WORD PAINTINGS #33 - CONFUSION AND CHAOS!

Oh, how I loved my baby boy!!!  He gave me so much joy and I was determined to make his life absolutely perfect!  I always was a dreamer! We lived in a three room apartment above a garage on Holbrook Road in Homewood.  The place was too small for the three of us and we found a larger house nearby. Even though we were renting, I decided to make it into a real home.  The wringer washing machine in the basement gave me hope that there were better days ahead. I really didn't ask for much.  When John was nine months old - surprise, surprise - another visit from the stork expected sometime in December of 1966. My husband was not thrilled.  After my announcement of another baby, he began making excuses and would just disappear into the Great Unknown.  His life became a great mystery.  We were always hurting for money and now another baby!  I really tried to understand - I was scared.

One day I sneaked into the glove compartment of his Oldsmobile and Whoa! - bank slips for several thousand dollars. Money from his mother.  I never knew how she did it on her salary from a small department store in western Pennsylvania.   She paid for him to go through four years at Notre Dame - tuition, clothes, spending money.  Instead of standing on his own two feet now that he was a husband and father, she was still in the habit of supporting him.  I didn't understand where the money went.  After paying the rent, I was always scrimping for food and utilities.  This was the beginning of my Great Awakening.

In the meantime, my belly just kept getting bigger and bigger.  If we had guests the object of conversation was my girth and they would just watch the baby start out on my left side and then visibly shift to the right.  No one looked at my face anymore, they just stared at my button popping maternity blouse.  Yes, an Xray  that November revealed I was about to have twins!  OMG!!  When my time came on the morning of December 9th, everything went so quickly that they didn't have time to sedate me - I was awake for the birth of two beautiful baby girls - eleven and a half pounds of New Life!

Revelation!  I began to suspect my mystery man was living a separate life.  I was slow to face reality.  My son and I were always alone.  On the day we brought the girls home from the hospital, I went to lie down for a short nap.  On my pillow was a long dark hair.  My hair was very short and red.  Bingo!  The only person I knew with long black hair was our babysitter!  Mystery solved!  Now what?  You dumbass!  How could you?  I was too exhausted to confront him.

The girls had come home from the hospital with some kind of flu bug.  All three babies came down with fevers and diarrhea!  181 cloth diapers in two days!!  My family was overwhelmed and decided they would stay away until the "quarantine" was lifted.  His mother was thrilled that her son's obvious virility had produced not one baby, but two!!!  I had never been so alone in my life.  My little babies were so sick!  All I needed was a good night's sleep!  Please, God!  After a week they began to recover and some sort of routine began to emerge - Even in all the chaos there was the hope for better days!.  One step at a time - one day at a time - short naps in between.  Formula, bottles, diapers.....my reality now was keeping my little ones fed and healthy.  I was in overload and exhausted. There was no time to think about my husband and the babysitter.

WORD PAINTINGS #32 - A GOOD CATHOLIC GIRL....

 Not long after the glass-throwing incident I was walking out of the bathroom - it was semi-dark.  He was waiting for me.  He slammed my whole body against the fridge with stunning force. Without a word he walked into the living room.  I stood in place and reverted to my childhood coping skill of numbing out.  The next day I started to miscarry and was sent to the hospital.  They told me I lost the baby, but tests showed I was still pregnant.  I was sent home only to miscarry another baby.  What I remember is that no one ever mentioned my pregnancy again.  It was as though nothing had happened - just a blip on the movie screen of Life.  My heart was in pieces and no one, not even my husband, would talk to me or ask how I felt.  All these years later those babies are still with me - I believe they were boys and I  have named them Matthew and Andrew.

My husband never did change his status with the draft board.

The words "domestic abuse" were not common back then.  As a result I saw the body blow and the miscarriages as separate events.    I was afraid of him.  At the beginning the instances of physical abuse were frequent enough that I learned to agree with everything he wanted in the way of new cars, clothes, hunting equipment, fishing gear - we were always in debt.  He ruled the roost as manly men did back in the day.  His verbal abuse kept me silent and he reminded me every day that I did not have a college education and that I was crazy like my mother. I talked to two priests about the state of my marriage.  They strongly urged me to remember that I made vows at the altar in front of God. According to the Church, I was bound to this man for the rest of my life.  I was a good Catholic girl.  I stayed.

