Julia, who wasn't even four when Mom passed away, has no effective memory of her at all.
But she does have something else -- a healthy dose of ironic appreciation for that letter of recommendation her art teacher wrote.
When I asked her about it yesterday, here is what she had to say:
"So I read it and I was blown away. I mean, she's a great writer, my teacher, but when I read all those things she had to say about me, all I could think was 'this is my first letter of recommendation and she's put all of that in there already?' 'What about when I really need someone to say something nice like when I am trying to get into college?'"
I gently suggested that she might approach the same teacher then. I'm sure she filed that suggestion away.
Thinking back over Julia's childhood, and going through some old pictures, I realize how her artistic impulses have been the constant theme running through everything. I mean art in a very large sense, one that includes all of us. In this sense, we are all artists, even if we do not think of ourselves that way.
There was the way from when she was very young she insisted on dressing in a certain style. There was the way she designed her room. There were the details she noticed as we traversed this city -- that house, this window, that color here or there. Always looking and always seeing.
Then there were all of her projects. In the photo above, when she was maybe 5 or 6, she was painting sand dollars from Ocean Beach. Where did she get that idea?
As she grew older and showed what others call "artistic talent" we hired art teachers to help her improve her techniques.
Then was her response to not getting into the School of the Arts: refusing to take her opportunity for a second chance because she felt offended as a 14-year-old feminist. (That school has since been investigated and sued for its admission practices.) That is one of the few moments I recall her acting like a drama queen. But it was Christmas Eve and she was disappointed.
But now she is about to return to art as a lens for her development. As we were shopping for her Oxbow School supplies yesterday, I was just along for the ride, but I noticed how she eschewed the dramatic colors of sheets and towels in favor of zeroing in on the subtle shades or grays and textures that were not the plushest or most expensive but practical.
It turns out you can spend hundreds of dollars on sheets or towels, and with me there to pay, had she chosen that option, it would have been okay. But I am my mother's son, a Scot, and I know I flinched when she was handling the more expensive options -- and I know she noticed.
In the end she chose some mid-range options and then she produced a 20% off coupon that further reduced the final cost by +$50. She had met her Mom before hand to get that coupon.
Today, as I reflect back on all of this, I can only think about how proud Grandma Anne would be of Julia. Whatever any of us may be doing with ourselves, it is the art of living that really matters.
-30-
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