Tag Archives: children portraits

Don’t Let Go of the Glow

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dont-let-go-of-the-glow-1

I have a young friend, Andrea, who inspires the heck out of me. One day she told me how happy she was with the direction her life had been going. She said, “Things are going so good, I don’t want to let go of the glow.” Don’t let go of the glow. I really liked that. It’s so easy to let negativity creep in and take over. That’s why it’s important to watch our thoughts and steer them in the direction of gratitude when they begin to get off course.

I’ve learned that I absorb the message of whatever I illustrate  so I promptly rustled up a couple of models (Andrea’s son Adrian being one of them) and got this drawing down on paper. The next week when Andrea mentioned she was intent on “keeping the glow going,” I thought, “oh no, get me some paper. Here we go again.”

*By the way, I am looking for a little asian girl, around age four, (my model in the above art is now too old) to base the “Keep the Glow Going” illustration on. I see her walking along a path carrying a paper lantern. That image has lived in my mind’s eye since I first wrote this post a couple of years ago. If you know of a little one that fits my description, please get in touch with me at sue@sueshanahan.com

Paper Lantern

 

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Text and images © Sue Shanahan. All rights reserved. www.sueshanahan.com

Being Open to Magic

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“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” ― W.B. Yeats

Magic is everywhere. Like in my painting it’s right outside your window looking in, frequently unnoticed. It’s not that we don’t believe that anything is possible. Often we are blind to miracles because we have tunnel vision. We are so locked into our limited perception we can’t see what’s smiling at us through the porthole on the ship we’re sailing. It’s good to have dreams and plans but not to map out how they are to be manifested.

“The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.” ― Robertson Davies

Last week while babysitting my grandson, the concept of “seeing only what my mind is prepared to comprehend,” was brought to my attention. While Cameron was napping, I went to the refrigerator to get a bottle knowing that he would be waking soon. When I opened the door, I couldn’t  find the blue carrying case his parents brought his bottles in. From top to bottom, I searched the refrigerator for that case. I looked everywhere, even in the freezer. Eventually, I put on rubber gloves and rooted through the garbage, to make sure I hadn’t thrown it out by accident. No luck. I was comforted that I had discovered a bottle of frozen breast milk in my search but didn’t know what I was going to do for the rest of the day. Finally, it came to me that I should surrender the situation to God and ask for help. And so I did.

I decided to poor a cup of coffee and relax until my little charge awoke. When I reached into the fridge for the creamer, to my surprise, I saw four baby bottles of milk grouped on the bottom shelf. How could I have missed them? I’ll tell you how. I was so fixated on locating the blue case I couldn’t see anything else. Surrendering helped me to loosen the grip on my perception and opened me up to what was right in front of me. It made me wonder how many other things I’ve missed in my life.

“That is certainly one way to look at the matter. There are others.” ― Patricia C. Wrede

In my mermaid image lives the perfect reminder of why I must stay loose with what I think I know. It’s good to have a vision but let a higher source fine tune it. That is the formula that brought my porthole painting into being. The figures in it are my daughter-in-law and grandson, Cameron. Pam grew up near Boston and spent her summers by the ocean. She has what we like to call saltwater in her veins. When I found out she was pregnant, I immediately began seeing her as a mermaid, stretched out on a rock, holding a shell to her merbaby’s ear. When Cam was born, I prepared for the illustration, by photographing the perfect “mermaid rock” for them to be sunbathing on. Now all I had to do was get photo references of my two muses. That had to be put on hold until Cam was old enough for his mom to hold him while he listened to the sound of the sea in a shell.

The mermaid rock I came across on Lucy Vincent Beach in Martha's Vineyard.

The mermaid rock I came across on Lucy Vincent Beach in Martha’s Vineyard.

One day last July, the plan for my illustration took on a new direction when Pam texted me a selfie of her and Cam. In the photo, Pam’s hair flowed across a pillow and her little guy, laying next to her, had a look of pure wonder on his face. It was magical. I knew the moment I saw it that it was the photo I would base my art on. I’m so grateful I was open enough to see that the sea creatures I wanted to bring to life weren’t sunbathing, but looking through a porthole, right into my soul.

The selfie that pointed my imagination in another direction.

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Text and images © Sue Shanahan. All rights reserved. www.sueshanahan.com

For the Love of Grace

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Grace of My Heart

Grace of My Heart

“Blessed be childhood, which brings down something of heaven into the midst of our rough earthliness” -Henri Fredric Amiel

The little girl in the above illustration is Grace Audrey McDonnell. She is one of the twenty children whose lives were cut short at Sandy Hook Elementary School last December 14. Although I didn’t know her personally, she has taken residence in my heart. I was first introduced to her while watching the news. President Obama shared Grace with the world during a speech unveiling his gun control agenda last January. The president brought to light the details of her life. He said, “Grace was seven years old when she was struck down. Just a gorgeous, caring, joyful little girl. I’m told she loved pink. She loved the beach. She dreamed of being a painter. And just before I left, Chris, her father, gave me one of her paintings. And I hung it in my private study, just off the Oval Office. And every time I look at that painting, I think about Grace …”

Hearing about Grace’s art hanging in the president’s study triggered some memories of my own. I had been beyond thrilled when I learned Hillary Clinton had hung my portrait of Chelsea in her private study when she was first lady. It saddened me Grace wasn’t here to know of the honor bestowed upon her painting.

