It begins optimistically enough.  Every New Year does.  There’s a sense that we’re wiping the slate clean of the previous twelve months, starting again, rebuilding, taking second chances, forgiving our trespasses and transgressions.  As much of the past as possible gets swept under the rug, if only for an hour or two (and there isn’t an accident-prone dog in the vicinity).  We feel refreshed and renewed.  

If we aren’t nursing a hangover or cleaning up after the party.

Every January 1, we manage to wake up to the concept that we are somehow sleeping on a set of fresh sheets, regardless of the down and out thread count that’s left of them.   We resolve, aspire and (God knows how many times) we promise, vow and swear - to lose this, quit that and start doing more or less of something else.  365 days later, what do we have to show for it?

Our inability to write the proper year on the check the first few times, that’s what.

The eulogies and credits for 2010 already started rolling sometime back in October.  November and December have become the casual Friday of the calendar year and don’t really count for much of anything anymore unless you analyze retail or housing starts.  Life moves more quickly with each passing year and the long and the short of it is that we trick ourselves into believing that even with an abbreviated outlook of the days behind us, the year ahead will somehow be better.

For the past several days, people have wished me a Happy New Year, even though the old one is not yet over.  In Danish tradition, it’s bad luck to say “Happy New Year” until the actual hour strikes.  I adopted this philosophy almost 20 years ago and learned to respond by saying, “Thank you for the old year,” until the new one arrived.

2010 was no better or worse for me than most other years.  It was a big messy canvas splattered with successes and failures, points high and low, a few dark spots and my share of bright ones.  People came and went; some delivered on what they promised and others disappointed.  I had some false starts and some true moments of clarity that stopped me in my tracks.  Unframed by many things that limit others, this year confirmed yet again that life can change from one moment to the next.  It is our hearts that hang in the balance.

As I clean out the closet of this year before it comes to a close, I realize it is impossible to tie everything up neatly with a bow.  Some things can wait or be set aside and dealt with later while others need to be confronted or addressed before the midnight hour.  A handful are simply best left alone.  Knowing which ones to give weight or priority to makes all the difference in the world.

Art does imitate life.  Mine is not yet over.  So I will continue to paint and scribble on the canvas that is mine and leave it unsigned until I have nothing more to do or say or the ability to paint on or over it is no longer an option.  I hope you will too. 

We are the masterpieces of our own making.  You are limited only by what you will or won’t allow yourself to create or imagine.  Only you can decide the depths you will go to and whether you want to be an original or a lithograph.  Beware of forgery.

Thank you for the old year.

"No News is Good News"

48 x 48

Acrylic on Canvas

© Patricia A. Smith