meant to be mine. 

The definition of the the dragonfly in relation to its spiritual aspects and elements is conveyed in the following definition: 

If Dragonfly has zipped into your life:

"They are asking that you pay attention to your deeper desires and be mindful of the outcome we wish to have. There are lessons to be learned and you are reminded that “what you think” is directly proportionate to what you “see on the surface”. In other words your thoughts are responsible for your physical surroundings.
Dragonfly is also letting you know to live your life to the fullest with what you have. It also beckons you to seek out the parts of your habits that need changing. Use the Dragonfly to guide you through the mists of illusion to the pathway of transformation. It will bring you the light and color of transformation into your life."

In July when we were at the beach a dragonfly came and fluttered around me for over an hour. Landing, hovering, and essentially warming me to its desire to retain my company and presence. It is no wonder to me that my own pathway of light and transformation is available by changing my habits, and guiding me through the mists of my own illusions. 

These two photos are in similitude of the white and black within myself, essentially within each of us. Both photos were taken on the same day, within hours of one another.

The fluctuation, and mists of gray illusions make me recall the prophet Elijah's words once more...

"Hear me, O Lord, hear me, that this people may know that thou art the Lord God, and that thou hast turned their heart back again."

Fresh Fruit. Local & ripe for your picking. Now at The Mulberri Bush-home decor market!

So just as the local Homestead Farms in Keller, TX endears us to support & understand the local ecosystem while partaking in a labor of love. The Mulberri Bush-home decor market in Keller, TX does the same for fashion & home with artful finds.

I am pleased to join with The Mulberri Bush, and introduce a new retail locale carrying Decadence-N-decay Art. As we prepare to phase out summer, I am celebrating the fresh fruits of the seasons. Just this morning we cut open a ripe pineapple before our last summer day at the waterpark.

"Plucked Pineapple", oils on canvas, Janelle Jensen Fritz, 2003
Now at The Mulberri Bush, -home decor market. 138 Olive Street, Keller TX 817-201-2728

 There is something exotic and inviting about a pineapple. In my life as a #mommantheburbs I often need symbolic reminders of those simple and sweet indulgences from tropical memories to elevate a moment of daily grind reality.  "Plucked Pineapple" expresses the fading memory of my visit to The Dole Pineapple Company in Hawaii where I sampled an array of decadent pineapple delights with abandoned caution and the bod of a pre-baby 18 year old. I painted "Plucked Pineapple" far-away from paradise in Massachusetts, for our windowless kitchen in our tiny grad-school condo. 


Sometime afterwards I stumbled into the story of Georgia O'Keefe's visit to Hawaii. In 1939 The Hawaiian Pineapple Company (precurser to Dole), commissioned O'Keefe to visit Hawaii in order to create two paintings for them to use in their advertising. Once arriving, and being presented with a harvested pineapple to paint, something about her 'free-spirit-artist' repelled the notion of being corralled into a specific directive in subject matter. While in Hawaii she created many works capturing the botanical beauty of the islands, but never painted the works she was enlisted to produce. It wasn't until The Hawaiian Pineapple Company shipped a budding pineapple plant to her New York studio that she completed the work. Pineapple Bud, oil on canvas, Georgia O'Keefe, 1939. 

I found it humorously ironic that I unknowingly painted the very thing that Georgia herself had resisted.

Pineapple Bud, oil on canvas, Georgia O'Keefe, 1939

Gritty Good Work & Grace for Grief

A few years back I was embraced in the light of the Dark Ya Ya's. A book-club chapter in Salt Lake City that will forever burn in a memory of nurturing nostalgia. Think...decadent meals paired with witty women, stomach aching laughter, honest literary lauds and fails, and bonding as bitches with Soul Train. 

