Mickey: Raising Chicks with Balls

Mickey: Saving the World One Corner at a Time by Judy Takács

I know nothing about raising girls…heck I barely know about the boys I’m raising, so with girls, I’m thoroughly clueless.

I do have a dream though, about how my daughter would be…if I were to have one someday. My daughter would grow up with self-esteem by the boatload. She’d judge herself by the content of her character, not by the size of her thighs (thank you MLK, paraphrasing that quote really worked here). She’d be kind, but tough; book-smart, street-smart and creative. And she wouldn’t buy into all the mean-girl business I keep hearing about from moms of girls. Neither a victim nor a perpetrator, she’d be confident and wise and would gracefully rise above the fray with humor, and rock-solid friendships with girls of substance who aren’t swayed by the popularity pendulum. And, unlike me, she’d have a sport. She’d know from experience how athletic achievement is good for a girl’s soul and body; that teamwork and physical strength are empowering.

And I’d be really good friends with my daughters. They’d call me with news; good and bad. If they needed an ear, a shoulder and of course, if they needed a laugh, I would be there.

In short, these fantasy daughters of mine would be like Mickey’s real daughters; she has two who are young adults, and one still in high school. All three are high quality women with brains, balls and heart.

Mickey has been my school bus stop friend for four years, but our paths have crossed since the early days of my momhood. Her youngest daughter and my middle son have been in each other’s classes since preschool, more times than I can remember. We’ve been in neighborhood playgroup, sat together on school committees and even played tennis at the same club. We’ve never played tennis with each other though; Mickey plays at professional level and I never went beyond cute tennis-dress beginner level. And I quit after a year because my tennis elbow made it uncomfortable to hold a paintbrush. (…I know, soul and body blah blah blah, but remember I was talking about my pretend daughters…not myself.)

Though we lead parallel lives, Mickey and I never actually got to know each other until fate, and the Solon Board of Education had us sharing the same bus stop.

Before I knew her well, Mickey had this aura about her. I saw her as a tough sporty lady with whom I had not much in common. I always imagined ladies like Mickey to be more from “shake it off” school of problem solving than the “talk about it ad nauseum and perseverate to the point of obsession” school…from which I hold an advanced degree.

But, being women, standing on a street corner, having just handed our children to a hissing yellow bus, we talked. And it only took about a day before souls were bared, philosophies were shared, teenage-rearing woes were laid out in painful detail and we became friends. No topic was off limits, religion, politics, soccer, tennis, school, college, drinking, drugs, mental illness, cancer, death, taxes, sex, husbands, parents, world injustice and of course…our children. Whether we were solving world problems, or those in our homes, the bus stop was where we held these summit talks.  If only world leaders listened in to our practical solutions, we felt real strides to world peace and economic stability could be made.

As the school years progressed, we continued walking our kids out to the bus, well beyond the point where they needed to be walked out. Our morning ritual became this wonderful daily therapy/venting/world problem solving session that I looked forward to as an opportunity to exhale about life before beginning my day sequestered in the studio.

Inevitably, I asked Mickey to pose for me for CWB. She loved the concept and chose from my vast selection of sports balls to symbolize her life and loves. One daughter plays soccer, one basketball and the third plays tennis, just like her mother. Mickey, also played basketball in high school, and became engaged to her sweet husband on a basketball court.  And her husband golfs, but I hate painting golf balls (you'll hear about that in future blogs)! No shortage of literal balls in Mickey’s life.

A Detail of Mickey's balls and inspirational bracelet

And then there was the jewelry. Mickey always wears a delicate braided black thread bracelet with a cross woven into it. This bracelet, made in the Dominican Republic is called a Denarios, or a small rosary. She wears it to remind her of the residents of a small village in the Dominican Republic, which had several years ago been decimated by a hurricane.

Each summer for the past few years, Mickey goes with her husband, her daughters and her church on a mission to rebuild their houses, build them a school, erect a playground, distribute clothing, food, knowledge and religion. They visit the poorest of the poor in a forgotten part of the world and help rebuild their lives. Paying it forward, these impoverished villagers share what little they have with Haitian refugees who have even less.