No longer pregnant, I decided to go back to my old job in the Prudential Building.  I was promoted to Executive secretary to the Advertising Manager of the Chicago Office of Holiday Magazine.  This move turned out to be my saving grace.  Two free hours a day during the train ride into the Loop. Back with my old friends and within walking distance of the Chicago Art Institute!  Some measure of hope - I began to feel part of the world again and slowly regained some inner strength and self confidence. Life at home settled down.  My husband joined a sports club - hunting, shooting, fishing. He began teaching at a small college in East Chicago, Indiana.  We gave the impression of being a happy couple; there were moments when I, too, thought things could get better.  I stayed.

Life continued in the real world.   John Kennedy's motorcade passed right by me on Michigan  Avenue.  I held out my hand and touched his as he rode past!  The riots during the Democratic Convention when Mayor Daley called out the National Guard. Kent State. The Viet Nam war churned on and TV cameras captured all the death and dying in time for the evening news.  Kennedy's murder. The funeral - Mrs. Kennedy and the children - little John saluting his father's casket.  Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald.  Our new President Johnson. Protests against the war.  Total devastation.  Life was never the same after the assassination.....

Pregnant again, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy in May of 1965 - I named him John.

WORD PAINTINGS #31 - HIDDEN AGENDAS

It has taken many years for me to realize that I wasn't the only person in my marriage to have a hidden agenda.  My husband and his mother were determined to keep him out of the Viet Nam War.  The solution they came up with was marriage - and a Hail Mary pregnancy should do the trick.

1960 - The morning of my wedding day, I told my bridesmaid that I had my doubts.  She said if I wanted to run, she would help me.  If I ran I would be returning to all the family chaos.  It seemed that marriage was an empty-handed leap into the unknown.  I decided to take the chance.  The truth is I just went from one abusive home to another. I naively wished that married life - a fresh start would change my life.  Eventually it did change me in so many ways...how can I say it was bad?  There are no accidents.

About four days into the marriage and a quick trip to of all places Niagara Falls, we headed to his family home in Pennsylvania.  His mother had arranged a party to introduce me to the whole family....his brother and his wife, all the aunts, uncles and cousins.  I sat in the middle of the living room exposed to intense scrutiny. Half way through the evening his brother mentioned to my groom that his old girlfriend was parked in front of the house.  He went out to "talk" to her and didn't return for about two hours.  In the meantime I sat with all those strangers staring at me trying not to cry.  It was too bad that I didn't have a healthy sense of myself then I might have left then - truth is I had no place to go...I stayed.

It was the height of the recession and no jobs were available in this small town in western Pennsylvania.  We headed back to Chicago.  We both found jobs at Glenwood School for Boys.  My husband taught one of the lower grades and I worked in the office answering phones and sorting mail.  Ernie and his brother had been orphaned and had been residents at the school for many years.  We all met and became friends with the other teachers - it was a nice way to settle into our first months of marriage.  We rented a small cottage on Willow Road not far from the school campus....it was a poorly insulated log cabin from the '40s and quite "rustic" - many mornings that winter my toothbrush was frozen to the cup!  The bathroom was quite large with a long table set under some casement windows.  I set up my paints and worked there making small paintings whenever there was time....my first "studio" was a bathroom!

One evening I was sitting close to the wood stove reading a book.  My husband was across the room drinking beer from a Pilsner glass.  In a stark moment the glass was hurled at my head, just missed my right eye and smashed against the wall.  It had been thrown with such force that there was a chunk of plaster gouged out of the wall.  I asked him why he did that.  He just stared at me with seething anger and did not answer. My hopes for change vanished.  In that moment all the fears I experienced as a child returned.  I needed to be afraid of my new husband.  I needed to try to be better as a wife - this happened because somehow I made him angry. I wasn't good enough!  I took responsibility for his bad behavior!  I stayed.

Oh, Hail Mary!  The doctor told me I was pregnant - 21 years old and pregnant.  That same afternoon my husband took a note from the doctor and ran to his draft board and was granted a deferment.  He called his mother with the news - I could hear her sigh of relief over the phone.  We both had our reasons to be in this marriage - let's try again!  Maybe we can make this better for our baby.