There were only a few books that were round-table acclaimed. One of them was Patti Smiths "Just Kids." It was an inspiring read for a closet painter who had subterfuged her talent for years. Patti Smith emerged from the literal ranks of the starving artists during the Chelsea Hotel era in NYC. Her past experience combined with her modern advice offer sage words for the creative types of today. Heralding integrity with gritty good work. In an interview last year Patti Smith said, 

 "A writer or any artist can't expect to be embraced by the people."
 “Build a good name. Keep your name clean. Don’t make compromises, don’t worry about making a bunch of money or being successful. Be concerned about doing good work. Protect your work and if you build a good name, eventually that name will be its own currency."
 "I say...stay strong. Have fun. Stay clean. Stay healthy. You have a lot of challenges ahead. Be happy!" 

In "Just Kids" she references some of the challenges of loss, and heartbreak in her own life. As I was organizing my bookshelf this past spring, I picked up the book and thumbed through the last few pages. There was a passage that lept off the pages at me. It was a description of a picture of her grief, after her dear friend Robert Mapplethorpe died.

"This wild sensation stayed with me for some days. I was certain it couldn't be detected. But perhaps my grief was more apparent than I knew, for my husband packed us all up and we drove south. We found a motel by the sea and camped there for the Easter holiday. Up and down the deserted beach I walked in my black wind coat. I felt within its asymmetrical roomy folds like a princess or a monk. I know Robert would have appreciated this picture: a white sky, a gray sea, and this singular black coat.

Finally, by the sea, where God is everywhere, I gradually calmed. I stood looking at the sky. The clouds were the colors of a Raphael. A wounded rose. I had the sensation he had painted it himself. You will see him. You will know him. You will know his hand. These words came to me..." -Patti Smith, Just Kids

After re-reading these passages, this expressionist painter took on the scene with a multifaceted interpretation. I painted a work I entitled "Grace for Grief." 

"Grace for Grief." 2013. 5x7 Acrylics on clayboard.

In stock at Hale House Vintage Living. Shipping Available.

Angel in Pink

Last August, I lost my dear grandmother a week after she suffered a sudden stroke.On this memorial day weekend I am remembering her, and the delicate rosy glow with which she emanated her love. 

Her life was a sermon on meekness. Working and serving, with quiet grace and constant purpose. She remembered every birthday, and attended every important milestone in her children, grandchildren, and great grand children's lives. I had the privilege of sharing some of my memories of her, at her funeral service. I recently found the card in which I recorded my memorial to her. The front image on the card captured so much of her, that it brought a wistful smile to my face. She lived without blinders, but with rose colored lenses to life. She radiated a sweet special warmth. The colors seemed to encapsulate that same soft glow. Inside the card, I had written:

"Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your father which is in Heaven." -Matthew 5:16, KJV Holy Bible

My grandmother recognized the profound impact of developing and dedicating her God given talents to uplift others. Playing the piano, quilting, teaching, and serving. She was constantly abounding in good works. Recognizing that the small and simple efforts of service and support are the very acts, when performed with consistency, which save souls. 

For me her aging arthritis crippled hands were a token of her talents and works. She never allowed weakness to hinder or diminish her light. To me, she was a living example to not allow my own mortal deficiencies to prevent me from progressing and serving. Her light shines forth to me in memories of her numerous efforts on my behalf. 

-Fresh cut cantelope on summer mornings.
-Packed coolers for picnics up the canyon.
-Shelling peas on the patio.  
-Stories, and books, and clothing catalogs. 
-The small pocket size hymnal she sent me the summer I left home at 17. 
-Her gentle and un-provoking look of exasperation and annoyance. One given without undo passivity, but free from guile. Always soon to be followed by her sweet apologetic smile. 
-Tender experiences of touring and weeding her flowerbeds. Listening to the knowledge and care that went into their beauty. 
-Countless quilts and blankets always handmade and carefully considered. 
-The graceful and eventually purposeful movement of her hands and fingers over the keyboard. 
-The loving encircling arms which enveloped her newborn great-grand children

Grandma Jensen holding me as a baby

Grandma Jensen holding my son as a 3 month old

Grandma Jensen a couple days before passing, holding her couple day old great-grandson.

