A veil of tears

Excellent letter, Robert.

I was surprised as hell when I burst into tears at the Van Gogh exhibit at LACMA back in 1999. The emotion conveyed, the color, the sheer volume of beauty, I guess, got to me. Caught me so off-guard! I loved being so incredibly overwhelmed by the art.

I Divo got me going pretty well the other morning. I have been told that squinting aids perspective sometimes. I can’t say the same works when peering through water.

Robert, O yes, take me to a gallery of Art, watch the tears fall. I find that great works of Art are very spiritual and when you are a artist yourself, who has struggled and you see the masters work, the feelings can swell up and break loose. My husband walks pretty far ahead of me, but that’s ok I prefer to cry by my self!

Tears…have had them while working on a painting also, although not often, but in that rare case, I think because it had suddenly taken me back to the actual place again of where I had been painting and to the awe and inspiration I felt when first seeing the beauty of nature at that particular place.

My Dad always said my kidneys were to close to my eyes. Just reading about you visiting that room in Ottawa to see the sketches choked me up! The Group have a hold on me.

I have often walked up to fellow “weepies” in museums and had great discussions about the art we are viewing…it’s a good bonding experience and lets you know you are not alone in a sometimes very isolated profession.

Where would I be were it not for my art and my artististic temperament? Thank you, Robert and Lynne, for the words and for the beautiful music, and it’s Vivaldi for tears for me, too, and that aria is spine tingling. I think tears save us from grief and they also revive us towards happiness oddly enough. No matter how many tears I shed at a recent loss, I was not assuaged in my grief, but, when I painted my sorrow, I found the answer. That is how I coped best, by giving pictorial truth to my innermost sadness. The tears alone were not enough. The artwork salved my every sorrow and I became grateful again for the ability to paint my love and sorrow so as to honour the memory of my brother’s wonderful life and special connection to me, with whom he shared his deepest love for music…especially Vivaldi, Robert…how perfect your choice. Hope the photo of Goodbye Donald appears just to show what joyous grief can look like when interpreted in paint. Thank you for the opportunity of sharing this facet of life and love.

It seems I have spent my life looking at art, making art, and loving art, yet I was already past 50 when I first made it to the National Gallery in London. I was travelling alone, and with no plan I wandered the galleries.When I happened upon Rembrandt’s self portrait my heart swelled and my eyes filled with tears. It took only a moment of recognition. Van Gogh’s work had the same effect on me. I don’t know if it was the actual paintings that moved me so much as it was the realization that I was doing something I had dreamed of. After looking at these works in books for so many years, the beauty that came through in the painted surface was simply a matter for the heart.

The recent comments about portraits and emotions struck a chord as i did a portrait of my dead wife some time ago which, although it made me cry while I was doing it , helped immensely to accept the fact that after 35 years , she was really gone. Some of the crying might have been because I am not very good at portraits , having done only a couple, and I really wanted this to be special , it wasn’t easy!

I don’t think I have ever written to tell you how much I have loved your email newsletter. It has helped keep me connected thru several years of caring for my very sick husband..when there was no time for painting on a regular basis…just little bits of time snatched here & there. The beloved husband has passed away now & I do hope to get back to some more serious work this year. But thank you for all of your words…I’ve loved them.

You have left out the most important word for artists or anyone.

You wrote: Esoterica: I had tears last weekend in Canada’s National Gallery. I was by myself in the room where the Group of Seven sketches are exhibited en mass behind glass. …. Curiously, some of those sketches always seem better than the last time, and some others don’t seem as fine as I remembered. …. Of the gentlemen exhibited there, only their strokes remain, and somehow, after all these years, those strokes draw tears.

