14. Dynamic Lives- 2016

DYNAMIC LIVES is a special project that I have come to love. Inspired by the Matriarchs of the Three Rivers Woman's Club, it is a collection of transcribed oral histories of our village residents. The stories are recorded by volunteers for an organization, Aging in Community. It began in 2016, and, when I heard about it, I knew I wanted to take this opportunity to be allowed to paint their portraits.

FOR SOME REASON, no one wants to be painted. I rarely get portrait commissions. I love doing them, and you can't get better if you don't do it often. So I approached those in charge and offered, at no charge to them, to paint all the storytellers. My one stipulation was that only I get to do the portraits. They agreed.

I HAVE PAINTED 26 to date. I have lived in this town for 50 years and did not know well most of these men and women. Until I photographed them. I take around 300 photos for each portrait, holding my camera in my lap so it is not so obvious. They tell me about their lives while I take photos. One gentleman talked for an hour, and when I said "OK! We're done," replied "You took photos already?"

TWO BOOKS have been printed to date, each containing the life narratives of about 15 residents, along with my portraits, and 2 of my daughter Renny's watercolors. Everyone has a special story. I'm delighted to be able to add to them with a paintbrush.
 

13. Facebook- 2013

 

WHEN MY PARENTS died, I inherited some money. I wasn't sure what to do with it, maybe put a down payment on a house. My art was selling, but every year it seemed I needed to refigure my marketing strategy. I knew I needed to become internet-savvy. So I made the decision to "invest in myself." Yes, I actually said those words. Six months later I was so embarrassed. I remember thinking I will NEVER tell a soul I said those words. Money went out each month to living expenses, and still nothing selling online. 

THEN, ON AUGUST 13, 2013, I set up a Facebook business page called Dog Art by Nadi Spencer. And 3 days later I was living a different life. It was crazy. My dog portraits were too low priced for the world market, and I started getting photos from people- so many that at 10pm I had to go home, I was so exhausted. I raised my prices 4 times by the end of that year. I was in a daze.

SINCE THAT TIME, I have painted 2,060 dog portraits, well over 100 breeds, often 1 a day for months. It's non-stop all year. I love it. Now I take Sundays off- to paint anything I want. 

I'VE ALWAYS BEEN dog crazy. In grade school they called me Dog Girl. Not nice back then. But now I make a living painting these furry friends. Facebook has made life so much easier, and SO much fun.

8.5 Jostens Yearbook Co 1972 and 1992

JOSTENS YEARBOOK CO holds a special place in my heart. It became my place in the world both times I needed a hand with life.

IT'S 1971, I'm 19, married, living in a Visalia, CA apartment with my new husband, no job, no car. I apply for a job within walking distance at a jean manufacturing plant. I am told I am over-qualified and would probably quit before I got started. The work was hard. you were paid piece rate. I returned the next day to ask how long I would need to work for it to be worthwhile for them to hire me. I was told 1 year,  I agreed, and got a job. 

ONE YEAR TO THE DAY, I quit that sweat job, and now I owned a car. Jostens hired me as a table-top artist. I was home. However, I only worked for 2 years. We moved to Three Rivers. 

IT'S NOW 20 YEARS later, I'm divorced with 4 daughters, starting over. Hello Jostens, I'm back. I stayed this time, working only 4 to 6 months out of the year, for 20 years. I was the last of the table-top artists to work there. I did not want to be a graphic artist, and so it was time to go. My light table sits in my three Rivers Studio. But what I learned there (Photoshop, juggling family and work, how to be a team member) and the friends I made, are with me to this day.

 

8. Letters From Little Creek

 I LOVED my Nadi Co. business, but wanted to work less hours and try painting in watercolor. What I did was create more work hours, since I could only paint when the wood orders were completed. I came up with a calendar idea called Letters From Little Creek, monthly designs of a family of rabbits. I sold some of the paintings, and all of my characters became wood art. 

I DREAMED of selling a calendar. One day, I told a friend, Vickie, that I often visualize being way up high in a New York office, talking to someone on the phone about my calendar. We laughed, and she said I had better be calling her.

SO, I ACQUIRED an agent. As a reference, she gave me the phone number of Boris Valejo. You know- the king of fantasy art, the guy whose calendar hung on our kitchen wall each year! Oh my, I can't call Boris Valejo! What would I say? But I researched his art and read a book about him, and when I finally worked up the nerve to call, he said, "You must be very talented. She only represents the best." Yowza. I was on Cloud 9 for months.