  
My final memory was the one that inspired the following artwork. I completed it in July of 2012, as a gift to her. My grandparents had recently moved from their home of nearly 40 years to an assisted living center. The vantage point was as if you were stepping out onto their deck and overseeing their backyard, garden, pasture, and barn. I never got the opportunity to present it to her, but I gave it to my grandfather after her funeral. The work is entitled "Apples to the Horses." Every week my cousins Leah, and Rachel would bring their children over to my grandparents home. My first son and I would join them every 3rd week. We enjoyed a morning of playing in the basement with blocks, and dinosaurs, books, puzzles, and Kerplunk. I recall my grandmother reading my son Transformers and jokinly showing him how her crippled arthritic hands resembled the mechanical arm of an Autobot. We would prepare lunch and if the weather was conducive we would all walk out to the field to feed apples to the horses through the fence in the neighboring pasture. I drew a picture of the last time my boys and I enjoyed this simple sentimental excursion. I had both my 5 year old and 1 year old with me. My cousin Leah was there with her two young boys. And then there was my grandma. In the drawing I placed a pink halo around her graying head, even in life she was an angel in pink. 

During the completion of my drawing, perhaps in an act of artistic inspiration or premonition, while I was drawing a horse in the field, I changed it to a gunning motorcycle. In the drawing its aerial path barely touches the earth before the rays of light seem to draw it heavenward. As a girl, my father would take us on motorcycle rides in that very field. It wasn't until after her death that I realized that the symbolic representation was likely not that of my girlhood recollections, but that of my late uncle Mark. He was my grandmothers youngest son who had been killed in a tragic motorcycle accident when I was barely two years old. I imagine that he would be the leading candidate for a spiritual escort for her exit from this world. I feel blessed that I had the love and example of such an angelic force for good on this earth.

"Apples to the Horses." Janelle Jensen Fritz. 2012. Charcoal, oil pastels, pencil. 11x14.

Honor Our Fallen

A few weeks back on Mother's Day weekend, my boys indulged the #rockNrollsoul of this #mommaNtheburbs. On our Texas main-street town there is Bronson Rock, a biker-rocker tribute of burgers & beer to the American 'legend' Jim Bronson. (A modern version of the solitary cowboy wandering the American West. Riding a Harley Davidson Sportster in search for soul, on the "Long Lonesome Highway.")

For the upcoming Memorial Day, I'd like to tribute the hot mama muse I met that evening. Black leather, black braids, black boots, a "Thy will be done" tattoo, and a Harley Davidson vest emblem honoring her fallen Marine son. She shared a softness that superseded the "Sons of Anarchy" stereotype, while simultaneously smokin' the hot mama chic with the grace of a "Proud Mother." For this tribute I retrieved three works from my painting "archives."

"Hot Mama." 2010. 11x14. pencil & oil pastel. 

"Veteran:" 'In Flanders field the poppies blow - McCrae.' 2012. 11x14. Acrylics on Canvas.

I composed the work "Veteran" as a magnified representation of the poppy flower. Specifically in memorandum of veterans, as described in the poem; "In Flanders Fields."  I was also influenced by Georgia O'Keefe in painting a precise botanical close-up, with a gust of abstraction, and some war-blown passion. 

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
the larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

-John McCrae (1872-1918)

 

"Emblem of Vigilance." Janelle Jensen Fritz. 2013. 16x20. Acrylics on canvas.

This work has been adapted from it's original debut. If you click on the link, you can scroll down to the draft version. In the first painting draft I depicted a Texas night sky, in which a large American flag flickered and illuminated the sky through the trees and shadows. In the first draft I used imagery references derived from The Gadsden Flag, and Metallica’s “Don’t Tread on Me”. I usually listen to music while painting, but only on rare occasions do I coalesce the music with the actual work, or imbed the lyrical context into the artwork itself. In this most recent revision I incorporated several lyrical associations. Inscribed on the back of the canvas is: 

"EMBLEM of VIGILANCE" 

"You've Got To Listen To My Words"

-In God We Trust

Or

"in nothing, we trust."