 

WORD PAINTINGS #30 - A VERY BRIEF FAMILY HISTORY

Note: In the photo above my beautiful grandmother Clara holds my father. Beside her is her daughter.  A third child was born after my father.  A fourth pregnancy followed his birth - she died giving birth to twins.  The wake was held in the living room of the house on Fletcher Street.  Clara was waked and buried with the twins at her feet in the same coffin.  Am certain that my father and his siblings experienced trauma from this event that lasted for the rest of their lives.  In another family album I saw a photo of my mother about the age of five - she was malnourished and neglected and her little legs were horribly bowed from a severe case of rickets. My mother and father were severely damaged souls well before they met for the first time!

One story I heard was that my grandfather hit my father so hard that his eardrum was shattered.  When he tried to sign up to fight in WWII, he was rejected because of his bad ear.  Both my uncles served during the war - one in Burma and Calcutta and the other fought in the Battle of the Bulge.  One day my father received an envelope with a white feather. He sat at the kitchen table and cried.  My father began drinking at a very early age - he never stopped - he became an alcoholic.  I can't remember ever seeing him sober.  He was abusive.  I did everything I could to avoid his wrath.

Our mother suffered from mental illness.  My brother and I weren't very old when she was released from the sanitorium after having received 21 shock treatments.  I can remember her barely being able to walk or talk after she returned home.  One day we tried to help her walk to the end of the block and she had to stop every few steps.  I wanted to help her and was afraid if she fell we wouldn't be able to pick her up.  We were frequently sent to the corner drugstore to get her bottles of Lydia Pinkham's Tonic which contained a high percentage of alcohol.  Eventually the pharmaceutical industry heard her cry for help and she became addicted to valium - 500 tablets a month.

Talked to my brother the other day and he facetiously said our family put the "fun" in "dysfunction".  In reality the fun times were few and far between.  I loved my parents!  However I have often described my father as Archie Bunker on steroids without the humor.  It was my job to take care of my brother and I did my best.  Tried to "fix" them, make them better - it was a losing battle. Our home was a very sad and scary place to live.  I still cringe if I hear a loud argument.

 How do these stories fit into the narrative of my posts?  The trauma in my family was generational.  I was conditioned at an early age, just by watching my parents interact with one another, that loud arguments and verbal abuse was normal.  They would often take their anger out on us.  Drawing and painting was my "dreamtime" and I could shut out the noise.   In the summer my brother and I would spend the whole day at the swimming pool in Kosciuszko Park.  We wouldn't go home until dinnertime. The park lagoon froze over in the winter and we skated all day and drank hot chocolate at the nearby shelter. We had many friends and if you asked us after our day in the park, we would have told you that we had a really good life.   We thought this was the way everyone lived!

What if my fierce hope to become an artist was only a daydream?  I prayed to be rescued.  There was no escape. When that darkly handsome young man appeared at my door for a blind date, I saw rainbows!  Marriage seemed to be the perfect solution to my dilemma!
     

WORD PAINTINGS #29 - READY, SET.....GO!!!

Fall 1968/Winter 1969 - After the workshop at Cloudcroft, I settled in to take care of the babies and painted every spare moment.  Very surprised that the alla prima method came easy for me.  I was basically experimenting with the paint - every painting was a surprise.  Ernie exhibited his sculptures at the Albuquerque Arts and Crafts Fair every summer and sold well - it was a hefty supplement to his teaching salary.  He urged me to get my paintings photographed and apply to get a booth for the 1969 summer fair.  Didn't feel I was good enough - was just starting to work with the paints.  Had no idea of how to put things all together for a show!  For some strange reason I put aside my doubts and sent in my application with not much expectation of being accepted.

Christmas was coming and I hitched a ride to Albuquerque to shop for some toys and clothes for my brood.  We made a stop at Kurt's Camera Corral ostensibly to get a new camera for Ernie - and walked out with a new Canon with a zoom lens for me!    That camera was attached to my arms until Kodak stopped making Ektachrome slide film!!!  I later gave it to my son when he was about 40 years old!  Digital cameras can't hold a candle to that Canon - I've tried several and still miss that old beauty.

There was no backing out now!  Am unable to remember if I saw the possibilities that lie ahead then, but I had a lot of questions.  What if my application was accepted to show at the fair in Albuquerque?  What if this turned into a way to bring in some money to help take care of these three little ones - they needed shoes and clothes and the doctor bills needed to be paid.  That winter one of the girls developed a serious ear infection and spent several days at the old St. Vincent's Hospital.