MY AGENT DELIGHTED me with news that she had sold my art, but as a book first, then a calendar. Could I come to New York to discuss it. I did, landing on the 15th floor on 5th Ave, where I promptly called Vickie to yell into the phone, "I'm in New York!"

WORKMAN PUBLISHING worked on the project for 8 years, and finally let it go. The writers they hired didn't work out, and it never came together. I made some money, learned a WHOLE LOT, but, Oh Man, Boris Valejo said I must be very talented.

9.5 My First Mural 1997

 

I NEEDED $800 to pay for a flight to Scotland. I had purchased the ticket but had not payed for it yet. My flight left on June1st, the trip would be for a month. I had no money, and a little more than a month to find it. I had just finished reading Outlander, by Diane Gabaldon, and the Celtic music was calling me. Ah, the life of an artist.

THAT'S WHY I accepted my first mural job. I didn't know how to paint a mural. They're so BIG. It was actually Colleen Mitchel-Veyna, a local muralist and friend, who gave me the nudge I needed. I was commissioned to do the next Exeter mural. I was given 10 photos, not at all related to each other in time or subject matter, and told to come up with a cattle mural. Well, I don't work that way. I told the committee that I would design a mural my way; if they weren't happy, they didn't have to pay me. They agreed.

THE GILL FAMILY came to my rescue. I knew the Gills and thought painting Adolph on his horse, leading a herd over Rocky Hill, was just the thing. Son Fred took me on Rocky Hill and showed me a normal path route and corrected any misguided ideas I had about where the cowboys would be located around the herd. Daughter Linda helped me photograph authentic saddle, rope and bridle, using her father's gear. And, finally, before I was finished, wife Clorie brought me a list of all the changes I needed to make on his face (I believe there were 13).   

 I ASKED a lot of questions. There was a lot to learn – what kind of horses did Adolph's crew ride in the 50's? – what kind of cows did they run back then? I LOVE researching a mural! I was ready.

6. Violin 1980

 IT IS 1981. I am now married with three daughters, the delights of my life. I love being a wife and mother, owning a home filled with cats and dogs, and my garden, and, maybe, I can ignore the urge to paint. Maybe not.

IT HAS BEEN several years since I painted, not wanting to upset my husband. Crazy that I married someone who did not want me to be an artist, especially since we met as artists in Yosemite. And I was still young and didn't know you can't just deny who you are.  So I signed up for a woodshop class at the local junior college. Surely making a bookshelf could not be threatening.

TO FAMILIARIZE myself with electric tools, I started with a simple footstool design, cutting a shape like a violin for the top. I had a pattern. I liked the jigsaw, and it was not too scary. In fact, it was really fun. Soon others in class were asking me to cut out their names, which I was happy to do, using a wood-burning pen to add detail. I never made my bookshelf.

BY THE END of the class, I had created Nadi Co. My husband enjoyed cutting out the pieces and so he joined me in this new endeavor. Over the next 15 years, we would supply 300 stores nationwide with cutout wood art.

WUSS

 I'M GOING TO SHARE something with you. I've always been shy. Oh, STOP laughing! I mean it. Stop. Take my word for it. It's true. I just decided, as a child, not to let it determine my life. I read all the books through the years, and gradually learned to feel the fear, and do it anyway. As a young artist (I was 19 when I started my career), I would envision tucking Fear under my arm, my constant companion on adventures. I thought he would eventually go away but, no, he's been tagging along for 50 years now.

I MADE RULES. I promised to follow them.

1) NEVER WAIT A TABLE. I wanted no jobs to fall back on when art didn't sell. It almost happened once, but a friend stopped me. Thanks Trish.

2) THE ANSWER TO ANY SPEAKING INVITATION IS ALWAYS YES. When asked to teach a 1-hour class to 25 1st-graders, I stressed for 2 weeks. When my 9-year old daughter said, "Mom, they are only 6 years old. What could happen?", my response was "I could die!" When being filmed once while working on a mural for foster kids, I got flustered and swallowed my words. Upon viewing the film, I was so relieved to see that it looked like I was choked up because I cared so much for the children.

3) ALWAYS LOOK LIKE YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING. When asked if I could paint a landscape mural of Sequoia Park, I said, of course- right up my alley. After signing the contract I called Ron Stivers, took him to lunch, and asked him how to paint a landscape. It would be my first.

