The Art of Seeing

Unveiling the Masterpiece through an Artist's Eyes

In the realm of artistic creation, there exists a profound and intricate process that transcends the mere act of putting paint on canvas. This process, often referred to as "the art of seeing," is a fundamental skill for any artist. It is the ability to observe with a critical eye and analyze it. An understanding is needed for understanding forms, colors, textures, and compositions. It is through this lens that artists transform their thoughts, emotions, and perceptions into captivating visual narratives that resonate with viewers across time and space.

Developing these skills takes practice and discipline. One must learn to be patient through the process. A keen attention to detail is needed for the realism artist. By actively engaging with the visual world around them, the artist can train their eyes to see more deeply and develop a greater understanding of visual concepts.

Composition: Crafting the Visual Symphony

At the heart of every impactful artwork lies a carefully orchestrated composition. The arrangement of elements within the frame determines the flow of the viewer's gaze and sets the stage for the story being told. Artists employ techniques like the rule of thirds, leading lines, and balance to guide the eye and evoke a harmonious visual experience. Through the art of seeing, an artist perceives not just individual objects, but the relationships and interplay that give rise to a dynamic whole.

Angels: Shaping Perspective and Dimension

Angles, or perspectives, define how objects relate to one another within a two-dimensional space. The art of seeing entails the ability to translate the three-dimensional world onto a canvas, creating the illusion of depth and volume. Artists experiment with various angles to convey different emotions and to emphasize the significance of certain elements. Whether it's a dramatic foreshortening or a sweeping panoramic view, the chosen angle contributes to the visual language that communicates the artist's intent.

Color Values and Complementary Hues: Painting with Emotion

Colors are not only aesthetically pleasing; they are vessels of emotion and meaning. The art of seeing involves understanding the intricate relationships between different hues and their varying values. Artists deftly use contrasts between light and dark, warm and cool tones, and complementary colors to create visual impact and evoke specific moods. Through a deep understanding of color theory, artists masterfully infuse their work with feelings that resonate with the viewer's soul.

Depth and Perception: Breathing Life into Flat Surfaces

Transforming a flat canvas into a multi-dimensional realm is a hallmark of artistic mastery. Through the art of seeing, artists manipulate scale, overlapping forms, and atmospheric perspective to simulate depth. This technique tricks the eye into perceiving distant objects as smaller and less distinct, mimicking the way our eyes perceive the world in real life. As a result, the viewer is drawn into the artwork, exploring its layers and experiencing its nuances.

The Story Being Told: A Visual Narrative

Art is a powerful medium for storytelling, and every brushstroke contributes to the narrative being woven. The art of seeing involves not just observing objects, but recognizing the stories they carry. Artists infuse their work with symbolism, metaphors, and emotions, inviting viewers to engage in a dialogue with the piece. The artist's perspective becomes a bridge between their inner world and the outer reality, giving birth to stories that transcend time and cultural boundaries.

The Meditative Act of Creation

Engaging in the art of seeing requires a meditative state of mind. Artists immerse themselves in the world around them, shedding preconceived notions and embracing the present moment. This mindfulness enables them to capture fleeting details and subtle nuances that might otherwise go unnoticed. As artists connect with their subjects on a deep level, they are able to translate their observations into a visual language that speaks to the hearts of others.

In conclusion, the art of seeing is an intricate dance between perception, emotion, and expression. Through mastery of composition, angles, color values, complementary hues, depth, and storytelling, artists transform blank canvases into windows into their souls. Each stroke of the brush becomes a brushstroke of consciousness, inviting viewers to witness the world through an artist's eyes. So, the next time you gaze upon a captivating masterpiece, remember that it is not just a visual representation—it is a testament to the artist's ability to see beyond the ordinary and to capture the extraordinary.

The art of seeing is also important for anyone who wants to appreciate and understand the visual world. By holding the skill, individuals can develop a greater appreciation for art and design, as well as a deeper understanding of the world around them. This is a skill that can be continually refined and developed throughout one's lifetime.

Unforgettable Studio Shenanigans

I had probably one of the most unique studio experiences ever. It’s just a typical day in the studio, paperwork scattered across my desk. My sweet little grand-darling who was only about 6 months old at the time, was spending the afternoon with me. I had her on my hip while walking into my studio area to get some paperwork. Little did I know that this innocent visit would turn into one of the most amusing and heartwarming experiences in my art career.

As I sorted through the paperwork, my grand-darling began babbling away, completely captivated by something in the room. I turned to see her smiling and cooing at none other than CMS Sapp's portrait. I couldn't help but chuckle at the unexpected interaction. It was as if she was having the most animated conversation with the stoic figure on the canvas.

