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This painting, "Los Milagros," was made in San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Mexico this past April when I painted "live" to the music of virtuoso violinist David Mendoza. I'm pleased to report it has recently claimed the heart of its rightful owner.  Call me a romantic, but I believe each painting has a destiny. It's conceived in me and given expression through me; when the time is right, someone comes along who values it and wants to take it home.

 

People sometimes refer to my paintings as my babies; however, while I understand the reference, there's no real comparison. Paintings are paintings; but only babies are babies—small humans, needful of great care and nurture in order that they might fulfill their vast potential. And, while I may enjoy a painting as long as I own it, neither I nor the painting will suffer when we are separated. By contrast, the suffering endured by those seeking asylum in our country who have been forced apart at the U.S./Mexican border is completely unimaginable to me.

 

I have a recurring dream—a nightmare, really—in which Spotty, my beloved "indoors only" cat, becomes lost outside. This actually happened once when he was a little guy in Atlanta. On the 4th of July, a door was accidentally left open and Spotty slipped out just a few minutes before the fireworks began booming; then, a huge storm blew in full of crashing thunder, lightning and pouring rain. I was sure the noise had made him run far, far away.  For the next two days, Roo and I frantically scoured the neighborhood, put up signs, and cried ourselves to sleep. Then, early on the morning of the third day, we were awakened by the pounce upon our bed of our little lost one. He'd made his way back home, pushing in the screen on our porch to gain entry. To me it seemed a miracle.

 

In my nightmare, however, I am trying to carry Spotty somewhere outdoors. As hard as I try to hold onto my kitty, he slips away. There are many other cats—some nice, others menacing, and some who look very similar to Spotty, but who aren't him. I am inconsolable. In some versions of the dream, I find Spotty but can't get hold of him. Or I pick up a cat thinking it is Spotty but realize it's not. In others, I'm finally able to grab him and bring him home. I always wake up from the nightmare so grateful to find my kitty beside me in the bed.

 

I'm not a mother and Spotty is the closest thing I have to a child. But he is not a child—he is only a pet I'm very attached to. No one has to be a mother, however, to appreciate the horror of a child separated from a parent under any condition, or the anguish of a parent who has no idea how to find and reunite with her lost child. (I learned today that DNA testing may be required to locate the children who were taken away without proper record-keeping.)

 

Los milagros, translated from the Spanish, means "the miracles." In the current immigration crisis, I pray for whatever milagros are required, for whatever healing of our collective ignorance is needed, so that these families may be reunited as soon as possible. As I do this and whatever other actions seem appropriate—today, nothing seems adequate—I will feed Spotty on the every-two-hour schedule he currently prefers and lovingly release this painting to its new forever home.

 

May all beings be happy

May all beings be healthy

May all beings be free of suffering

May all beings be at peace.

Amen.

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