Tending to the residents of this village is a yearlong pursuit. Mickey works with teams all year to raise funds and determine how best to make these hard working people a bit more self sufficient and empowered with each mission trip. This pursuit is called “Mission Possible” and you can read about it at: missionpossible.us.

Our children have graduated from that bus stop and Mickey and I no longer have our bus stop summit talks. We vowed to try to meet once a month for breakfast, and have done so a few times. Mickey, and her wisdom, strength and heroic qualities continue to be an inspiration to me though, and I’ll continue to be thankful we were thrown together every day for four years on that street corner at that particular juncture in our lives.

And so I called her painting, “Mickey: Saving the world, one corner at a time” because that's exactly what she does.

Sharon is my Best Friend

Sharon just wants peace, love and joy

Now before some of the ladies out there get your panties in a bunch and start up with, “Hey, I thought she was MY best friend!”…maybe even about either of us, I’m going to explain a couple things about the whole “best friend” thing, as it applies to me…and Chicks with Balls.

I’ve actually always hated the term. I feel guilty using it to describe someone I think is wonderful to someone else I think is wonderful. So I always try to qualify it…best friend from college, high school, art school, work, Boston, North Carolina, Solon, and so on…as not to hurt anyone’s feelings. I always imagine someone feels “not best” when I say someone else is “best”, so I avoid it.

Similarly, I don’t like when people who may well be MY best friend tell me about THEIR best friend…who is not me. I always feel like saying that phrase I’ve hated since I first heard it on the Brady Bunch, “What am I, chopped liver?” But I don’t ask that, ’cause that’s what losers say…losers who are obviously NOT your best friend. And then what do you do during the polite awkward silence and hurried friendly uncomfortable back-peddle. I’d rather have them think that I have someone else too…lots of them…from different stages of my life, because I’m most definitely NOT chopped liver.

And then there’s the mother of all avoidences of the topic, which some lucky ladies can say, “I married my best friend”…and yes, of course, I can say that too. My husband is my soul mate, the light of my life and my angel here on earth. But, sometimes you need to talk to your actual working best friend about the angelic best friend you married…along with sharing all the other baggage the angelic best friend you married just doesn’t understand as well as the actual working one does.

And many of the Chicks with Balls who posed actually ARE some of my best friends, from various times and stages of my life. They trust me and have indulged me in this outlandish CWB adventure I started, so I do not use the term lightly. I very much cherish them all, and the fun can be rekindled in an instant when I see them again.

That out of the way, I humbly declare that Sharon is my active and actual working best friend. And I know you would want her for YOUR best friend after hanging out with her for a beer or two.
She is the one I would call if I needed bail money and didn’t want my husband to find out. She’s my take-her-for-granted…best friend. She’s my emergency contact on the kid’s school forms…best friend. She’s my crack-up-laughing-whenever-we-see-the-word-“bag”- written-or-spoken-anywhere… best friend (Yeah, picture middle aged lady Beevus and Butthead with cute jeans…and drawn better) Our kids have grown up together, we’ve taken vacations together and had blast after blast…along with some hellish baby/toddler/child experiences that all go in the “stories” pile we laugh at now, even as our torturous teenage experiences pile up. We both have only sons, so we always say, when we’re grandmas and have granddaughters (which of course we will…how could we not?) we’ll have old lady playgroup with them…like we did with our toddler sons. We’ll have walkers and they’ll just be learning to walk…what could be more perfect!

This isn’t going to be a heavy post with a heavy punchline, like some of mine are. Please exhale if you’re waiting for the “Sharon Bomb”…though if we did start digging from the past 14 years or so, there would be loads of family challenges, incredible courage, strength, loyalty, resilience, and support galore…and of course Sharon’s big beautiful curly haired balls. So much impressive courage in such a small friendly woman, it would make your hair curl. Balls so large in fact that a single portrait could not contain them…thus the double portrait.