I couldn't resist mentioning this adorable encounter to CMS Sapp himself. His reply was , "Well, babies have always liked me."

A Touch of Magic: In that whimsical moment, I realized that art has the power to transcend boundaries. It can captivate the imaginations of the youngest souls and create a world where anything is possible. Who's to say that CMS Sapp's portrait didn't have a secret charm that caught the attention of my grand-darling? Perhaps she sensed his bravery and esteemed presence, even at such a tender age.

That day, my studio transformed into a realm of innocence, laughter, and unexpected connections. It reminded me of the joys that art brings, not only to the artist but to all those who encounter it. In the future, I will always remember the sight of my grand-darling smiling and babbling away, entranced by a portrait that seemed to possess a baby-friendly aura.

It’s become a studio memory I will always cherish. It’s a reminder of the magic that art can create. It's these delightful and humorous moments that make our artistic journeys all the more meaningful. So, here's to the joyous wonders that unfold when little ones and portraits have a lively chat—truly a tale for the ages.

Camille's Story

It is true that God works in mysterious ways, and his ways have been a mystery to me.  I oftentimes felt like a detective trying to unlock some of the mysteries surrounding my life.
  

I was given up for adoption at birth. In fact, my adoptive parents graciously babysat my two older brothers at the time of my birth. As I grew into childhood, I was told many stories of my two older brothers, Forrest and Keith. Forrest was the quiet one, and Keith was the one with a bubbly personality. I was told how precious they were and I began to love them. Pictures of them were being saved for me, but tragically, they were lost during Hurricane Betsy in 1965 when our home flooded. I never saw these pictures, which I would have treasured.

I was also told about my birth mother,  a single mom, a hippie, who was quite petite and soft-spoken. She eventually moved to California, I was to learn later on not only did I have big brothers, but also a little brother and a little sister.  Wow!  During my early life, my thoughts drifted away many times as I wondered about this long-lost family. Where were they? Did I resemble them in any way?  My teachers labeled me as a "daydreamer" at school. I spent a lot of time thinking about art stuff and envisioning my long-lost family. 

 As the years passed, subsequently my adoptive parents were blessed with four children. As a child, I would escape to my room to find quiet time to draw and paint, my most favorite pass time, my hobby.

I grew into adulthood and I married an incredible man. We were blessed with a precious son and two beautiful little girls. Yet, I felt there was a void and emptiness in my life. The stories of my lost family helped some, but they were only bits and pieces of a puzzle (the puzzle of my life), which had so many missing pieces. I had been given facts and information but because there was no memory of this past, I had empty spaces in my heart - empty, empty places crying out to be filled. I felt as though I was expected to regard my birth family as dead, non-existent - if not literally, then symbolically.

In the summer of 1990, my adoptive mom gave me enough information for me to begin my search - my search for that lost part of myself.  She told me that my birth mom had wanted to meet me for many years.  She would come to New Orleans occasionally and contact the family about meeting me.  I was so excited to know that she wanted to know me.  Without the advent of internet and the amazing technology we now have today, my search was difficult.  I spent many months making phone calls and searching records.

On January 22, 1991, I went to the genealogy department of the downtown Library in Dallas, Texas. I spoke with the librarian about my search, but was told they were quite limited with recent information. Further, census information is not made public for seventy years, which meant census information taken during my lifetime could aid my search was not available to me. My heart sank within me.

 “But I do have a few states on file with some current stuff,” the librarian told me, hoping to lift my spirits. The librarian left to go look up the files in another room.  My heart raced with excitement,  after all these years I am now closer than ever to finding my birth mom.

A short while later, the librarian somewhat reluctantly walked over to me and handed me a paper. To my absolute shock, it was something that I had never expected, nor was I prepared for. I read the words “DEATH CERTIFICATE”. It was my mother’s death certificate. Emotion overwhelmed me, this successful search gave me joy, but the finality of the word “death” washed over me like a tidal wave, I was overcome with grief and tears raced down my face.

 When I regained my composure, I examined the document. Alameda County was mentioned. That evening I was able to get a telephone listing in the county stated on the certificate, for a “C. Holter”

 If I contacted any of my siblings would they even want to know me? Would I be rejected? Would I be accused of trying to ruin their lives by wanting to meet them, know them? What if the wonderful people I envisioned turned out to be mean and hateful? I knew that my birth mother had wanted to meet me, but I just didn’t know if anyone else would. The questions running through my mind seemed to be endless.

I nervously dialed the number.

“Hello?”

 “Hello, my name is Camille, and I live in Dallas, Texas. I’m doing some genealogy research; please tell me if you know any of these people - Forrest, Keith, Christopher, Jessica, or Miriam...”

The voice on the other end responded, “Yes, I am Chris.”

