Hope 53

Hope 53

Oil on Wood

6"X6"

I love Poppies -- their tenacity, delicate strength, beauty, and the fact that they are self sufficient and thrive in poor soil. 

My father, who was born 107 years ago today, loved poppies too. We walked these same California hills winding our way through the golden grass and poppies.

In 2010 I remembered him with these words:

"Last week I spent a lot of time reading letters that my father wrote to his family who were still in Europe during World War II. They describe the excitement and struggle, optimism, and ingenuity that brought him to America where he landed in 1939, put down roots, and thrived for 60 years. It made me miss him more than usual. His vision, tenacity, and belief in his own intuition. How was it that he who claimed to feel perpetually insecure managed to create a life so brilliant, so imaginative, so spectacular that remnants of his creation are still visible around the world today?
Then this weekend in a sea of golden grass taller than my 5'4" there stood a vermilion red poppy. A seed, dropped by a bird, or blown by the wind just happened to land there and take hold and grow and bloom into fleeting magnificence."

I think of him often these days hoping I can summon some of his ingenuity, optimism and courage to meet this moment of turmoil. Happy birthday to the man who insisted, "there is always a way."