Our First American Christmas

Our family at my house celebrating last Christmas--we were a total of 26!

Whenever I think times are tough, I like to remember what our first Christmas in this country was like. My sisters Beatriz, Silvia and I had arrived in Miami as refugees from Cuba on March 29, 1961, under what later became known as Operation Pedro Pan. After a couple of weeks in a refugee camp we were sent to Albuquerque, New Mexico, to live with American foster families and I was separated from my two sisters.

A few days after we reached Albuquerque, the ill-fated Bay of Pigs invasion began, breaking all communications with the island. For a month we had no idea of whether our parents and family in Cuba were alive, or if we would ever see them again. After a month, calls were resumed and much to our relief, we learned that none in our family had been arrested and taken away, though there had been mass arrests throughout the island during that Week of Terror.

My mother and youngest sister Cecilia arrived in Miami at the end of August, leaving my father behind. For three months my mother looked for work and just as it seemed hopeless, a teacher at St. Vincent's Academy, where Bea and Silvia attended school, became too ill to finish the school term. My mother was hired as a susbtitute teacher and Catholic Charities sent two one-way plane tickets for her and Cecilia. They arrived in Alburquerque at the end of November, and moved into a tiny casita near Old Town that the local agency had found for them.

Catholic Charities had paid the rent for two months, but unfortunately they had expected my mother to arrive earlier and by the end of November, the second month's rent was almost used up. Mom had to pay December's rent and utilities with her first paycheck, leaving us with next to nothing to live on. Bea, Silvia and I were so anxious to be reunited with them we moved in right away.

It was hard for the five of us to fit in the ramshackle house we nicknamed "el gallinero" (the chicken coop). Silvia and I shared a double bed in the converted porch, so small there was just enough room to turn around between an armoire and the bed. Bea and Cecilia shared another double bed in a slightly larger back bedroom, and my mother slept in the fold-out couch in the living room. The house had only one heat vent located between the living and dining area while ice formed inside the windows of the rest. The bathroom had a broken window pane that let the icy air in, and there was no place to store most of our things. It was a huge step down compared to our comfortable, well-ordered house in Cuba.

Albuquerque's historic Old Town was a few blocks away so we could could walk down to see the old plaza and San Felipe Neri Church decorated with the traditional New Mexican luminarias. We looked at the beautiful displays in the windows, knowing we couldn't afford a single present, not even a string of lights, much less a tree.

Putting creativity to use, I made some silly drawings for my sisters as Christmas presents. And, applying my recently-learned sewing skills to a found scrap of fabric and a bit of black lace, I made a tiny coin purse for my mom. This little gift would turn out to be iconic--my mother kept it with her always. Many years later, she told me the irony was that at the time she had not so much as a dime to put in it.

In fact, had it not been for the kindness of our friends, there would have been no Christmas dinner or much food on the table those two weeks of Christmas break. The Davis family, Greek immigrants who helped us greatly during those days, gave us a Christmas basket full of staples and a small turkey, and the family of my classmate Pat Duran invited us to share their feast on Christmas day. But as the week before classes were to resume came to a close, the larder grew empty--we were down to the wire.

Mom thought to search her suitcase, hoping that perhaps she might find she'd dropped a quarter or two in there. There, in a pocket of the suitcase, was a twenty-dollar bill! She had forgotten that one of her friends in Miami had insisted on her taking the money just before she left for Albuquerque, in case of an emergency. Nena Segura, for that was the lady's name, to this day, is blessed in our family--her sacrifice, for she must have been having as hard a time as we, saved us.

It's been forty-eight years since that memorable Christmas but it's still very close to my heart.

Big Snow

Big Snow, oils on canvasboard, 12" x 9," $150 unframed.

Yesterday we had a big snowfall in our area. Herb and I had gone out to dinner in Frederick the night before (a rare treat for us thanks to a gift from our nephews & nieces). On the drive back tiny flakes started to come down and a number of snow plows were already on the road. By the time we reached Clarksville, the snow was starting to stick and the roads had become slippery. There were State Troopers near our house where someone had already run off the road.

By the time we got up in the morning, there were about eight to ten inches of very dry powder on the ground. Not a creature stirred outdoors, and no evidence of any plow on our street. It was a good day to hibernate and paint indoors.

The way the snow weighed down the branches of the firs and the evergreens around the porch was so lovely! I wanted my painting to give a sense of the depth and weight of this snow, so I chose a view of our street looking out the front door. It was too cold to keep the door open, of course. I took down the sheer drape of the sidelight and set up my easel in the foyer so I could peek out.

The composition was really hard to bring off, because the horizontal lines of the porch railing and snowy bushes in the foreground made it difficult for the eye to enter the painting. I eliminated the railing, but ended up reworking the big mound in the front repeatedly to get the shapes of the branches and shadows to work, keeping the eye moving. I had to pile on the paint in that area to cover up my numerous reworkings, but I think the thick brushstrokes add to the feeling of the massiveness of the snow.

I asked Herb to measure the snow on our deck in late afternoon for this photo (over sixteen inches here). By the time the snow ended later in the evening, about twenty inches had accumulated. With any luck, the snow will last long enough for us to have a white Christmas this year.

Snow from my Window

Snow from My Window, oils on canvasboard, 10"x 8," $100 unframed. SOLD

The first snow of the season came yesterday, loaded with big, wet flakes that stuck to the branches. There is always a bit of magic in every snowfall that thrills the child in us, particularly at this time of the year, when the strains of that old carol, White Christmas, are heard perhaps a tad too much.