I was drawn to Grace and began reading articles about her short life. We had so much in common. Like me, she was born with the soul of an artist. When she grew up, she wanted to live on Martha’s Vineyard. Vacationing there every summer for years, I share her love for everything about that island. And I learned that, like me, some of her happiest moments were spent there.

I felt such a connection to Grace. The thought began coming to me that I had to paint a portrait of her for her parents. I tried to dismiss it as just a sympathetic impulse, but the entreaty wouldn’t leave me alone. I had the distinct feeling it was something Grace wanted me to do. It was my part to play in her family’s healing. The painting would be a gift from Grace through me. I tried pushing these thoughts down but they were always there, humming in the background. Finally, I surrendered to them and tracked down her mom, Lynn. Understanding she might be wary, I expressed my conviction with trepidation. Grief is such a personal thing. I didn’t want to add to her parent’s burden in any way. Lynn accepted my offer and sent me the program from Grace’s memorial service. When I opened it up, I knew I had found the picture to base her portrait on. Inside the booklet was a photo of Grace taken by her mother at the Martha’s Vineyard Agricultural Fair. The pensiveness in that child’s beautiful eyes revealed her soul – a look only a mother could capture.

Last week, I put the finishing touches on my painting of Grace. All that’s left to do is pack it up and ship it to her family. My hope is that anyone who reads this post prays for Grace, and for the healing of all those she left behind. Collective prayer always brings miracles.

Grace Audrey McDonnell didn’t have an ounce of hate in her. She was the light and the love of her family. She was Chris and Lynn’s daughter and Jack’s little sister. She was a granddaughter, a friend and loved by many. But to me, she will always be, simply Grace of my heart.

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All text and images © Sue Shanahan. All rights reserved. www.sueshanahan.com

Divine Calling

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It is in by believing in roses that one brings them to bloom. – French proverb

We all have a divine calling, a purpose we were born to fulfill. Afraid to let nature take its course with our dreams, we roll up our sleeves and map out our future. Step by step we’re determined to make it happen. There’s a serious flaw in this type of thinking. Rather than moving us to our heart’s song, it keeps us stuck.

How can that be? Because in believing you have to make your passion happen, you’re limited to only what you’re capable of imagining. A more certain way to reach your goal is by envisioning what your life would be like if your longings were already realized. Indulge yourself. Start acting as if you’re already there by finding a place of trust within, a place where you know your dream is being brought to fruition. Live as if it’s already happening, and the physical world just has to catch up. Opportunities to transport you will unfold without your “help.” They will materialize as if by magic. And all you have to do is let go and dream.

Stay in the now. Work on an aspect of your heart’s desire daily. For me, today, it would be sharing my art by writing this blog. For my nephew’s wife Jamie, it’s about being the best mother she can be to baby Calvin. For Harriet Tubman, it was saying, “yes” to her calling to guide slaves to freedom in the north. She didn’t worry about unforeseen dangers on her journey. She relied on moment-to-moment guidance from her maker. By believing in our dreams, without agonizing over how to bring them to pass, we leave room for the divine to work out the details. That’s my interruption of the idiom, “God is in the details.”

In Linda Ronstadt’s new memoir, Simple Dreams it’s clear all she ever wanted to do was sing. How her gift was shared with the world wasn’t something she was consumed with. By keeping her focus on the joy of singing, her heart’s desire materialized, in a big way. Not many of us clammer for that kind recognition. But what we all do share is the desire to bring the rose we are born with to bloom. By loving that rose and leaving the particulars of its flowering to God, we leave the door open for him to out dream us. And out dream us he always does.

My nieces Collette and Andi were happy to pose as Degas ballerinas for me.

My nieces Collette and Andi were happy to pose as Degas ballerinas for me.

All text and images © Sue Shanahan. All rights reserved.

Children are Pieces of Heaven

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Cooper

“It is no small thing, when they who are so fresh from God, love us.”  – Charles Dickens

When children arrive into earthly life, they bring with them a breath of heaven. Just look into any baby’s eyes and you’ll know it’s true. To be loved by a child is to be loved for one’s self. It’s a love that heals hurts and changes the course of the world. It did for me. When my eldest was placed in my arms, it seemed as if the room lit up. I knew without question, that God exists. I felt whole. I was no longer the girl who defined herself by the wounds of a painful childhood. I was Robby’s mother.

After that came Bridget and then Brian – almost too much love for one heart to hold. My passion to be an artist was always trumped by being with them. It didn’t feel like I even had a choice. They came first. My career would have to be patient. I agree with Jacqueline Kennedy’s observation, “If you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do matters very much.” Looking back over my life, I wouldn’t change a thing. Although being a mother slowed down my painting for awhile, it gave me a much broader range of colors to choose from on my palette. Today I am able to focus on sharing my creative gifts with the world while marveling at the incredible human beings my kids have grown into.

When my children were little, I used to feel their shoulder blades and tell them they were the nubs from the wings they had before they were born. As angels they flew over the world to pick out their families. How lucky their father and I were they chose to land here, with us. Back then I never considered this anything more than a tale told to delight. In the here and now, I know better.

In the portrait I painted of Cooper, the quote from Charles Dickens was the perfect addition. He is a delight.

In the portrait I painted of Cooper, the quote from Charles Dickens was the perfect addition. Cooper is a treasure and charms everyone he meets.

Text and images © Sue Shanahan. All rights reserved.

www.sueshanahan.com