My coach advised me not to miss the opportunity to share  this with you. Having omitted mentioning it in the last newsletter, I was inclined to let it slide.  Geez, you want me to send out another letter? Really? This shows how brilliant I am, at least to have a coach, because when I thought about it I realized she had a point. Thank You Coach…and no I’m not telling you her name, because then you will want her too !

The second award Masterworks gave me at Charman was that of “Best Use Of Materials” Actually when I really think about it, that is a very meaningful notation. You know I hear from a good deal of followers, well-wishers and collectors. Sometimes folks out and out ask why I don’t seem to paint the way i used to. They then tell me what they liked about a specific group of paintings or a specific piece. My subject over the years has not changed much but the use of materials has.
Some of my viewers are comfortable with a clear image, one that looks more photographic. Some find the courage to express that opinion. In thier minds, that shows greater skill by the artist, you know, if she can make it look just like the photo.

Sometimes it’s impossible to tell what material the artist has used to create her painting as there is so little evidence of it in the execution. Here is how I see it. Painting should be about paint. Art is as much about the materials used as it is about what one does with the materials. The thickness or runniness, the way it bleeds, or the trail left by the pallet knife. When materials are used in such a way as to make it impossible to identify them then I think you are being cheated. Each material has a way it behaves naturally and although we push and pull materials in oder to create with them, we want to enjoy them for their intrinsic qualities, otherwise why have different materials?

Fortunately I have both these paintings in the gallery now. The first one is made with cold wax paint, a completely different animal. The one on the right, regular encaustic paint, that is to say heated beeswax. Look at he close up below.

The nature of the material  and the pallet meaning the colors used, can satisfy the eye sometimes irregardless of the subject of the painting. Textures can be yummy.

Here’s a  closeup example of pastel on a hand prepared sanded surface. See the color below the sand, and then the color sitting on top of the grains of sand?. Compare this use of pastel to the next painting.

One is chunky earthy and rough, the other softer in feel, more fitting perhaps to the subject. What do you think?

People who own original art tend to notice and appreciate the use of materials, because they are looking at the original painting all the time, and not looking at a print, which is a picture of a painting.

I understand when people don’t get it.  It’s like learning to appreciate good wine from cheap and then noticing even more, like the subtle  handling of the same material on differing surfaces. Surfaces change the look and behaviour of materials. Like anything else, once you do get it, it’s hard to imagine a time when you did not.. To view the painting up close, to see the reds and blues, then to step back and see  that your eye has married the two colors visually, and now from five feet away there is violet!  Now you see it  whole. It is a beautiful thing when it is well executed.

Thank you Masterworks, thank you Coach, and thank you for not thinking this email was a duplication of the earlier one. Thanks for opening it.

I have been meaning to sit down and connect with you, but sometimes I find writing  difficult. I notice that when I think too much about what you might think when reading it, well then, the task becomes even more difficult. Maybe that’s worthy of  investigation at some point, but today is a day to celebrate the addition of a new work into Masterworks permanent collection.
I am pleased that Masterworks’ Acquisition Committee have  seen fit to add this painting to it’s Bermudiana Collection.
I am especially excited because of the story that it tells. The more works of art which tell the story of Bermuda and her people, the richer and more valuable the collection. I am grateful that there are people who are happy to serve on committees such as these. As an artist I want to create. I also want to create works which will be seen by those who may never  personally own a painting.

I want to see everyone of us represented on the walls of Masterworks, The Bermuda National Gallery and especially in public spaces.  I want those of you who love art to remember  that you can always partner with me to gift to institutions. If you think there should be representative works of let’s say the value of police in  our community, you may commission me to create it, and you may in turn gift such a painting to the museum or organization. Wouldn’t this allow you to gift from your area of interest and provide me with more opportunities to create? I know there are many collectors whose walls are full, but who are still passionate about art. Public art is so important in humanizing us. Give it some thought and let’s talk about how this may be accomplished.

I have had calls and questions about the painting ,so I decided  to provide background information here.

Who was the boy in the painting?
The subject of this painting was a boy I taught in primary school. He was about nine or ten when I photographed him in his paper hat. The painting was produced in June of this year 2013

What’s Going on in the Painting
A boy is wearing a paper hat. The hat was  the creation of yet another child whose task it was to design a hat made only of newsprint paper. The Royal Gazette Newspaper often give teachers the end roll  of the newspaper. The students were given only miles of paper, no glue, no clips, no tape. Their task was to work as a designer and create a hat for their  assigned partner.  When the subject was at last allowed to look into a mirror, he was very pleased with what he saw.