I TURNED 70 this month, and I can say I have kept all 3 promises all these years. What a journey it's been, and what fun. Scary, stressful, challenging...EVERY SINGLE DAY (for a wuss). But what fun.

Rivera Men

 

         I ONCE WROTE that having experienced magic in the world once, you can never go back to a life without it. This last year has been less than magical, and I will admit that it got to me. If not for the
encouragement and support of my dog and horse art fans on Facebook, it might have taken a larger
toll.
          SO, LAST WEEKEND, a little down and looking for inspiration, I attended our local roping event here in Three Rivers, CA, an event that was cancelled the two previous years, an event I love. I go every year, taking photos of the horses mostly, since, if I want to paint people, I need to step out of my comfort zone to ask them for permission. I don’t know why it is still hard for me, I’m an old woman and should have it down by now.
           I SHOT THE HORSES for a while, but found myself watching people through the camera, people seriously involved in their passion- roping. I might not know the rules and language of the sport, But I recognize zeal when I see it. One boy twirling a rope kept popping up in the lens. I watched him in
the line-up, listening intently to a man, his dad I thought, both handling a rope. There was something
really good here, and I wanted to know more. I felt transported into a story where I felt attached to the
characters. I wanted them to succeed. And I was looking for a small win for myself, something to
jump-start the energy I felt I had lost.
            I FINALLY approached the son, and then Dad, and told him I was an artist seeking permission to paint his family. He readily gave it and agreed to friending on Facebook. I hesitate to intrude on
people’s lives, but I was hooked – and I knew I had my painting.
            AS I CONTINUED photographing, I sussed the family held two more- Mom and younger brother. I believe team roping is primarily taught by parents, and I’m guessing this Mom and Dad are great role models, as it showed in the boys’ abilities to accept both frustration and success gracefully. Truly a joy to watch.
             MONDAY MORNING arrived, and I was pumped and ready to start painting. I don’t know what ropers call it, but artists call it “being in the zone.”  The hard part was done, now it was time for fun. My photos all melded perfectly, and I finished an 18x36 in four days, fast even for me.
             I'VE LIVED the life of an artist for fifty years now, and the search for inspiration can be a struggle at times, especially when a funk sets in. But, at other times, quite unexpectedly, it’s magical.

18. Pink

Painting by Renny Spencer

I WAS PINK. That was the color my parents assigned to me. When I was born, I was given a name, Nadina Maria, and a color––pink. My older sister Lori was blue; my older brother Al was yellow. After me came green (Ron), brown (Leonard) and black (Richard). By the time Ray came along eight years later, colors were no longer dispensed, or else no one cared to remember his. The problem with the colors was that they labeled us incorrectly.

AT LEAST IN my case:pink. Pink––to my parents––meant feminine, soft and delicate. I was a tomboy! I hated dolls; I hated dresses; I hated waves in my hair tied up in ribbons. So many times I sobbed as Mom styled my hair with pinned-up curls. Dad would poke his head in the doorway. Oh, you shouldn't cry, it makes your face all puffy. Don't you want to look pretty?

NO I DID NOT. I wanted to wear jeans and play ball with my brothers. I wanted to wear football shoulder pads so I could show I was capable of taking hard hits. I wanted to wear fishing boots so I could catch tadpoles in the ditch. I wanted to wear a mitt. I wanted to run through the hot summers without wearing a shirt.

TO ADD SALT to the wound, every birthday and Christmas, for maybe my first six years, and regardless of how much I complained, no matter how much I begged for a puppy, I received a doll in a pink dress. Most of them were thrown out the back door, some were buried in the yard. The only one I kept long enough to remember her name––Rosie, sister to Lori's blonde, blue-clad doll Dodie––I kept buried in the third drawer down in my dresser. I never played with her, but I didn't hate her; it was not her fault that she landed in the wretched lap of a heartless, callous child. A sad life for a lovely doll.

ONE DAY, when I was three or four, I got a splinter in my finger. Dad said he would get it out. Oh no! That will hurt, I said as I locked myself in the hall bathroom. It won't hurt, said Dad. I promise. It will be over in a second; you will feel much better when it is out. Would I lie to you? If you let me take it out you can open one of your presents under the tree. Oh, no, no, I cried. I don't trust you; it will hurt; I won't feel better.

