Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

October 12, 2010

Jeb’s art is now exploring what I’ve come to term “The Nude Series”.  Yes, sketched characters are now more anatomically accurate (not to mention, exclusively male).

As an artist myself, I encourage him to express himself freely.  But I’ve had to differentiate between what can be drawn in his journals at home and what he can create at school.

Look closely and you’ll see that today in art class the muse overtook him.  However, it appears as though censure prevailed in the shape of an eraser, leaving only a faded remnant in this abridged example.

He says he removed the appendage of his own accord, not because the teacher asked him to.

Part of me is happy that he honored my request to keep the nudes at home.  And part of me grieves to think that the editor – that bane of creativity – has already infiltrated my 6 year old’s world.

I mean, I gotta ask the burning question…what would da Vinci’s mom do?

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

October 11, 2010

Monday morning started poorly as we readied ourselves for another day of first grade.

There was my son’s refusal to eat breakfast, his insistence on wearing an armful of Silly Bands (the equivalent of elementary school bling), and the cutting and spewing of glow-in-the-dark bracelets (“mom, is my eye yellow?  some of it splashed on my face?” !!!).  All before 8am.

Getting my drama out of the way by 8, however, left room for the rest of an uneventful day (thankfully), which culminated in the evening with the sweetness of music.  All non-toxic (but potentially skin-irritating) day glow goo was forgotten as I watched my son sit on a stool and play Baby.

When Jeb’s father, Rex, emailed me from India in 2002 that he had bought a guitar in Varanasi with the word “Baby” in the headstock, I tried not to take it as a sign of our potential fate.  But I couldn’t help wonder, as his email coincided with a vivid dream I’d had of a child in my womb.

Rex described sitting with sadhus by the Ganges  among the bones and smoking pyres.  The holy men strumming Baby til their fingers bled, leaving stains still visible on its wooden face.

The day after Rex’s return from his mystical India tour, Baby’s portent was realized.  Jeb was born into the world nine months later.

Jeb says, “This guitar has been a lot of places.  It’s pretty powerful…”

Indeed.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

10-10-10

Went to the cliff above the ocean this morning and sang to the waves beside the Ironwood tree.  Later, bought a used copy of Stones of the Sur– the collection of Robinson Jeffers poetry and Morley Baer’s photography.  I’m following a thread…stones and Big Sur and something about the heart.

In the afternoon, I walk with my son to a concert in the hills and he hears the notes of his father’s guitar trickle up the canyon where we are.  Rex is on stage singing about the love of his life.  I’ve never heard this song but I think I understand.  It was never me and that’s okay.

At evening’s end Chris Berry asks the crowd to sing with him.

We got love, we got love, we got love.

I give my best and sing along into the night sky.