Why was the painting untitled?
It was an oversite on my part. The original title was Boy with Paper Hat but then one painting became four, so I titled him Imagination.  Children With Paper Hats has itself become a series. The larger work for which Paper Hats is a part is The Sharon Wilson Gold Collection  which you may view and read about here:  https://bermuda-art.com/the-sharon-wilson-gold-collection/
As of the writing of this newsletter,  the other three are still available.

Spec
medium :  encaustic on birch ply
12×14″ image size
18×22″ framed size
price:    $2,500 framed
these three are available

What I saw
Every-time I look at him, I am reminded of  an airplane pilot moving through the air with his scarf  blowing in the wind. I have no idea what he was thinking. I do remember the designer being very surprised that the hat turned out so well.I remember that he lamented the fact that  he could not remove his hat  from the model and keep it for himself. You can see that the model is very pleased with himself even though we cannot see much of his face. He appears to have his arms crossed (even though we don’t see that)

What drew me to paint this image
I liked the sculptural quality of the slightly crushed paper. I appreciated the feel of movement created by the way the paper sticks out at the back as though he were moving quickly through space. I appreciated interpreting his thoughts without the baggage of seeing who he is. What I mean is that he was even more alive for me because I do not see his entire face. Superman was transformed because of his cape, this child was transformed  because of his paper hat which wraps around his his head and mouth.

Why is the Painting Without much color? Your palette is usually much brighter
When I began, I was focused  on creating a monochromatic underpainting, but once I had achieved the underpainting I  realized that the picutre really didn’t need more color. It had a classic simplicity.

Sometimes I  glimpse  a warm moment, and as is the nature of moments, it passes sooooo  quickly. As  strange as it might sound, I feel that capturing the moment is more satisfying  than being in the moment. Whenever I’m in the moment, if I’m not absolutely paying attention, I miss a lot. There are always so many things that can and do happen in any given moment. This brother has a snuggle, the dog barks and you cut your finger at the sink. As an artist, I love looking for  that  slice of time which tells the  story I want to tell in the way I want to tell it.

The painting holds the moment forever. I love this. The photo is clinical. It is artificial in it’s exactness. The camera must include all. It cannot isolate or be selective in it’s seeing. On the other hand, my hand trembles sometimes, my line is inacurate, my hand shows how I felt when I made the lines.The painting reveals the event and the attitude of the artist. I can change the feel of the story by pressing hard with my charcoal, or I can make it smokey and vague. The drawing is greater than the camera for emotion, for if I paint them sixteen times,  each rendering must be different. My hand is incapable of exact replication.
In real time if you blink you may miss seeing the kiss, but there is no fear of that here. We have time to look and think, and remember, and express gratitude, and be consoled and celebrate.

I have looked at these brothers for a long time. They are together but each  with his own thoughts. Here I am not distracted by the barking dog or the Mom who just cut her finger at the kitchen sink. I  sit and  look at these brothers. I know, and I remember exactly what that moment feels like. I have been there. It’s gentle isn’t it?  When I look at them I am transported. I am the one who touches. In the midst of the hurriedness of living, there  are moments like these.

For all who choose to gather beautiful art like flowers from a garden and place them all around you and within in you, I know that you know why it matters.

It is a fact that some conversations are difficult. They feel loaded, paralysing and heavy.This is one of them.
I am writing about it because like incest and abuse,  for some of us it is a disturbing, shameful conversation spanning successive generations, yet a conversation which often hurts too much to speak openly about.

I  bring this conversation to this venue for a few reasons. Firstly I no longer want to be a party to “keeper of the dirty little secret, or keeper of the shame”. Secondly, this is as good a place as any to simply be heard.

Twenty-seven years ago a girl child was born. She was born to a middle-class family. Her mother was  thirty-two years old when she was born. She held a post graduate degree in education and she was looking forward to parenting a child who was planned.   Great care was taken in the selection of picture books educational learning toys and exposure to the world around her.By the time this little girl was four years old. It became obvious to her mother that forces outside the family had managed to undermine the self-esteem lessons her mother attempted to instil. I was that mother, and Whitney who has been the light of my life was that child.