Occasionally I have been gobsmacked by paintings. I have found upon reflection, that, safe in their frames, they enabled me to symbolize existentially puzzling aspects of my experience. They remain my favorite paintings. The only time I actually burst into floods of tears was while walking through the FDR Memorial in on a brisk sunny day in Washington DC. Turning a corner, I came across these words, writ large on huge chunks of stone tossed chaotically about on the ground: “I HATE WAR”. Seeing them afforded a cathartic release of many feelings that must have been silently, wordlessly accreting since the death of my father in Libya in WWll in 1943. I was four years old. At that age I had neither the words nor the capability to understand what his death and heroism meant, and would continue to mean to me, throughout my life, until the day the feelings found their way out of my heart. I finally understood my mother’s tears.

Twice I was brought to tears while looking at art: The first time was when I was 12 years old and I went to the Metropolitan Museum in New York and stood at the foot of the staircase and saw all the art. I thought that if I went to the Met every day, nothing bad could ever happen again. The second time was again at the Met, probably that same day, and saw Rembrandt’s self portrait. Additionally, there is a third time. My first time in Rome and seeing Michaelangelo’s Pieta (before the shield) brought tears again. These experiences influenced my art life; I knew I could never be as good as they were, but I sure could give it a try.

I certainly have done my share of crying witnessing the sun rise and set, at museums , at my easel and at performances of various kinds. Something touches and moves my soul so deeply when seeing beauty, hearing or watching an incredible performance that all I can do is cry. It’s a divine moment when I am closest to the real Creator and part of the big picture of all artists and viewers past and present. For a split second I feel one with the Universe. It’s a beautiful thing.

The tears came for me last week, when my old, unsold paintings were removed from storage to be moved again this time, to the basement of our new home in Richmond.

It’s “vale of tears,” meaning valley of same.

Not just tears, but chills, as I listened to all the Pavarotti videos that were in the clickback video and below it.

I once began to sob during a massage (my one and only) when the masseuse was working on my left hand. Absolutely nothing happened with my right. I’m an artist and I’m left-handed.

Interestingly on my elevator ride to work today the fact that men have smaller tear ducts than women was advertised on the small flat screen TV that we now watch (replacing the empty space that we used to stare into). I am wondering if we have smaller tear ducts though, not as a result of genetic material but rather, from lack of use.

I must admit that standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon does it to me every time. Looking out at such grandeur and magnificence leaves me awe struck. I seem to connect on a spiritual level with those that have come before me and those that will one day follow. Painting the canyon in plein air a hopeless endeavor that I have tried many times. The best I can do is wipe away the tears and simply respond to the natural beauty before me. Perhaps that’s just the whole idea of painting.

Perfect timing for this letter. Thank you both for sharing deeply.

This is the first time I’ve ever read about getting tears, while doing a paintingOMG

I daily experience these tears of love, as I call them, since they can be about such a range of emotions. It’s wonderful to experience the power of the tiniest bud to demand such delight of emotion that makes me feel the love. I’ll never forget how a few years ago I was overcome with such a warm feeling of love when doing a self-portrait and I suddenly saw my mother, who has passed on, looking at me. I felt so close to her knowing that as I sketched and was coming closer to a likeness, her face was there in mine. As I continued to sketch this likeness of my mother would come and go. The sketch turned out okay, but the experience of sketching was extraordinary.

Quote: Robert Frost “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.”

Perhaps this artist needs to get a life. All self-portraits are ego strokers…if you don’t critically like what you see in the mirror? don’t paint it… its a wasted effort & a wasted canvas…which no one would buy anyway.

For those of us who 1- are not Canadian or 2- have not been to this exhibit, can you please elaborate?

I recall my first trip to Europe due to years of raising children alone and teaching after their Father’s death, and the death of their Step Father. Your first overseas trip is an emotional event and my tears were the result of the first vison of a very large Monet painting of sail boats at the Gilbaken Musem in Lisbon. It was a first for one of his original works; and,I must have picked up Monet’s emotional message he communicated in the work. I have had the same response many times since. A great painting will communicate and be absorbed into the viewer’s emotions. This does not always occure, and may not for others, there seems to be a message you sometimes connect with from the artist.

