Sometimes a door opens to a new adventure we never saw coming. And sometimes, if you let yourself walk through that door, really good things can happen.
But this story is only partially about me. The focus now shifts to the work and soul of my dear friend, Jill Freeman.
Jill Freeman, Artist
Jill is one of the sweetest, kindest people I have ever had the good fortune to meet. She and I were college roommates, fellow dancers and theater partners.
Over the years she has shared her many talents with me and with the world in numerous ways: singer, songwriter, librettist, lyricist, musician, band member, writer, artist, illustrator. And, lucky for those around her, supportive friend.
Last year I became aware of a shift in Jill’s creations into the world of Abstract Art. Her work hangs in galleries, wins awards, and sells!
A while back Jill invited me to a gallery exhibit opening where her artwork was being shown. I was delighted to attend. The very first moment that I laid eyes on the first painting in her exhibit I knew instantly what world was living inside that painting. And I knew that I needed to write that story.
With Jill’s permission, I have chosen 24 of her paintings and, inspired by the titles she has chosen, the colors, the shapes, the dimensionality and the living movement she builds into her artwork, I have written 24 short stories to partner with these paintings.
My stories fall under the category known as Flash or Micro Fiction. The shortest of my stories comes in at 27 words. The longest, 896.
Coming To Light – Page Preview: 27 word Flash fiction
I wrote this book as a Thank You to Jill Freeman for all she has given me and for all the ways she has made the world a better place. It is my hope that those who flip through my book will see the life and vibrancy in her work and want to see more.
Please visit my Author’s Page on Books.By and, if you choose to spend time with the paintings in this book, you are invited to step into your own interpretations of what you see. If you are moved to share what speaks to you in Jill’s artwork, I will welcome your vision of what these paintings offer to you.
Tara’s Author Page can be found at Books.by/Buttons-Whimsy
In the newly awakening wilderness that has been his home since his expulsion from the Garden of Eden, Adam sits beneath the budding branches of an ancient Willow tree. His eyes grow wide with surprise and delight as he sees green leaves and long trailing garlands reaching for the earth.
Since the time of their exit from the Garden, Adam has struggled through the long, dark winter working to provide for his wife and two infant sons. His constant companion has been the dread of what life will be like for his children in a world without sunlight, without growth, a world defined by the heaviness of a dull winter’s sky.
His own participation in the events that caused the looming darkeness weighs heavily on his heart. Is he responsible for creating the all-encompassing, desaturated world that will define their fate?
But today the ground has thawed. The sky has lightened. The thing that he did not expect has happened. The sun has returned. The skies have cleared. New life reaches up from the earth to greet a new season.
As he begins to feel a sense of welcome from Mother Earth, an understanding begins to emerge within him. The darkness that had imprisoned them is not static. It ebbs and flows and, eventually, fades as the new light presents itself to the world.
The first Spring has arrived! And, with great relief, Adam breathes softly into the gentle breeze that washes the sun-filled air.
As he ponders this transformation, Adam begins to know that he, like the darkness, is carried by an inner ebb and flow that guides his vision. And now, after watching the sun rise, he sees a path forward for his children. A path that he knows will be filled with hills and valleys, spring rains and frozen roads, bountiful harvests and fallow fields. It will be a path that contains the dancing partnership of both the darkness and the light. For the first time he sees the continuity of Nature’s cycles, and, for the first time, he feels a new thing growing inside of himself – Hope!
And then, a greater truth appears in the depths of his spirit. This will also be true for his grandchildren and his great-grandchildren and their children. And, astonished at the reach of his own epiphany, he sees his progeny many generations hence spread across the earth, all of them struggling through the dark nights that feel endless.
Overwhelmed by the need to present these thoughts to generations still unborn, Adam transcribes these words to be delivered to those who live on after him:
“To the Children of the Future,
I am Adam. The first man to be alive. The first man to question the world. The first man to pay the price for his unknowing actions. The first father to search for ways to raise his children with the resilience to see past the darkness to the seemingly distant but inevitably approaching coming of the light.
As you read this note I will have lived my life a very long time ago. You will know more about the Earth and her seasons than I have had time to learn. But, even now, I can foretell that, often, as you wander through the twists and turns of your life’s journey, you will feel the road closing in on you.