BUT STILL–– a present. Hmmm, maybe. I really liked presents. And how long could I stay locked in the bathroom anyway? I finally agreed. Dad dug out the tiny piece of wood with a needle that he heated over a flame on the stove; I screamed. I was then told I could pick any box with my name on it, which I did, a long skinny box, medium sized. Inside was––and how did I even think it would be something else––a doll. How could life be so cruel? I ran to the kitchen, really wailing now, and threw her in the trash bin. Seduced, deceived, betrayed––sold down the river.

I STARTED TO lose faith, began to think life would always be disappointing. Why even make a wish list if nobody read it. And then, the following Christmas, when I was just about to give up hope–– praying wasn't working, crying and begging weren't working, someone––God, my parents, Santa?–– took pity on me, and sent me a frog––a croaking, wooden pull-toy frog, a frog that I pulled around the house for months, inch-inching behind me, a frog that I loved with all my heart, a frog in beautiful green.

IT'S BEEN SIX decades since I first waged war on the color pink, and one decade since I have made peace with it. I never wore it, in clothing or nail polish or lipstick; I never adorned my house with it, in furniture or wall paint; pink flowers had no place in my studio garden. Other than to bring life to a dog's tongue, or to add accent to a sunset, and recently into my portraits, I have never used pink in my paintings.

MY MOTHER PICKED out all of my clothes until I left home at eighteen; she did, however, eventually, let me pick the colors. I recall, with utter joy, one special day shopping when she said I could pick out any color dress. I chose a metallic striped dress that contained every color in existence; my mother was horrified; I was crazy happy. She kept her word and I wore it until it fell apart.

I THINK MOM tried to understand that I was mismarked at birth, but she could never really relinquish the identity she had constructed for me. It was necessary to her well-being that her categorization of the important pieces of her life, and that included her children, were kept intact. I understood this from an early age and, even though I would have relished venturing across an honest childhood, it was never necessary to me that she know the bona-fide me. At some point in my adolescence I stopped having an opinion about most things discussed at the table; I stopped thinking my parents wanted to know what I was about.

BUT IT CAME up one last time. Mom was over eighty; she died soon after; the times we spent together had become comfortable, if not easy. Whatever remnants of resentment still lingered inside me quietly leaked out like air escaping through a tiny hole in a balloon. No anger, no regrets, I had long ago donned my true colors; pink no longer carried any meaning. The previous year, as a Christmas gift, I gave each of my grown children an artist's sketchbook, scissors and a glue stick, with instructions for creating an "I LOVE" scrapbook, for which there is only one rule: you must love anything you paste in the book. This would be my fourth book, and what I learned was that they create an intimate and revealing glimpse into one's life, a diary in pictures. I decided to share mine with Mom.

IF YOU CARE to Mom, go through this book sometime, over a cup of coffee. It's nothing important. just a year of clipping pictures that get my juices flowing. You might enjoy it. She said she would and I believed her. I remember wishing she had one of her own to offer in return.

THE FOLLOWING morning she called to apologize. Oh, Nadi, she said. I never knew you.

 

17. I Never Did

BUDDY WAS MY person in the world when I was a young girl. Actually, he was a dog, A Samoyed from a long line of family Samoyeds named Buddy. Oh, do you know what it feels like to finally have the dog you wish for? Jeffie helped me through my first grade crush: Sparkle was a good friend: Pal was the first dog that was mine alone, a Doberman Pinscher that Dad brought home from work. But I still wanted a Sammy, and one Christmas Buddy came. I adored him.

WHENEVER A SUPERVISING eye was occupied elsewhere, Buddy and I roamed the countryside near home. Anything and everything held my interest. Blue-bellied lizards, tadpoles in the irrigation ditches, birds on the telephone poles. One spring day, after spending hours counting bird eggs in the grapevines, we wandered farther– so many beautiful sights to see, Buddy happy to tag along. When I grew tired I looked around for a good place to nap and found a tree in a neighbor's orchard. The branches hung low and swayed with the breeze. I sat leaning against the trunk with Buddy's head on my legs, and I fell asleep. When I woke it was darker, later, way too much later to have been gone. Oh no, I am in trouble now.

I RAN HOME and found Mom and Dad pacing the kitchen. Dad, angry, grabs my shoulders. Where have you been? he says loudly. Exploring, I answered. Exploring?! Yes, I fell asleep under a tree. Under a tree? he says. Do you know how dangerous that is? Do you? Anything could have happened; anyone could have taken you! Taken me where? I asked. You're too young to understand, he said. There are bad people in the world. Never, ever, fall asleep under a tree again.