When I asked her to pose, Sharon agreed instantly but spent months and months mulling over the concept for her balls. She finally decided to make the balls her own and drew a peace sign on one, a heart on the other and flower on the third…because, really, her needs in this complex world are simple and few. For herself and her family, Sharon really just wants peace, love and joy.

Joy and Shit…A Christmas Essay

Wishing to Save the World…

Seeking wisdom and inspiration on Facebook the other day, I stumbled upon this quote: “We compare our every day lives to everyone else’s Highlights Reel”…and with that it became perfectly clear to me. We all have shit. Some big. Some small. Some steady. Some intermittent. Some is a gift from others. Some is dredged up from within. Some is very private. Some is out in the open. Some is debilitating. Some dizzying. And some…well, some just happens.

And yet, when it comes to the Christmas Card…or the jolly newsletter…we package it up with sparkly ribbons and bows. We ice over the defeats and sprinkle words like, Division Champs, Backpacking in Bali, Big Promotion, and Best in Show (sorry) like Martha Stewart sprinkles colored sanding sugar on her free-range all-butter shortbread snowman cookies. 

And of course these words are punctuated by photos of happy children with fresh haircuts, black ties and white dresses (always white…or at least sparkly) all of whom appear to have had an absolute blast with their parents on the five-star vacation where this photo was taken.

Possibly…and I may be alone here…but possibly that isn’t how it went. And maybe, those magical picture moments are not where the real joy in your life took place. 

Wishing for Peace on Earth…

What if the real joy happen when you got back to the hotel room and the kids wrestled until a lamp broke.

Maybe the real joy happen when you were driving your mom to chemo and she was telling you how to change lanes on a road you’ve driven a thousand times and to watch out because the red car is going to make a left turn…and suddenly you realize you do the exact same thing with your teenager…and maybe in 35 years he'll think it’s cute too.

Maybe the real joy in your life now has nothing to do with husband or kids, but with having mastered the burdens and rewards of wearing the wings of freedom. But maybe it stings just a bit to see people parading their seemingly normal families in front of you as if trying to prove their joy trumps yours. But how do you photograph freedom?

And if you are in the acute stages of loss and acceptance, maybe your joy is to wake up one morning and not cry until after breakfast. (If you send me a smiling photo of you with your branflakes next year, I'll know that it may have been harder to stage than a four-generation matching tee-shirts family reunion picture)

I guess what I’m saying is we all have our shit. We all have our joy. And then there are the Christmas cards and facebook posts…which may have not much to do with either.

My wish for you this holiday season is to know you’re not alone with your shit and to find, recognize and cultivate those small moments of joy in your life as well. Never mind that they cannot be packaged up neatly in your Christmas Card. Remember them, write them down, fantasize about them and keep them forever to bring out when the shit seems overwhelming. 

For in those moments lie the best joy of all.

And Wishing you the balls to stick up for peace, love and joy
no matter what may come your way.

Linda is the sunshine of his life

Linda is the sunshine of his life

Meet Linda…or as my kids know her, Grammy.

Linda is my mother-in-law.

But please, don’t let that baggage-laden unflattering term fool you. She is also my fun girlfriend and I’ve spent many a phone call or visit with her cracking up laughing, crying, commiserating, listening and talking.

Since I have only sons, and will only ever be the mother-in-law, I look to her as an example of what a likeable mother-in-law should be…because not only do I love her as the one who gave life to my wonderful husband, I like her too.

First and foremost, she loves her grandchildren and will sit on the floor with them, get down in the sand and play Hide and Seek or Ghost in the Graveyard. These are treasured childhood memories that exhausted moms are all too willing to allow grandparents to get in on. Back in the day before I had three teenage boys, when everyone was a baby or a toddler, these very special afternoon long play sessions were a Godsend and it was fun watching my kids have fun without actually having to get up and have the fun with them myself.  If toddlers have ever invaded your life, you understand why this is the holy grail of parenting joy.