For those times I offer you the realization that Winter is a changeable place. Life may be hibernating, but it will surely break through the heavy blanket of stagnation that holds you down and, slowly, the streams will begin to flow. The wildlife will come out of hiding and show you how to begin again.
I promise you, my children, every year, in every chapter of your life, after each dark Winter, the light of Spring will open its arms to you.”
One of my goals for this blog is to offer a platform for authors whose work I admire. I know a lot of wonderful writers and poets. When a new work is available I make it my mission to feature their work or point to it so you can take a look at it.
This charming little story was sent to me by Carole Field, MFT, published author and playwright. You can find her books, “Dating Down And Those of Us Who Do It” and “New York Guns, Kansas Nuns, Birth Control!” on Amazon. I have known Carole for many years. We talk about everything. She is an educated listener and a deep thinker. I can always count on her to give me a unique, well-considered perspective on any issue.
Knowing her as I do I can absolutely accept that she wrote this story in one session while sitting in the parking lot of the Food 4 Less! “The Smell of Make-Up” struck me as engaging, lovely, funny, and touching. Here she captures a moment in time that takes a bit of nostalgia, a bit of fantasy, and our current planetary restrictions and ties them all up together into a little bit of hope. Seems like a gem of a holiday gift.
THE SMELL OF STAGE MAKE-UP by Carole H. Field
I am never really vexed by the randomness of thoughts. I’m aware our synapses aren’t linear. Ultimately, we just make them work. But this particular, glaring, non-sequitur was so unhitched, I had to go home and scribble it on paper.
So- there I sat in the parking lot of Food 4 Less on Van Owen Blvd. Not the most religious of experiences. And I watched the masked and gloved, largely Mexican, families cajoling and joyously poking each other towards their/our essential pilgrimage.
And so, what else do I think of when I’m in a grocery store parking lot on a scorching, Sunday morning during a pandemic? None other than- how much I missed the smell of stage make-up. Naturally.
Yes- the smell. Not the pretty colors or what it did to these deep-set eyes, but the smell. That first blast when you unscrewed the lid and it hit you, without permission.
“How do you do, Sugar? We’re in this together “, it would say.
I would light up like a twin finding his counterpart, or, even, a virgin birth.
The make-up from Macy’s or Bloomies or the cheap drugstore on W. 53rd never had that certain smell, nor, the voice, avuncularly calling me Sugar.
That darling little man on E. 41st s who never looked up from reading Backstage or Show Business but could accurately advise you from some third eye.
“Watcha up to?” he would ask.
“Yay- I am going out with ‘No, No, Nanette’ next week, “ I would respectfully reply.
“Mazel tov,” he would say. “Get the Max Factor #5. You’re part light olive, part pink. Anything else will drown you out. We got new lip brushes from Berlin. They’re on sale. “
And, I’d leave there, smiling, with my new stash, still never seeing the color of his eyes.
And in the subway, I’d steal a bench, peruse the area to begin my new relationship with no interruption, and uncap one of my new potions.
And, there it’d be again. The waft, the greeting, the historical ambrosia left by every actress before me and every actress henceforth, hoofing, in “No, No Nanette”. And it would say,
“Hi, Sugar. We’re in this together.”
Whether it was the Belasco, or a black box on Melrose, or Temple Israel‘s backstage in Detroit, the smell of stage make-up had the same voice.
I pulled myself inside the grocery store. No doubt everyone in there was thinking the same as me. Understandably, I hobbled over to the lonely make-up stand. There, far from commanding, smiled the Revlon and the Maybelline. They were trying. But I pretended, for just one second, that I was surrounded by the smell of Max Factor and Ben Nye and….And, that the word pandemic was only something cobbled together on a Scrabble board. And, that the lights were as radiant as ever on the Great White Way. And, the only masks anyone was wearing were for effect, for something theatrical, under the silly magicians, cheesy sleight of hand. Undoubtedly.
“Sugar,” said the voice from Max Factor #5. “Hey- you got it goin’ on. This pandemic thing is temporary. They all are. Go with your inner resources. Go for the love, Carole. Because whether you’re basking in the smell of odorous, legendary, rouge, or of the inhibitions produced by your mask, it’s all about the love. Did you ever believe it was about anything else? “ he laughed.
I cautiously moved away from the make-up stand and filled my basket with food. I now had to look at Food 4 Less with different eyes. Yow- who knew that roast chicken and mascara had so very much in common?
Tara's Thoughts 