The Clark Doll Experiment (1939) was an experiment done by Dr Kenneth Clark and his wife Mamie where they asked black children to choose between a black doll and a white doll. The dolls were the same except for their skin colour but most thought the white doll was nicer.

Clearly this topic has many threads. I believe that there are many mothers and fathers too, who are pained to witness yet another generation of children who enter the dark years when self hate manifests itself and the waiting begins. Waiting for what you ask? Waiting for the turnaround which can take five or more years before these children can begin to see that perhaps they need not desire to be white in order to be ok.
I only want to do  one thing here in this article. I want to urge women of color to speak about how it feels to witness this horror with our children whom we want to fiercely protect from the subtle and not so subtle messages bombarding them. It  goes without saying that this is one very good reason to control the amount of time children are allowed to  mindlessly sit  with the television as the  babysitter. But I really don’t want to become sidetracked here.

I want to say how much it hurts as a mother. I want want to say that I felt helpless  undermined and violated. The violator felt like everyone but no one. Wherever colonialism  has had it’s reach in the world this pain is experienced from Peru to Mexico to India and back. A thirty year old mother came to me last week.   Her five year old has arrived. I identified with both her sadness and her anger and frustration. “Has nothing changed Sharon ?” she asked. Looking around it is easy to see that the desire to come as close as possible to european beauty is responsible for our cousins to the south of us bathing in Clorox in 2013 to lighten their skin. Look around at the very dark who want and wear blond extension hair. Good hair and bad hair is determined  by how close it comes to european hair.

I invite your comments. I especially invite the voices of those who remember how it felt denying all that you saw when you looked in the mirror, for all that you could never be as you wished you were lighter, brighter or just plain white. It is important to say such things out loud so that the shame is dealt with. It was not your fault that you secretly hated yourself. It was not your fault. It was not your fault.

This is said to be the era of enlightenment and in this era blacks must say it and whites must hear it. Hear what? Hear that it has not passed. That it is not behind us. That until Hollywood equally embraces super heros across color lines and celebrates ethnicities for the richness we  bring to the table we cannot evolve beyond this place. Tokens are tokens and no one is fooled by the odd black doll who is anonymous as she sits next to Barbie and Ken who are all that America represents. My goodness our four year olds tell us this as they continue to  reject black dolls for white ones.

In this era of greater conscious awareness it is important to be aware of things implied in the language we use. After all that’s how the deepest of all messages seep in to us in the first place. For all of the mothers and fathers who know this story or any part of it feel free to share it. I will use the information but not your names. I have thought about this article for a long time. Today I have begun to open the dialogue  There are no positions to defend. There are common experiences which have been pushed down, denied and ignored.

For my part, I am using my head, my heart, and my hands, to paint, to Inspire, Transform and Uplift the human spirit.  In so doing, I honour all people. I pray for the courage to  speak more when I am not angry, to think before I speak, and to exercise the cathartic power of using my voice.

Have you ever looked around your house and just wished you could throw everything out and start over? Even if you could afford to do that, chances are in time  you would recreate much of what you have there now.

Here’s the way I see it. It’s probably not the house you are dissatisfied with. It’s probably the stereo-type you’re measuring it against.  House Beautiful, Home and Garden, show houses, show places are just that. They are contrived interiors designed to  show a product to it’s best advantage and in turn make you want to have it. These settings are color coordinated  yet surprisingly impersonal. Like hotel rooms,they are good for a few days but they are void of home-comfort. They are without personality, without familiarity, without memories. In short, they are empty of you! We need to get real. Only you will know if in your heart you want a showroom house which will make your friends envious to the nth degree or if you want a home to live in, one that is comfortable, one that  can withstand being a little messy, one that reflects who you are.  We  cannot leave it to interior designers alone. How can they know what will make you comfortable?

Today we are often deluded into thinking that  we can simply pay, and that someone else will figure it out for us, rather  than using the expert to  work with us. Don’t leave yourself out of the process, or assume an interior designer knows more about what you need than you do. Hey guys it’s about taking responsibility in creating  comfort spaces. And yes it requires some effort on your part.

My collectors will tell you that they speak to  the children in  my paintings every day as they sit in their comfortable chair.

They  feel they know that mother who is hot and tired as she holds that heavy baby.

They are trying to remember to dance every day and make peace with their bodies the way they are.

They want to be reminded to leave the baggage of life behind and to move unencumbered through their day.