Though we lived several wide states away, my kids grew up knowing their Grammy in Massachusetts. They knew her animated expressions of joy, her characteristic middle-of-Massachusetts accent and the homemade cookies she’d send every birthday and Christmas. They knew how it was to watch a movie with Grammy…she’d react loudly, with laughter or awe or disbelief, she’d ask questions loudly, discuss the unfolding events, scold the villains and sometimes we’d need to rewind a missed scene. They knew Grammy was a trooper and would go on a hike or a bike ride, even though it tired her out. They knew she’d be loudly amazed at just about everything they did and my kids eagerly showed off whatever talents they happened to be developing that afternoon.

Yes, my kids knew their Grammy. This familiarity grew over the years through the two or three times a year she would visit us in Ohio for much-needed long weekends. Much needed by Grammy herself; her visits to Cleveland were her only respite from the very difficult life she lead in Massachusetts.

Even though she gives off so much joy and vitality, Linda isn’t the leisurely retired grandma you think she is when you meet her. Her life in Massachusetts is immeasurably difficult and I can’t imagine how she doesn’t snap…though she'll be the first to tell you, sometimes she does.

Detail from…Linda is the sunshine of his life

See, Linda is full time caregiver to her beloved husband Harry.  20 years ago Harry, my husbands’ stepdad, was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Since then it has been a sometimes slow and sometimes fast progression into complete dependence on her for everything. Assistance up stairs became help into the wheelchair. Toileting assistance became catheterization. Bedtime ceased to the relief it once was with multiple nighttime turnings to prevent bedsores. Harry’s morning awakening routine became back breaking work as this strong and capable 60 year old woman transfers her husband’s massive 6’5” frame from his bed each morning to his wheelchair and then to the recliner which she sets up as his Command Central for the day.

And as Harry’s body weakened, so did his mind. The plaques that grow on his spine and weaken his body also grow on his brain. He forgets what she has told him moments ago and asks again for ice cream, even as she is scooping it. He perseverates like a toddler about an upcoming treat…a visit from grandchildren, a trip to Ronny’s Clam Shack. Linda loves him with all her heart and she gets no peace.

Harry’s doctors will tell you Linda is the best caretaker in the world. She tends to him like a newborn, cleaning, turning and dressing him to prevent sores and infections. She takes him on outings. She feeds him breakfast, lunch, and dinner with love, sunshine and conversation. She makes his life a really good one.

Linda will tell you she lives this difficult life by the grace of God, with whom she has a special and personal relationship. And I can see that Harry lives his life by the grace of Linda’s love, devotion and generosity of spirit.

She is literally the sunshine in his life.

After she posed for me, this modest woman of an earlier generation told me it was the weirdest thing she’d ever done…but she was honored to be asked and concepted her balls creatively with an eye to symbolism and modesty.

The large one was for extra coverage as well as to represent the giant obstacle in her life; her beloved Harry. The small ball represented her own identity. She saw it as being dwarfed by Harry’s undeniable presence in her life. 

I saw the small ball differently though. To me it was the one tiny white-hot bit of constant sunshine she beams into Harry’s life…and so I asked Linda to hold it proudly and hold it high.  And so that’s where I painted it.

Detail from…Linda is the sunshine of his life

Leah Runs, Bikes, Swims and Tackles…Paul

Leah Runs, Bikes, Swims and Tackles…Paul

In seeking a man, many girls dream of taming the stallion, capturing the wild mustang or even sitting quietly in the woods to await the elusive unicorn who will come and rest on her lap…enslaved forever by love.

Not Leah though. Her life was very full already…active, fun and social. A prominent professor of dental hygene, Leah is invited all over the world to lecture. She bikes, hikes, exercises, competes in triathlons and laughs and laughs. She exudes the kind of fun that makes you feel more fun too, just for talking to her. Leah had it all going on…then she met Paul.

When they met, Paul was 36 and had, up until that point avoided the gossamer bonds of love and matrimony. He was not opposed, but he also wasn’t going to settle. He had standards and (though I told him on many occasions not to) Paul went shopping with a list…for a woman. Great body, athletic, active, similar tastes in music and of course the sophisticated sense of humor that would find Paul’s brand of wit hysterically funny.

