Oil on canvas, February 2009.

Losing a friend is difficult.   But sometimes an old friendship needs to be reviewed against the very same guidelines that created it.

I’ve found comfort and company in thinking of a relationship as a river.  It flows as two people flow, and gains strength as these two people share themselves with each other and begin to merge.    Imagine what happens when this river gets reigned in by a dam… It will hate that dam, and with all its might, try to break it down, find a way around it, over it, under it— any way to get through and flow like an invincible river again.

The dam can be anything that halts the friendship: a deep disagreement, harsh judgment, loss of trust.  With effort and love, though, even the biggest dams of this type can be torn down and order in the friendship restored.

Sometimes, a special halt happens in a relationship that no amount of effort can put right.   There’s nothing specific to resolve, nothing that needs a return, or a re-take.   The dam is there because it is part of us– we are both the river and the dam.   It becomes deeply frustrating, and also hurtful to be in this situation because ultimately we are fighting against ourselves.   We can keep on insisting on returning to our natural course as friends–or we can recognize that the dam is not meant to be overcome.  We are not meant to be anything but ourselves.

There is good news though:  the river never stops flowing.   Even in this state that now seems unnatural and stifling, the river is actually flowing just as invincibly, if not more so.  It is gathering speed, generating power.  Power for what, who knows…? But wherever it ends up, it will always be that river…

Friends come and go, and for those that go, we weep and reminisce.  But we must also remember to see goodbyes as gifts, and be thankful, and let them push us to where we’re supposed to go.

The goal of the river is to create a wide, flat valley where it can flow smoothly towards the ocean.

Kuy, Acrylic on paper, December 2010

I set out to draw better last year, and this was one of the portraits I got to finish in time for my thank you show.

Kuy is the diminutive (i.e. pet name or lambing) for Kuya or big brother, and this painting was a Christmas gift for my one and only big bro, Paolo.

I started off with a pencil sketch, referenced off a picture that wasn’t “boring” or in a normal frontal, smiling position:

I learned from doing mom and dad’s portrait that I need not detail the sketch so much– it’s really adding the colors that demands patience.

I filled in the easiest part first– the black background!–then got to work on the fingers, which I thought would give me a hard time…

It was the pointing index finger and thumb area that took a while, but I was happy with how they came out:

The face is always tricky– even a millimeter off and you’ll have a stranger before you.

I knew if I got the eyes and lips right, I’d get to bring out my brother’s smirk… 😉

Another a lesson from my first acrylic portrait:  blend while the paint is still wet.

Voila!  I didn’t really want to go for photorealism, and chose a blurry reference picture on purpose.

At this point I knew my work was done:  My brother “came out of the painting”, said hello, and smirked his trademark smirk. 🙂

Gouache on paper, May 2010

In three days, I’m moving out of what’s been home for a year. The place is empty now–save for some “basics” that I can’t pack just yet.

Interesting to see what we hold on to last– some out of need, and some out of perceived need.

The obvious “basics” are food and clothing, but are they really?  I noticed I’ve stopped refilling my fruit bowl and ref crisper for over a week now.   Has food become less pressing a concern?

A curious contender has been my wall art: posters, quotes, cards.  Some my own, most by those I admire. I’ve come to call on them as friends, and many times during my one year of living alone, they’ve kept me company on lonely nights.  There was a true hesitation in saying goodbye when I took them down, but for some reason I know I won’t be putting them up again.

When goodbye feels right, and we concede to it–or better yet, embrace it–we don’t necessarily “lose” something.   We clear the way for that which is free from emotional attachment or agenda.   We are not distracted, we hear ourselves, and if we proceed truthfully, we hear others too.

When all goes well in our lives–no hang ups, no loose ends to tie, no big goal or duty to give ourselves to– what happens?  What remains?  Maybe it’s not a question of what is left behind, but of what pushes forward, what persists?