They want to remember the granny with the sharp tongue or the one who always had a piece of gingerbread to  offer them.

They want to be reminded of our island’s history and  of those  who hewed the stone that made our houses.They want the memories, they want the interpretation, they want the lushness of the paint itself and they want to be able to share their art acquisitions  with those  who come to their homes.

Who told you that only a House Beautiful home is desirable? Some things in life are pretty but not functional. It’s not unusual to find a chair with beautiful lines which doesn’t support your back or your bottom. When it comes to art my collectors will never begin describing their art to you by telling you about the colors. They will invariably begin by telling you how that painting makes them feel. They will describe memories and feelings.   Look at that room you are most dissatisfied with. Remember a comfortable shoe or chair is not always a new one.

A comfortable room is one that fits and molds itself to you. It never has been about the color scheme of the room, but rather what will calm you, what will feed you, what will let you know you are home. I guess it’s when we focus more on what serves our needs, rather than on whether or not our tastes conform to current trends, that we  begin to  create environments we really want to live in.

As I  meet  young fathers in the course of my travels, I get excited when  the  trust level rises to the point were  we can honestly talk about how they are  experiencing fatherhood. To be more specific, I am speaking to men who themselves have no real father-models. They are usually the non custodial parent  and it is often very easy for them to walk away  from active parenting for any number of reasons.

They are sometimes praised for doing very little, demonstrating our belief that they are not capable of more, or else, we  berate them for not measuring up to a television ideal like Father Knows Best (I know I’m dating myself, but you get the drift.)  I want to cheer them on as they begin to understand  the hunger that their children have to be present, seen, acknowledged and supported by  them. But real change only comes when fathers can see what’s in it for them, when they see fatherhood as an opportunity to grow as an individual, and to influence others.

I am practising how to listen to them as they share their journey of self discovery and reclaim their rightful place in the family unit. My  paintings have always supported this philosophy. Naturally  I hope these stories will inspire us all to encourage and celebrate our individual  and collective  growth.

Let’s call this Daddy Ken. Ken is tickled by the measurable positive impact he sees as he steps more and more into his roIe as Daddy. I spoke with Ken recently. He was one of the dads I painted. I was checking in to see how the whole fathering effort was going. I could tell by his countenance that he was doing well.

He told the story of taking his then nearly four year old son out for a play, just the two of them. There was a birthday party scheduled for later in the day so, the plan was to have a short play out near Admiralty House.

They took with them two sticks, a bucket and a ball.The sticks were for foraging for crabs, whacking their way through bushes,   and since they were magic sticks, they became whatever the situation required. The bucket was for the crabs they were confident they would find near the water, and well the ball…….. the ball was just the ball.

I heard a tale of adventure. Apparently Ken and his son whom we will call Lee, crawled through bushes on their stomachs avoiding dangerous animals. Sticks turned into spyglasses as they manoeuvred around  enemies large and small. They were after all, adventurers! Older children ran past them.
“What are they doing?”, his son asked
“Playing paint-ball”.
“Oh, but our adventure is better Daddy, come on, let’s keep playing”.

It would appear that it was too. Lee didn’t want to stop adventure play to go to the party. Not only that but when Ken arrived to pick Lee up from school on  Monday afternoon, a class of little boys all ran out and surrounded him. “Oh Lee’s Daddy, will you please take us on an adventure?!”
“Imagine that !”, said Ken. “I couldn’t believe it. This child told everybody he met that weekend that he had been on an adventure. And, when are we going again?”
“2 sticks, a bucket and a ball ! Who would have imagined that this was enough to create such a big impression on him?!. I mean was the word “adventure” what did it? Was it a new  exciting concept? I don’t know. I didn’t hear him, but he must have told one heck of a story at school. It really made me sit up and think. When I put him to bed, he asked heavy with sleep in his voice
‘Daddy, where did you put our adventure sticks?”
“Don’t worry Lee, they’re right here next to your bed”
“And you know what Sharon? I have to admit.  I had a really good time too. I mean I really enjoyed playing with him !.

Lee admits that life feels better knowing that he has stepped up to the plate. He doesn’t feel ineffective.He feels better about himself. He is getting feedback which in turn supports and encourages him to do more. Lee’s mother is happier too. They both have a vested interest in Lee, and so do we, for we expect to meet Lee fifteen years from now happy and doing positive things. From my little corner of the world I will continue to paint images that support , transform and inspire.