My husband and I knew Paul for years before we met Leah, so after you check out his portrait below, I’ll paint a picture of Paul…with words.

Paul is the Best Man

Paul is my husband’s best friend and had been since they had their third grade rumble at Millbury Center School in 1972. Two mighty 8 year old opponents decided it would be better to join forces and make peace. They became fast friends for life. Together they downed their first bottle of 151 Rum at 14 only to have it return with a vengeance for days to come. Their shared teen experiences became source material for a lifetime of private jokes, catch phrases, keen observations and a sly sideways way of seeing life where nothing is too sacred or in too poor taste to have fun with.

Paul is the guy that dresses up as a free mammogram machine for Halloween. (Picture a cardboard box with his face peering out through extra large exam holes). This year he's looking for the bottom half of a mannequin torso for his Halloween costume…can't even imagine what he's cooking up. Paul is the guy who can lose his lunch, dinner and drinks at his bachelor party and have room for a 4 egg farmer’s breakfast the next morning. Paul takes a long nap after work and then goes to work out for two hours. Paul religiously watches football all day Sunday during the season.  These are his ways, and they are set. And this is just what I can mention here…trust me, there’s more.

Don’t get me wrong, we love Paul. He was the best man in our wedding. I think of him as the brother I never had and, he and my husband Scott crack up laughing like he does with no one else. Their shared history and humor are absolutely priceless and as I’ve known Paul for the past 25 years, their humor has become my history and I actually “get” it now and I laugh too…I like to think I’ve added to the history as well.

Over the years, Scott, Paul and I have taken many vacations together and every time we’d visit Massachusetts to get together, there were stories of women…but no women to actually meet. They were more fun to talk about than to be with I suppose.

Then came Leah. On one of our visits, Paul had told us he’d be bringing a date.  Of course, I got all excited, hoping maybe she’d be “the one”. I always had a sisterly view of Paul and really wanted to see him paired up. Not that marriage is the answer for everyone, but for a man it’s a no-brainer…it’s the woman who makes all the concessions! (Now we’ll see if there are any men actually reading my blog)

Leah by far exceeded our expectations…a hundredfold. When we met her it was like we were being introduced to sunshine. Her laugh, her sense of humor and her contagious joy were a delight, and it was obvious Paul was crazy about her…like I’d never seen him crazy about any of the few women we had met over the past 10 years. And she had this wonderful accepting way to be with him. She totally went along and “got” the bizarre humor without needing to jump in and own it. And she did this all very subconsciously. Her joy took over and there was no insecurity at not getting the joke…she “got” Paul and she was very distinctly herself and that was plenty.

A couple years later at their wedding, her vows included the words, “I don’t need you, I choose you”. Those really stuck with me and I think it laid a strong foundation for taming the proverbial stallion that is Paul.

Over the years, as life, age and time have put obstacles in their path, Paul and Leah have weathered storms beautifully. And Paul has proved to be an incredibly domestic, caring and loving husband (ask him about his shed, their remodeling and his meticulous landscaping). They enjoy each other immensely and even when Lyme’s disease and surgeries have made an incredibly self-sufficient and active Leah need to rely on the kindness and service of Paul, he has come through. Paul even washed and styled Leah’s hair for weeks after her rotator cuff surgery.

And whenever we see them, their love and humor and craziness for each other just spills out all over the room. Leah has tamed the stallion, kept her own identity very much intact and continues to lead a life of independence and laughter, only now with the added joy of love.

Paul may have taught her about football, but Leah got the touchdown all on her own.

Enough about you, let’s talk about me now

Judy has no balls…yet

In honor of my 50^th birthday…which happens to be today… I will show you and talk about the self portrait I painted for Chicks with Balls.

It was tricky. It needed to be a prototype of sorts, outside the box, a little riskier than the others. I was, after all pushing my friends off the ledge of their comfort zones by asking them to pose topless with only balls for coverage, I should walk the walk and leap further.