I NEVER DID.

THE NEXT TIME I went roaming, I avoided comfortable trees and headed toward Spruce road, turning left to town. After a mile or two, we came alongside a canal; I walked along the top of the embankment, Buddy weaving back and forth in front of me. Suddenly a bird flew low in front of us and Buddy chased it, getting way too close to the edge, lost his footing and slid right into the canal. I screamed Buddy! Buddy!, running along to keep up with him as the flowing water swept him along. I'm frantic, screaming for help. I search for a ladder on the side of the canal but nothing, and not a person in sight. 

AND THEN THERE he is– a man on a motorcycle, youngish, scraggly beard, tattoos covering his arms and neck, sporting an earring. For one split second the thought occurred to me that he might be one of those dangerous people my parents warned me about. He pulls to a stop and asks if I need help. I'm desperate: I jump on the bike and point ahead at Buddy, who looks tired, but still paddling: the stranger nods.

I HAVE A plan. I can't hold this tall skinny man, but he can hold me. He looks strong. We pass Buddy, and then we jump off the bike while I tell him I will go head-first down the side of the canal while he holds me by my feet. His face freezes with eyes wide, he rubs his chin stubble, hesitates briefly, then yells Go! It's now or never! He grabs my legs while I crawl down the cement wall, reaching into the water. Lower! I yell. I can see Buddy getting close; I grasp his neck fur with both hands, while he kicks frantically, scratching up my arms and face. Pull! I scream; I feel my legs stretch. I am pulled up and back, and then all three of us fall in a pile on the concrete bank. 

OH OH OH, we are safe. Buddy shakes his abundant coat, throwing water in every direction. He whimpers and licks my face. I have never been so happy. We catch our collective breaths, we laugh a bit. I say Thank you from the bottom of my heart. We do not know each other's names. We do not ask.

THEN TATTOO MAN, my hero, looks at me very seriously, but with a smile in his eyes. Promise me one thing, he says. Never, ever, tell your parents what you just did.

I NEVER DID.

16. The Hunter

The Hunter (copied from a painting by Adriaen Beeldemaker 1653)

AFTER TRAVELING across the states for 6 months, the van stopped running and we moved into an apartment in east Visalia – sans transportation. We found jobs within walking distance, and got by with a kitchen table, an art table and a director's chair.  As a newlywed, I was soon to learn that art – the thing that brought us together and the thing I thought we would share forever – was the thing that would break us up.

MY HUSBAND told me the art table was his only and that he was the artist in our family. If I wanted to paint I would have to use the kitchen table.

I DID use the table. I painted this picture, a copy of a painting from the 17th century. It hangs in my living room today.

FIFTEEN years later I would paint my next one.

15. Crackers Are $2 a Box, But Magic is Free

WHEN I CAME UP with the idea to paint horse ranches, I was 38, recently divorced, mother of 4 girls and flat broke. My cottage industry income had dissolved along with my marriage. Not one to mope, I made a list – 20 things I love most in life. So – dogs, horses, people who like dogs and horses, the river, color, photography, sleeping in, campfires, painting... I wanted to find a way to put as many of these things as I could in a job description, and I came up with "Ranch Portraits."

I BOUGHT booth space at a fancy fine-harness show in Santa Ynez. I loaded some paintings into my car, along with a suit and heels, a Western dress, a box of saltine crackers and a jar of jam. Sometimes all you need is determination.

THE FIRST DAY was terrifying but fun. I talked up my portraits like I'd been doing it forever. I ate crackers when I got hungry and I slept in my car in the parking lot. In the morning, after crackers for breakfast, I headed out to meet the day, one that turned out to be one of the best in my life.

IT WAS LIKE walking into a fairy tale.  My art was a hit; I sold a couple paintings and got a couple commissions for ranch portraits. I was invited to wine and dine at several tail-gate lunches, and then flew kites on the hill in the afternoon with my new best friend, a harness-maker from Wisconsin who had the adjacent booth. I met the singer of the band that would be playing for the dinner/dance that evening in the big tent. I wasn't going ($100 ticket to get in), but he insisted, and snuck me in under the tent flap.

AND THEN SOMETHING MAGICAL happened.  Everyone wanted to dance with ME! I was the belle of the ball! I was new at country dancing, but it didn't matter. I was swept off my feet, literally, until the wee hours.