From time to time I am asked whether or not I tire of painting about mothers and children. The truth is, I never do. There are so many emotions and situations worthy of being captured.   I see moms and children and I think “I remember doing that…” or “been there, done that!”, or even “Geez lady, choose your battles”. I could paint mothers and children forever and never get bored. The thing is,  some of the best shots can’t be staged, which is why I am seldom without my camera.

Kelly and Son is idyllic. They are not aware of us. They are  frozen in time in a quiet, lush and sunny place. Their attention is on the bowl of fruit. We on the other hand are  definitely the voyeurs.

Mother and Baby is different. This mother is engaging with us, smiling for us. She is showing  off her prize. Her baby who is too young to engage us  is comforted by the mother’s touch.

This latest painting of mother and child is one I really like. You might imagine that I like it because it’s the newest, and there could be some truth  in that, but I love it for entirely different reasons. I especially like it because it is not about a beautiful baby. Number one, we can’t  see his face. We can tell that he is  sleeping heavily. My mother used to refer to this kind of sleep as “the sleep of the dead”, when every muscle is relaxed and sleep is as deep as is possible. I’m not even altogether sure why I’m refering to the child as a he, but I am confident it is a boy somehow.

This story is about the mother. I suspect she is tired and perhaps her arms are too. I choose to call it  “The Weight of This Child”. I can feel how heavy he is. She may have been standing there a long time  waiting. I wonder if she waits for her ride to come, I don’t know, but I suspect there is much more to this story. I feel very empathetic towards her. I thought about her while I was painting the picture. I notice that when I am painting I think about the people and their lives.  I love this kind of image because it asks more questions than it answers. That makes me look longer, look  harder, look not just to see but to try to understand. With this  kind of image I look with more of my self. Each time I come back to it I hope to find answers  about her, and of course I never will. “The Weight of This Child” has changed the course of her life. She waits with the weight of this child.

More than twenty three years ago I found four little girls sitting on the steps of Prospect Primary School in Devonshire Bermuda.  They were as cocooned  as four little girls could be. Three were serious thumbsuckers, need I say more? For those of you who never sucked a thumb or finger you might not know that thumbsuckers don’t talk a whole lot, for talking allows the thumb to grow cool in the air, best to keep it warm.
Twenty three years ago on a school sports day, I found them  nestled together, seemingly not in need of anything more than their own company. I was  annoyed  when I realised that  I was low on film for my camera. I had to hop in my car and go quite a distance along the North Shore Road to buy some. The whole time I was certain that I would return to find them gone, after all it was sports day and It was unusual that they were off by themselves in the first place.

I returned to  find that they hadn’t moved.  They had remained right there  on the same step where I left them!  You know they didn’t even care about me and my camera. They ignored me, they were in truth in a world of their own. I remember thinking that there was no place to hide and I didn’t have a zoom lens so I took the shot from fairly close up.

I knew I was given a gift that day. Usually  when children see a camera they  ham it up or naturally become self conscious, but not these girls. I left with that particular satisfaction I  experience whenever  I  find exceptional source material from which to paint. Remember this was  the era before digital cameras, so I couldn’t check the photo. Sometimes you just know you captured something good.
When the painting was completed and framed ,I hulled it back to the school. I remember  that it just about fit into my car.
I  asked the principle to help me find the girls.  She had no trouble at all. She told me that the thumbsuckers were always together. I  remember being  excited to see their responses.They bounced into the office as only girls can do. I unveiled the painting. They went quiet as they looked and recognised themselves. One child walked right up to the painting as it was propped against the wall. She touched the glass as she spoke”Oh, look at me ! Look at my shoes, look at my hair ! Look at me!”

Kristin Eve, Murrika Furbert, and Cherie Fraser (missing is Roderica Astwood)

Early this week I received an e-mail from someone  enquiring as to whether or not I was the artist that painted a picture of four schoolgirls twenty something years ago. I acknowledged that I had  indeed  painted such a picture and forwarded the image. “Yes, that’s the painting. I’ve looked everywhere for it. I am one of the little girls!”

Three of the four thumbsuckers  came to meet me this week. The fourth is currently in the U.K.I had an odd feeling of really wanting to see little girls walk through the door, even though I knew they were now women.