My first concept was this: a full on frontal nude pose with hands down, palms out, an “I got nothing” expression…with no balls. I loved the irony of not having balls, yet posing in a decidedly ballsy pose.

Detail from Judy has not balls…yet

What stopped me from actually posing this way was picturing the inevitable CWB art exhibition opening reception.  Friends, relatives, strangers, my kids and my husband would be present and I would be the only naked one hanging on the wall…chatting away and wondering what people were picturing. I wasn’t ready to abandon that comfort zone yet.

I liked the “no balls” concept though,  so I posed without balls, but, with a carefully placed arm and of course my thrice stretched belly spilling over my painting jeans…perhaps more of an intimate revelation than simply showing breasts. I loved painting the belly in all its dimpled puckered glory…way more fun than abs of steel.

Detail from Judy has no balls…yet

Anyone who is familiar with my other work knows I’m not shy about painting myself and what makes me fascinating (wrinkles, fat, awkward expressions, you know…the good stuff!) And, as Gilda Radner once said, (I’m paraphrasing here) “It’s okay to look as bad as you need to for your acting roles because you can always dress up and look cute at the parties.”

And that is what I intend to do…the painting being more important than my vanity. And I do plan to get a cute dress and shoes for the Chicks with Balls Art Show Opening.


But enough of the physical aspects of me. I get tired of spending precious female bonding time obsessing about body image and talking beauty.  Ladies, (and the stray man who might be reading still) let’s change the subject!

So what are the figurative balls I lack?

I hesitate too much. I think too much. I plan too much and then I miss an opportunity that comes around only once…or twice if I’m lucky. But often I miss it the second time too. And I’m not talking about speaking up when I’m dissatisfied…I’m okay with that, especially strangers and telephone solicitors. It’s telling people the good stuff that I’m more shy about. And the very nature of this project gave me an opportunity to express some of the good stuff…admiration for people who secretly knock my socks off.

And as many women as I was able to include in CWB, I meet many more who amaze me, but I hesitate and then opportunities are lost. As CWB grows, however, it becomes easier to recruit. Now that there is a body of work, a business card and a blog, I can point them to something real, instead of fumbling for words that may be misinterpreted…like “balls” and “topless”.

The other balls I lacked were the artistic ones.

Between my sensible graphic design career that supported us for years and then my sensible full-time mom career, the past 25 or so post art school years forced the passionate artist in me to take on different forms. She has been spliced into the pages of corporate brochures and neighborhood newsletters, wrapped up in teacher gifts tied with raffia and cinnamon sticks, glued into family photo albums, sewn into artsy throw pillows, hammered into the reclaimed lumber of the house we live in and smeared all over the kitchen by little boy hands covered in play-do, melted crayons, tempera paint, hot glue gun glue…along with boogers and regurgitated wet Cheerios.

Detail from Judy has no balls…yet

It is all good. I don’t regret a single moment of the years where the painting was suspended for family raising. (I won’t even insert the funny “well, except for…” story about poop, vomit, or tantrums you might expect here, because all that is good too.  And, as for the truly bad stuff that makes us eagerly brag about the funny bad stuff, I keep my friends’ secrets and I keep my own as well.) For me it is all part of the checkered continuum that my life has and will go through. And now is the time for me release the passionate artist in me, get her up before dawn each day and let her paint obsessively. 

And as the painting comes along, I come out of the closet by entering shows, approaching strangers and trying to show the world what I do. While, yes, painting is a deeply selfish hedonistic exploit for me, the idea of just having that private joy with no one ever seeing it seems a waste…all dressed up and no place to go. I do not paint for other people, but I do want other people to see it and perhaps be moved in some way. So, the risk—rejection and indifference being equally damning—in putting it out there was part of the artistic balls I lacked.

Good news is, the balls are starting to sprout (or descending…for those of you that have prepubescent boys and know that term. If you’ve read this far, you are along for the ride and probably don’t mind a little testicle joke…haha, there’s another one!)

