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Enforced time at home this last year gave me the reluctant opportunity to examine decades' worth of accumulated reference material.  Tens of thousands of slides were purged and the survivors scanned, photo prints, huge piles of magazines and clippings were sorted through with the remaining pile only about the size of a hay bale.  How many hundreds of hours had it taken me to gather this stuff for my "morgue" of data that I was sure would come in handy someday?  How many expensive rolls of processed film?  

As a former wildlife artist who spent over thirty years working for the Department of Natural Resources before the days of digital imagery, I could never have enough reference photos.  I scalped any and every publication to assure I had detailed photographic information on the tarsus of a Horned Lark or the eye color of a Rainbow Trout, and certainly, the wing venation of Green Darner dragonflies!  The accumulated overkill filled four file cabinet and numerous Rubbermaid bins and paper boxes in my bedroom studio, my basement studio annex, my studio studio, and nooks and crannies elsewhere around house and garage.

I painted very little during 2020, frustrated and depressed.  My teaching gigs shut down, so one class turned into a plein air outing each week into the first week of November.  At one and the same time,  growing weary of COVID fatigue, I weakened my resolve and met with some men from church for breakfast.  Instead of distancing us, the restaurant seated us at a 4-top table, literally rubbing shoulders.  I decided to just drink coffee so my face would remain covered between sips.  The next day one of the guys spiked a fever, realizing he had been exposed to the virus.  Three days later I began to experience many of the classic symptoms of the virus.  I was pretty sick, but not as bad as many.  Ten days in, I ended up in the hospital for nearly 24 hours, but only in observation, not the ICU.  I was spared the scary respiratory aspect, although my doctor told me I was given Remdesivir and steroids in the hospital and had pneumonia.  I recovered fairly quickly from the symptoms, but the fatigue lingered for months.  

I had taken on some commissioned paintings to be cranked out for Christmas.  Many days I got up feeling okay, saying this is the day I get after these.  The mere effort to gather my materials and paints, set up the easel and try to remember "where I was" on each piece would call out for a nap, sometimes hours long.  It got to the point where I didn't even want to paint.  The deadline (oops, bad pun!) was met, but I was beat.  We were able to see some of our kids and grandkids, but Christmas was a quiet affair instead of a houseful.  

Surfacing in the information tsunami were some vivid memories preserved.  The resultant stumble down memory lane has been a joy.  My wife has done the same reducing of our family photos.  I've relived many enjoyable adventures, watched the kids grow up again.  I've fallen deeper in love with my precious spouse.  Everyone at our church started January reading Abundant Simplicity by Jan Johnson. Simplifying life to allow more time for God was her emphasis.  It got me started thinking (and praying) about my over-abundance of not only reference materials, but art stuff.  Knowing I'll never use the arsenal of supplies, equipment, paper, brushes, I've begun passing it on to the next generation.  Not that I'm calling it quits by any means, but trying to be a good steward of what God has allotted me has brought me joy in sharing, in giving rather than receiving.  I've enjoyed giving about 100 art books to the local high school for use by students as reference material or for the instruction contained within, knowing how much I would have appreciated that guidance and resources at their age.  I've also begun giving away some of my hundreds of tubes of watercolor, gouache, acrylic, casein and oil paints since I've become mostly a dual-primary painter, and don't really need 13 tubes of pre-mixed greens!

The bittersweet nature of giving or throwing away has been good for my soul, reminding me of my mortality and the old saying, "You can't take it with you."   I'd struggled to "come up for air" while stuck at home, but over time, I've gotten back at the end of a brush but might spend a couple of hours "fixing" a painting only to wipe it off in frustration.  It was like I'd forgotten how to paint.  

One benefit has been the resurfacing of some great inspirational images to trigger new ideas for painting.  

This scene (based on a true story!) from a painting trip came alive in the imagination and culminated an intense week of "spring training" painting, trying to remember my "swing" that had been badly lost during 2020.

This week I feel encouraged to take some more practice swings!

--Jim Glover