It was a little heady to meet them in 2013, to hear their voices for the first time, and to accept that they  are now adults. They have kept in touch with each other over the years. I was the one who felt strange.  I  felt like the mother who had left them. I painted them as little girls and they have remained in my mind as children. I never expected to find out who they were after so many years, then suddenly there they were on my doorstep. Three laughing women  At last I saw the face of Murrika  which is turned from our view in the painting.

Kristin now has a son of her own, Murrika and Cherie will both be getting married this year. Each  of these young women will make personal decisions about what will grace their walls, and what it will take to create the atmosphere of peace and comfort in their homes. Bermudian Schoolgirls was more than a portrait of  these four school children. It is a record of a time and place. It represents a part of our heritage. It is symbolic of each of us that wore a school uniform –  a navy gimp with an oxford crisp white shirt and brown oxford or Buster Brown shoes.

Bermudian Schoolgirls is a part of the ACE Collection.

I meet so many people who admire paintings but never believe they can own one. Just the idea of it feels decadent. I’m here to tell you that you can have one, it’s just like buying a chair  or a bed. Ask about terms. It’s time to give yourself permission to own a beautiful original painting of your own.

When you choose paintings for your walls, choose art which speaks to you.

I’ve been thinking about what I owe to the sisterhood of women, especially the sisterhood of young women. I am reflecting on the ways in which we have failed to give them what they need. Young women,we have not wanted you to see the truth of the young women we once were.We are ashamed of our imperfection. We have feared your judgement so we invented new, sanitized identities and masqueraded our inauthentic selves in front of you.That’s a roundabout way of saying to you “Sorry we lied.” You sensed the dishonesty even though you did not know the truth of it.

We demanded your obedience over honesty. We left you alone to navigate your way from adolescence without much support, understanding or mentoring, for there was no way to mentor a lie. We were clumsy with our language. We relied upon laying down the law rather than shepherding you into adulthood. You rebelled. In our frustration over your willful rebellion we issued threats of what would happen to you for failing to heed our advice. We concluded that if you would not listen then you would have to feel. We called you “hard headed”, and in truth you have been. You on the other hand had to rebel, had to shout to us to be heard. You wanted us to know that you were no longer a child to be dictated to.You needed transitional parenting, not the heavy handed variety we offered. What a dilemma we now find ourselves in.

This letter is to the women who are in love with “bad boys”. We won’t knit-pick over the definition of a “Bad Boy”. Suffice to say, the Bad Boys are the men who flirt with dangerous lifestyles.To the women who flirt with these men just for the “rush” you get from walking near the fire, this conversation is not directed to you, nor is this directed towards those who use their association with “Bad Boys” in order to impress friends and gain status.You are already getting the payoff you want.

I speak to those women who love these men. Perhaps you loved him long before he got “caught-up”, and you would never consider leaving him now. Perhaps you entered the fray to prove how much you loved him. It may be that you respect him for the good you see in him. He may be the best man you have ever met. He may be committed to being a great father and a man of his word. Whatever your personal story is, if you love him, then I wish to speak to you.

I would imagine that when you close your eyes and think of the two of you, you see a couple who are old enough and free enough to go wherever you choose.You have dreams of creating a life for yourselves. If you are still living at home surely you dream of having a place of your own, a place where the two of you create the kind of lives you want.You want to travel with him. You want him to look out for you. You want to know he is safe. You want to be able to plan things, you need someone to share the babysitting and the bills,in short, you want a life! You have to be alive to have a life. Your child deserves to have a father who is free, free from the group controlling him, free from worrying about the police looking for him, just plain free. Free to think about tomorrow, free to think about you. You want a man to look up to, a man with a dream and a love for his children so strong that he is committed to staying alive, more than proving how tough he is. You want a live man not a corpse, you want a wedding one day, not a funeral.

When you whisper in his ear what do you say? Do you love him enough to say the hard things? Are you in there fighting for the man you care about? Are you making plans, saving money to help him buy a ticket to the UK if that’s what it takes, or are you using the money he gives you to buy KFC every day, clothes you don’t need and jewellery? Are you sure you love him? Do you have a plan? Are you adult enough to know that the longer he stays connected to the lifestyle, the greater is the chance that he will die?

You have entered into the world of Women. I apologize for the failure of your elders to properly welcome you to this place equipped with all the tools you need. If we had found the courage to tell the reality of our story rather than dishing up a sanitized false view of ourselves, you would love us more and fight with us far less. Never- the- less we are here now, and it is from this place that we learn to understand ourselves and heal. We are not your enemy.