So, there is a second self portrait on my back burner. It will be complete in time for the show at BAYarts next summer (show opens August 9^th 2013…I trust its on your calendar already). It will show me with the balls I hope to grow as an artist as Chicks with Balls develops…not sure where to hold the balls, but I’m thinking that future painting will be called:

Judy Finally Grew A Pair

Susie Makes it Happen

Susie Makes it Happen by Judy Takács

Susie paints in oils, pastels and watercolor. She is a sought after calligrapher. She teaches art and she can paint everything…not just people like I do, but places and things too. (susanconeporgesfinearts.com) She is an inquisitive seeker of knowledge, can and will talk to anyone and will actually listen your ear off. She will seek out what is fascinating about you and make a new friend in the time it takes to drink a glass of wine. An involved and caring wife and mother of adult children, Susie is also very much part of the lives of her active and elderly parents. 

Susie is also a breast cancer survivor, but she will tell you it does not define her. She will, however, happily talk about it to inspire and help others, and she has created self portraits during her treatments and also painted fellow cancer patients. This compelling and passionate series is called, “You’re Not Your Hair, A Breast Cancer Survivor’s Story” and was shown at a local cancer support center as well as at several local galleries. 

I asked Susie about posing for Chicks with Balls when I got her alone after a weekend of painting (and bonding) in Chautauqua with some female artist friends. 

While we were with the group during the art retreat weekend I really wanted to come forward and tell people about the Chicks with Balls project I was secretly brewing. We were constantly bouncing ideas and techniques, philosophies and theories off each other.

What kept me from talking is that I really don’t like to talk about art in a group setting without having the actual art to show. I find it very raw and vulnerable to hear an artist explain their art verbally. It’s like describing an intimate dream that has shaken you to your core, but saying it out loud makes it seem silly and trivial. (“You were ‘you’ but you weren’t ‘you’ and then this whale came splashing out of the water and there was banjo music and Tom Cruise was there…” you get the idea. It doesn’t make sense in the light of day. And neither does art when it’s just explained without being seen.)

So I kept quiet.

I also preferred to ask people to pose one on one instead of just throwing it out there as a general invitation. It’s really more like asking someone out on a date…you don’t walk up to a group of guys in a bar and say, “Hey guys…I’m looking for a date… any takers?”. What if everyone says yes? What if no one does…either way it isn't good.

And, without visual aids, the words I use…“posing nude, topless, holding balls, picking balls”… seem somehow funny to say, and I hated the possibility that it would become a joke before it became something serious. Now, a few years later I am much less sensitive about it and will happily joke or hold serious discussions about it…anything to get the party started. Back then, however, it was a very young idea and I needed to grow into it and to own it…and to figure out what exactly it was that I owned. So I kept it private.

Later though, over a glass of wine at her house, I told Susie there was a project that I wanted her to pose for, but she'd have to come over and see it…and I would tell her nothing more.

And so after the second glass of wine she said, “Aww c’mon…tell me about it”, and of course I did. I don’t remember the words I used exactly, but I had started to develop a monologue that my husband later came to call the “Sales Pitch”. And Susie “got it” and, being game for an adventure agreed right away. Yeah! 

A week or so later, she came to the studio to pose for Chicks with Balls.

Susie chose the balls, the pose and even the date for several reasons…she saw the two small balls as her two now adult children. The large red one symbolized her husband, the love of her life. Susie's jewelry was carefully chosen too; her wedding and engagement rings figured prominently. And, the balls on her necklace were chosen as a design element to echo the balls she would be holding…ever the considerate artist, Susie thought of the painting I would be creating and wanted to give me fun elements to work with.

Fortunately for Susie, her past breast cancer involved a lumpectomy and not a complete mastectomy. She chose not to show the scar left after her cancer…like she said, it doesn’t define her. It was something that happened, something she courageously fought but many years of life-defining experiences have happened since the cancer too.

It is notable that the day she posed also happened to be the 8 year anniversary of being cancer free. Thus the big subtle 8 that also resembles a breast cancer ribbon is her shadow. I love when life unfolds around art…and I love when these Chicks with Balls paintings become part of the story they are telling.