I kind of cried when I took a self portrait ..of me to our local gallery..and it sold! Wish I had it back..haven’t done another one since..maybe I will cry because I didn’ t have as many laugh lines as I do now..great letter..thanks.Doris

Linda – chill out!

The First time at the MET in NYC with the “Meditation Pond” by Monet…. tears poured out of me. Again in Giverny I felt the same deep heavy tears of emotion with this visionary. Somehow, there was opening in my heart with respect,… joy of seeing a great painter’s experience of discovery, the love of color mixed with my own humbleness and gratitude to be in the presence of canvas and paint…imagining the passions, frustrations and

My daughter, Cynthia’s first husband died of cancer at age 33 and I wanted to paint his portrait in pastels for her to give to his parents.

Yes, tears do come to us as we give ourselves to our labor of love and hope it will be meaningful to others. Robert, you are one in a million of painters and your spirit is so in tune with nature and our creator, it is no wonder you suffer tears of joy and love and distraught all together. How can we ever put on canvas the vast beauty and recognition of God’s creation. All we can hope for is the words “Well done good and faithful servant”. Ours is to glorify His Creations and His love for all of us.

I did a self-portrait with brush and ink one day and when standing back to look it over, though it did not elicit tears, I was astounded to notice the resemblance it bore to my father. I usually do not see that resemblance but there it was.

I have had paintings stop me in stunned paralysis in a gallery but no tears; definitely a flush of appreciation to realizing a great work. Oddly enough, I’ve cried with music but not visual arts. We should have an emotional reaction to art!

Yes, it’s a sudden glimpse of truth that makes me cry. Sometimes, you can’t explain why because you don’t even understand what you see–like the song by Pavarotti, not many of us can understand the Italian words (I can’t) but somehow the song sings true.

Oh Robert, The tears I’ve shed while experiencing art! If I could only share the multitude of emotions that I have learned about over the past 30 years, while painting and teaching.

So many of us … including you and I, share so many commonalities in our philosophies… our musical tastes… our emotional sensibilities… our love… pride and joy in the accomplishments of our children… our personal triumphs and tragedies…and too many other aspects of our “being” to consider here. Yes… we all share the same plane in Time. Yes… we all have a passion for creating art. Yes… we all demonstrate a symbiotic relationship of interdependence with the Natural World. Together… we form a powerful network of conscience and commitment to both creating… sustaining… and accepting responsible stewardship for this beautiful Planet Earth.

For Marie Turner Thank you for sharing your story. One more person has cried for your son-in-law.

Sharon, thank you for your comment.I had another really good cleansing cry when I wrote my comment about my son-in law and his portrait.

While no one who knows my bio could possible describe me as testosterone challenged, none the less, I cry during motion pictures. I’ve heard this is common: crying at sad moments. But that’s not what happens to me. I cry when the dynamic tensions and conflicts are resolved, when characters finally overcome their fictive obstacles, and at small and large triumphs. It’s sometimes embarassing, when the lights come on. I’ve not cried before art, but I’ve been stunned standing in front of “The Bar at the Folies Bergere.” And I’ve been enthralled by music. I don’t precisely know what makes me react differently, but I have a feeling that crying over the arts is more common than most imagine.

I am thoroughly convinced that we know much more, in terms of direct knowledge, than can be conveniently accessed, or understood. The conditioned mind perceived so much. The unconditioned mind perceives that which is often clouded by habit, custom, and expectation. The conditioned mind generally dominates our perception, and largely determines how we think, and react. In fact, our thinking is predominately reactive, and therefore indirect, with respect to ‘reality’.

Wow – and i thought something is wrong with me…. the look i got from the security guy at the gallery was rather unpleasant – but if so many of us cry looking at paintings ( it was Van Gogh’s in my case) he should be already “immune” to the wet outburst of emotions! Thank you, now i know that it is Ok to shed a tear or have the “wow unbeliveable, wow this is increadible” expression and not to try to hide it under stiff lip, cool mask or a shrug.