A woman who is loved by a man has great influence in his life. With this influence comes huge responsibility. What you say to him matters. How you say it matters. Why you say it matters. Take time out by yourself to think about what you want for your life, and what you really want to say to him. Once you have decided, you must do what is required of you.Do not say it to him at night, in the dark. Don’t say it under the covers or with a glass of wine or a refer in your hand. You must find the courage to stand up and say it in the cold light of day. Look him in the eye when you say it, not when he is watching television or texting his friend. Stand up for the future you want to share with him. He must hear you say that you will not stand by and wait for him to die.Tell him what he needs to hear, not what you think he wants to hear. All the crying at the funeral is wasted tears. Today is your day for courage and truth. Tell him you believe in him, that you know his good heart was made to do more than live this lifestyle. Love him enough to look him in the eye and say what must be said . Say it, and say it, and say it again.

HAVING THE CONVERSATIONS

Since writing “Nowhere to Run”, I’ve been inviting folks up to my studio to talk with me about how they’re feeling and how they see Bermuda’s social problems. I was amazed by the number of people who stopped to type a response. One woman in particular explained very clearly to me that “The Problem” is not linear. I knew it and I didn’t. Intellectually I knew it, but it’s easy to forget and lump everything together. I was very glad she reminded me.

I know that the conversations about our community are happening everywhere. If you find that your conversations leave you depressed or gloomy, most likely they need to be helped along with strategies which will change the ways in which we engage in the conversation.
One of the ground rules that you might employ to help ensure that things don’t degenerate into a blame-driven conversation may be to :

Ask : Do I own a part of the problem, any part at all?

Ask : What skills do I have?

Ask: How many hours per week do I want to give toward healing Bermuda?

Keep in mind that we are committed to being honest and not saying what we think others want to hear.

If anyone says he/she doesn’t feel that they are part of the problem, accept it and thank them for their honesty. We can’t ask people to be honest and then be unwilling to accept their answer.

I am suggesting that we can identify our skills. Based on the number of hours we each want to contribute, we can explore creative approaches to the healing process. I’m thinking of an online site where we contribute. I wonder what kinds of entrees we could cook up?
How would you like to employ your skills? What if collectively we were able to create an Information and Advice Centre? The advice and “How- To” could focus on issues like Making Homework time Enriching, Advice for Young Mothers, How to talk to Your Child, What to do when you recognize you or your child is out of control, How to Cook Smart, How to develop Cell Phone Rules, A Dad Help Desk and anything else that could enrich our lives. Learning to Spend Time Together. There are people who need what you want to share. The cool thing is, you probably don’t need to leave home to do this sharing. Wouldn’t it be lovely to contribute from home in your pajamas with a cup of hot chocolate in your hands? We don’t need to get bogged down in committees.

DON’T UNDERESTIMATE WHAT YOU HAVE TO OFFER

Some of us are great organizers who know how to create systems which bring order to our lives. Some of us are good at creating systems to help households run smoother. If chaos is running our homes, no wonder we don’t feel like going there at the end of the day. Your granny may not have a computer but she might have some advice she’d like to contribute, your contribution might be to be the scribe for her and submit it on her behalf.

Groceries are expensive. Do you want to share what cuts of meat you buy, how you cook and freeze dinners to eliminate the stress of having to cook every day? We have not all come from well run households. We lack certain skills. There are folks who would appreciate this kind of assistance. Retired teachers, may come on board, retired police, auto mechanics any and every one who has a desire to contribute.

We may develop an advice desk for Grandparents who find themselves in the role of custodial parents. They have unique needs. Who among us has something positive to share with them? This is about sharing successes, and useful information which will improve the quality of our lives. It’s not about going out there to “sort them out”. We are in effect sorting ourselves, and each other out, and it’s all web based, fluid, and virtually cost free.

We can help people we may never meet. We can be the community we hunger for. We can give anonymously. We can be a socially-conscious E-moo, or a Conscious-Minded Face Book. Your discussions may yield something completely different. I certainly am not wedded to any particular concept. I’ve written this because I believe that discussing what might be, what could be will allow us to step into a place of possibilities and out of fear and paralysis. We need to keep it simple and be excited. We have an opportunity to create something of purpose.

Thank you for reading Bermuda. Thanks for passing this on.