 It was fast becoming apparent that my husband paid more attention to his own needs than those of his children.  Bills were piling up and I was hard pressed to keep up with the late notices that arrived with greater and greater regularity.  Tensions were building and tempers were short.  Although some time had passed since our move to Santa Fe, the marriage was not a working partnership.  We did not operate as a couple.  Confusion reigned I felt totally and completely helpless - trapped with nowhere to turn.  I looked at my babies and realized I was their only responsible parent.  It was definitely time to paint faster!   
 

TAOS 9/21/18 - WORD PAINTINGS #28 - SANCTUARY

TAOS 9/21/18 - This has been an upsetting week for any woman who has experienced any kind of abuse - friend, partner, stranger.  Chuck Grassley and Orrin Hatch have risen again like ghosts from the Grave of History Past!  It honestly makes me ill to see them on TV and my mute button is getting a real workout!. I remember the Anita Hill hearings - their attempted destruction of a good strong woman who had the courage to step forward to oppose the nomination to the Supreme Court of that sleeping giant Clarence Thomas.  Here they are again - spectres of the good old days when men were men and women knew their place!!  Am hoping in their next lives they return as  women who need men to treat them fairly - just to be honest and upstanding arbiters for the rights and dignity of women! Politics be Damned!  I am angry!

Sitting on my little red sofa here in Taos this morning, I have decided to share some of my experiences of domestic abuse.  Was ready to tuck it away and just talk about my art life.  Truth is the abuse was the impetus for me to create a safe and sane life without the daily drama.  It has taken most of my lifetime to learn how to live peacefully.  The painting above is titled "Sanctuary of Padre Martinez".   Taos has been my haven for at least 35 years - my own personal sanctuary - amazing Grace!

Fair warning - some of next week's posts might not be easy to read.  My intention is to avoid blame - a lot of what happened between me and the men in my life was normal behavior back in the day - it was cultural.  I just happened to be caught in the riptide of change from a male dominant society to the women's movement - it was crazy making!  All I know is that I navigated through this time as best I could.

"If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better. ..." - Anne Lamott

WORD PAINTINGS #27 - CULTURE SHOCK

JAN HERRING WORKSHOP, CLOUDCROFT, N.M. - 1968

As mentioned in a previous post,  I celebrated my 79th birthday three weeks ago; life was very different for women back in the day!  Culture shock for me really wasn't because of the move from my mid-western roots to mostly Hispanic and Native American city of Santa Fe.  The difference in the status of women between the two places made me question my entire belief system - the rather closed and restrictive society of  women in the Polish-American community as opposed to the wide open possibilities of a small but burgeoning city full of talented and creative people in the Southwest. 

Growing up Catholic in Milwaukee and Chicago, the role of women was predestined.  It was shaped by religion and ethnicity.    To quote my father again, "No daughter of mine will be an artist!" - his word was Law!   Men ruled the roost.  Women obeyed. That is the way it was back then.  Higher education was frowned upon for girls.  Marriage was the only acceptable option.  If a husband was abusive or unfaithful, the parish priest was ready and willing to talk to the wife and convince her of the marriage vows.  Separation or divorce was not an option. Taking care of one's family, husband, children and elderly parents was predestined.  Only the most determined and courageous girls escaped.  

I often refer to my transition from Chicago to Santa Fe my "Dorothy and Toto" moment - the gut punch of infidelity on the part of my husband was the tornado that picked me up,....babies, diapers and everything I believed to be true and landed me where I belonged in the first place.  It is no accident that in my first posts I honor three amazing women - Jane Petschesky, Jan Herring and Margaret Jamison.  Jane happily worked alongside her husband at the department store and their horse ranch.  Jan left her family farm in Clint, Texas to study with a famous Polish artist.  Painting and teaching her way of caring for her family at the same time able to express herself creatively.  Margaret picked herself up from a devastating loss to become one of the most respected art dealers in the country!  These women showed me the path to change.   wherever they are now, I hope they know that they made a real difference in my life.  

Truth is I never lost those women from Chicago/Milwaukee.  From them I learned how to navigate the world in spite of the cultural and religious limitations.  Am grateful for their good hearts and kind ways.  I was caught between two ways of being - a life without many choices, or this wide open wild West where I could eventually become real - I could draw and paint and raise my babies without a discouraging word!  Wow!!!