DRUNK on success and relief (and wine), I finally made it back to my car. I had money in my pocket, commissions to keep me busy, and a good friend that has remained my friend to this day. In the morning I would eat some crackers and go home to real life. My life. My life as an artist.

14. Potpourri

POTPOURI Gift Catalog contacted me and my husband about doing a cover with our wooden carolers. "Of course!" we said (who doesn't want their art on the cover of a major Christmas catalog?) Then the order came- 3000 pieces, to be completed in 3 months! They called to make sure we could complete the order: could we hire more employees if needed? I said I would check the computer. I had no computer (or employees) but assured them that we would get the order done in time, which we did.

We worked every day except Thanksgiving and I swore I'd never paint another caroler again. But then a store in Connecticut called in a panic. Could we please send another set to them ASAP! Apparently, Jim Henson of Muppets fame bought a complete set of 13 and asked the storekeeper to hold 2 weeks until he returned to England. An uninformed clerk then sold them to Ron Howard, the film director, by mistake.

13. Pumpkins, Pumpkins and More Pumpkins

NADI CO. was a business my husband and I had for 15 years. Back in 1990 Halloween items for the home were called "decorations." We created Halloween "art" - the only booth that year at Beckman's Gift Show in Los Angeles to do so. We were swamped with orders. At a craft show in La Canada, people lined up to purchase and we sold out.

THIS PUMPKIN was our best seller. A big chunk of my life was spent making hundreds of them. I kept the pattern (above). It fills me with joy, partly because they are laughing, but mostly because it was a special time.  I could work at night when the children slept, so I could be with them during the day. It was challenging. And I realized I could make a living painting.

EVENTUALLY,  I gave up working in wood and switched to watercolor paintings. Still, I occasionally create pieces cut from wood. I've been working on a show for 2 years now, called "Cut From the Same Cloth" in my spare time. All the pieces are cut from wood. They are more sophisticated than laughing pumpkins and I have more skill now. But the joy in making them is the same. It just feels too good not to.

12. A Good Start

I'VE BEEN MEANING to frame this for 43 years. It just keeps getting put on the back burner. (Or maybe I should say hot plate?) This was my first ever home. I had met the man I later married and we shared the single bed on the right. Craig, who would be the Best Man, slept on the bed on the floor. Boogie, a hamster I inherited from a previous roommate, slept in the third drawer down.

MEALS were cooked on a hot plate, and an ice chest served as refrigerator. Tye-dyed sheets supplied by Yosemite Park & Curry Co. We had all the necessities – heat, food, music, art and love.

IT WAS a good start.

11. Animal Pancakes and Elton John

IT'S 1970.  I left home. I'm 18 years old. And when I say "left" I mean running down the driveway, chased by my Dad, jumping in the bed of my friend's truck, and watching Dad grow smaller and smaller. And when I say "left" I mean jumping scared with both feet into a world of possibilities. I spent that night on the floor of Tina's bedroom, staring at the ceiling, never happier.

I STAYED with Tina's family until I graduated from High School a few months later, and then, having just painted a mural in the school gym for the large sum of $150, I finally began my journey by answering an ad for work in Yosemite National Park. I spent half of my total net worth on a pair of desert boots and a brown corduroy coat to match, confident that I was armed suitably for a new life.

MY FRIEND Janet drove me to the park. Neither of us had ever been there.  We pulled into Inspiration Point and looked at each other, speechless. As we drove towards Camp Curry I knew better than to hope- it was too good to be true. I could be living in the most beautiful place in the world. Then my first interview– I was told that if I could be back by tomorrow I could have the job. I was screaming before I got out the door. Janet and I held hands, jumping up and down, laughing and crying and hugging.

I MEANT to spend 6 months in Yosemite, but it turned into 2 amazing years. I learned about snow, animal pancakes, Elton John, friendship, and love. And, oh, I painted. Every chance I got. Living and painting in Yosemite ignited something in me that has burned for many years. Having experienced magic in the world once, you can never go back to a life without it. 

10. Just Start

I CAN procrastinate like a pro! I know I'm doing it, I know I don't like to do it, and I even know how to stop doing it. Most times I shrug it off; I'm good with deadlines. But occasionally, and usually with a person portrait, it can go on for a tad too long for my comfort.