Gobs of snow were sticking to the delicate branches of my Japanese maple, giving the effect of blossoms on the branches, while the dried leaves on the oaks beyond carried the only hints of color. It looked so lovely from my studio window that I decided to set up my easel right there to paint it. Darkness came too soon, obscuring my view.

After dark the sky cleared and a waning moon rose over the back yard, but by then the snow had dropped from most of the branches and this beautiful effect vanished. I went out on the deck with my tripod to take some photos anyway, in hopes of capturing the primal mystery of a moonrise in the snow.

Late November

Late November, oils on canvasboard, 9" x 12," contact artist for price.

We've had an unusually warm and wet fall this year, but now in late November, it's definitely getting colder. Yesterday's high was only 53 degrees and with the light breeze it felt colder. Bundled up in my thermal suit under several other layers and my winter favorite, a Tilley wool hat with ear and forehead flaps, I set out to explore a new place--the Daniels area of Patapsco Valley State Park a few miles north of my house.

This section of the park is at the bottom of a small valley behind a north-facing hillside and it was only a short distance from the parking area to the river bank for this view. It was surprising to see so many recreational users there: some with canoes or kayaks putting out on the water, a couple of fishermen in hip waders below a small dam, and a party of four on horseback riding down the hill.

After I laid out the paint on my palette, I put on an old pair of gloves to keep my hands warm. The glare from the sun off the water was blinding so I had to keep moving far back to be able to judge the balance of colors and values. A little after three in the afternoon the sun had sunk behind the hill, leaving the small valley in shadow, but my painting was finished and I had managed to stay warm enough to work for a couple of hours. It felt good to be out painting in plein air despite the chill; I think the water and reflections appear convincing.

With the Leaves Down

With the Leaves Down, oils on canvasboard, 11" x 14," $300 unframed.

This week our class we went back at the horse farm on Joyce Lane. It's the same view I painted two weeks ago in "Brisk November Day," but now the leaves are down from the trees and what a difference that makes!

The day was sunny and actually warmer than on the previous outing, but pictorially it looks colder because of the leafless trees. There is much less color in nature this week, with blue sky showing through the bare crowns.

The horses were getting wormed--the owner and two helpers were in the paddock putting drops with the medicine in their noses using a plastic syringe. One yearling by the fence obviously didn't like the flavor and rolled back her lips to show more front teeth and gums than I've ever seen on a horse--it was so funny to watch, I wish I'd had my camera.

It was the last class of our session. With the approach of winter the outdoor painting season is rapidly coming to its end. I hope there may still be a few nice days left, but I'm eyeing the winter catalogs for warm layers I can wear during extreme weather painting.

Rainy Day Still Life

Still Life with Blue Bowl, 12" x 9." Original, $100 unframed.

It was a rainy and blustery fall day so this week our class worked on a still life indoors. I hadn't painted a still life since last winter's classes, but by now I am familiar with our teacher's props, in particular the white stoneware pitcher and this blue bowl. I chose this angle because first of all, I found the shapes of the shadows the objects were casting on the tablecloth fascinating, but also the perspective on the pitcher from this angle was challenging to draw.

My drawing skills have improved a lot since I started following Lee Boynton's suggestion to use only straight lines to outline the basic shapes. By carefully observing the points of intersection and angle of the lines in the objects, accuracy comes more easily. I had not forgotten other proceedures: start with the brightest colors and work on "pairs" of colors--the lighted and shadowed portions of the same object until the white canvas is all covered, then adjust the val-hues before adding more detail. I had great fun painting this piece.

A Brisk November Day

A Brisk November Day, oils on gessobord, 9" x 12." $200 unframed.


After being too sick to go to class last week, I was really looking forward to getting out to paint today. The November day was brisk but sunny; I bundled up under two layers of Polartec and my Tilley wool hat, and drove off to the Joyce Lane farm once again.

Lucky for me, one other student was also a bit late--we couldn't find Lee and the class at the usual place, so we drove farther down the road and eventually found them tucked between a bank covered with vegetation and the fence at the edge of the pasture. We lined up along the fence to paint. The foliage remaining on the trees glowed with burnt colors and the leaves on the vines behind us rattled in the breeze. Mars Violet seemed like the perfect color for the shadows and tree trunks on a day like today.

The morning passed in no time at all. Just as we were finishing our pieces, the horses came over to check us out and I couldn't resist putting a couple of them in my painting. They really add life to the scene.

At Brown's Bridge

The View at Brown's Bridge, oils on canvasboard, 11" x 14."

After a very rainy weekend, it cleared up on Sunday, bringing out the full spectrum of fall color at its peak. I was dying to get out to paint, but the usual household chores had to be done, and on this day, Herb had an important business meeting so he wasn't here to help.

I finally managed to get out around the middle of the afternoon and headed to Browns Bridge, which spans the Patuxtent River, marking the boundary between Howard and Montgomery counties. There are small parking areas on either side of the bridge where one can pull off. The place gets some recreational users and on this beautiful day there were several kayakers and hikers. I tried both banks to see which view seemed better and decided upon the westerly one.

The hillside on the opposite bank was flaming with color, but now mostly in shadow, while the young Sycamore maples on my side were a-glow in the afternoon light. There were some Canada geese swimming near the bank, but they moved away before I had time to include them in my painting.

I think I handled the color in the distance well, but wish I had made a greater color distinction between the near and the far, and had kept the val-hue of the water lighter and more varied. The close-up color seems too subdued in relation to the distance. Still, what better way for a painter to spend a warm fall afternoon, than in practice?