THAT'S WHEN I have to close my eyes and visualize this painting, called Lion Reading, which hangs in Kaweah Delta hospital, in Visalia, CA. I painted it 16 years ago, in 1998. I was still struggling with making my living as an artist after a divorce, and also raising a 7- year old daughter, Bronwen, no money, not sure when the next commission would come. So I designed this 8'x8' painting, to present to the hospital in hopes of selling it.

I GOT a good part of the painting done, but when it came to painting Lion's eyes I froze. He's telling an exciting story so his eyes needed to be bright and opened, but NOT crazed. He's not going to EAT the young animals! 

A DAY went by- then another. A week. Finally, frustrated by my lack of confidence, Bronwen came up to me, handed me a paintbrush, fully loaded, with that look on her face that meant I know all things, and said "Just start. You'll figure it out." Yeah, that's my girl. 

I DID start, I did figure it out, and I sold it to the hospital for a whopping $5000, enough money to allow me to take a breath and go forward. And today, right after I post this, I am going to get up from the computer, load a paintbrush and "just start."

9. Why I Use an Orange Ground Color

YOU THOUGHT I had artistic insight and esoteric jargon to explain why I use orange as a base color. Maybe you hoped to learn about color theory or how color conveys light.

I COULD SAY it's because it creates movement in a painting, or that it suggests a wood-block or stained-glass feeling. I could say it makes the other colors pop, or that it directs your eyes around the painting.  I wouldn't be lying.

BUT THE straight-up truth: I have, in my whole life, never loved a coat as much as I loved this one. Whenever I wore this coat, I felt like I was soaring above the trees on my way to school.  It was my Superman cape, my butter on toast, a puppy hug.

NOW, 50 years later, I paint in clothes covered in acrylic paint. I have a closet full. But, once in a while, I'll be pushing green paint along an orange canvas when a little jolt goes through me and I'm wearing my magic coat. And I'm soaring.

8. I Have White Hair Because I Have Dogs

Watercolor painting by Renny Spencer

I HAVE white hair because I have dogs.

WHEN I was much younger I dreamed of having EVERYTHING. To be an artist- to have a family- to own a house with a picket fence (a brown one though) with lots of dogs. So I went out and got them. At one point our house held a husband and me, 7 children (3 of them foster kids), 2 Bullmastiffs, a Samoyed, a Dalmatian, a Papillon, and 11 cats.  I joined a Canasta group, made Halloween costumes, and ran a home business selling woodcraft. I bought boots and make-up and hair color.

AS TIME went on, I tweaked the details of my dream. I had to choose between my art and my husband, and (after 20 years deciding), chose my art. I exchanged the mortgage for monthly rental in a series of small but charming homes, and struggled to keep on top of things while raising 4 daughters. I started giving up things that weren't important. Who needs TV?

THE GIRLS eventually left home, and my career and my dogs kept me busy. I felt I could finally get a studio away from home and found the perfect spot. It was September 1st, 2001. I took the plunge. Two weeks later the bombing in New York shook the world, the recession hit and I didn't have a commission for a year.

I KEPT my studio. But I gave up everything that wasn't home, food or vet bills. I stopped driving to other places- gas was too expensive. I gave up wearing make-up and finally, I stopped coloring my hair.  I don't miss any of it.

RECENTLY, I've switched my focus to dog portraits, and business is booming. I paint every day. Two of my daughters are living here in town, and I have a grandson. I still don't have television or a cell-phone, and I walk to work. I love my family, my friends, my dog, and even my white hair.

LIFE has weeded out the nonsense and left me with the stuff of dreams.

7. Hello Darkness My Old Friend

You know how a song can take you back in time? "Sounds of Silence," by Simon and Garfunkel, is an express train to 1966 – 9th grade at Exeter Union High School, sitting at a real art desk. The art teacher has asked us to listen to the record player and I've just been introduced to The Moody Blues. Rock mixed with classical. Genius.

Our 1st assignment was to paint a song, using only the words. So many exciting pieces were created – "I fell into a burning ring of fire" – "Imagine all the people, living life in peace" – "These boots are made for walkin'." I wish I could still see them.

I was so happy, and so proud to be part of that creative world. And, thanks to sympathetic teachers who gave me passes to get out of algebra class, I was rescued from boredom. I was given free rein to create what I wanted, using clay, wood, paint, beads. I made a green leather vest and knee-high moccasins to match.

I belonged. I carried my art around, in my bag and in my heart. And I've never stopped.