“Well, do you know any of the people I just mentioned?” My heart was pounding as I asked.

Then Chris replied, “Yes, that’s my family.”

I became choked up as I said, “I’m Camille, your sister.”

He replied, “Cool! How ya’ been doing?”

We began to talk and to share our lives. We poured out our hearts to each other for almost three hours, as if we could recapture the lost thirty years. “We were told of a sister, Camille, who lived in New Orleans. We thought it was hopeless to find you” Chris shared.

Over the next two months, I had many heartwarming conversations with my newfound siblings. My sister Jessica, a journalist, was able to have a copy of a photograph of our mother made at the newspaper where she worked. She sent it to me. After opening the envelope and seeing it, all I could do was to stand there in amazement. My hands shaking, I took the picture and peered deeply into the black and white photograph. This is her! This is what she looked like. I wish it could have been a video! I wanted to hear her voice, hear her laugh, see her smile. What were her mannerisms? What kind of things would she talk about?

One day, Dave told me, “It’s time to meet your family face to face. I’ll buy you a plane ticket and baby Rachael can go with you; I will take care of Ben and Bethany for you to go.”

 My heartbeat with joyous anticipation as March 7, 1991,  the long-awaited day finally arrived. The drive to the DFW airport was a long one for me.  

        My mind meandered back over the last thirty years, as I remembered the compelling desires that brought me to this day and the stories that were told to me...  

It all began at The Seven Sea’s bar, the pleasant stranger said to the man on the barstool, “Hi, how are you?”

"Fine, thank you, and you?"

“Oh, I’ve been better,” quipped the stranger “my name is Paul Schroder. Good to meet you. I was just thinking about my girlfriend Miriam. She’s pregnant, and needs to find a home for the baby.”

“Really?! My wife has had three miscarriages, and we desperately want a child. Let’s talk!”

Their meeting resulted in my being legally adopted at birth, just a couple of months later.

In the ’60s, the morning talk shows were filled with psychology. Guests warned parents about nutrition and fast foods, about the ill-effects of spanking children, and about the negative results of not telling children when they are adopted.

Before I even understood what the word “adopted” meant, I was told I was adopted. All my life relatives referred to me as “adopted.” I always felt loved, wanted, and chosen, but I also felt “adopted,” which made me different from my siblings. A natural curiosity ensued which developed into a burning need, a compelling and necessary need to know.

 During the flight to Oakland, California, my emotions intensified. What would my brothers be like? I wish my sister could be there too. Would they welcome me? Would they like me? The resolution of all of my life’s questions had been answered for me in only two short months. I felt a miracle was in the works which would transform my life. I was so excited and so very nervous.

As I exited the airplane off-ramp, there they were - Forrest and Keith, my “big” brothers, with their wives. “Oh God, I hope they like me” I whispered to myself as I descended the escalator, seeing them below waiting for me. I was to meet Chris later that day. When we were all together there was an instant bonding. My brothers were some of the most wonderful people I had ever met. My dry wit that had been so out of place at home was something we all had in common. THEY WERE LIKE ME! I WAS LIKE THEM! The house rocked with laughter that week-end. I wanted to savor every last minute with them.

There was one thing that really made me feel uncomfortable. Many times during quiet moments, I would notice they would all be intensely staring at me. I did not expect this, nor understand it and did not know how to react. Forrest recognized my discomfort.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Camille,” he said. We seem to be staring. It’s just that you are so like her - like our mom. He continued, “I wish you could have known her. She was a wonderful person.”

“And so talented,” added Keith. “She not only was an artist, she also played the piano and sang.” I proudly announced, “So do I!”

I learned many things about my mother that weekend. Her own mother died when she was young, and my mother had to be a mother and maid to her many brothers and her not-so-kind father. At the first opportunity, she eloped with a young soldier simply to get away from home. He was the father of Forrest and Keith and may have also been my father. Only a DNA test could reveal this mystery, but it was too costly for us. We’ll never really know for sure, but it doesn’t matter. This man was listed as “missing” by the military and my mother took up with someone else.

The one thing that I could not explain to my newfound family that first weekend we shared was why I was so grief-stricken over the death of a person I had never known. I found out that weekend from her dear friend Rosalind, my mother had mailed packages and written poetry for me. I never received these things from her. I wanted so badly to meet her, to let her know that I loved her and that it was okay that she had to give me away. That week­end, I was trying to deal with the reality of my mother’s death. I understood why no one ever found me. This understanding gave me peace.

All too soon, it was time to say good-bye.

We had a long tender group hug before I left for the plane terminal. The embrace was tender; it felt good. I felt complete, whole.

The first time we met.

My adoptive parents felt it in “our” best interest that this woman did not have any rights to me whatsoever. After all, she had willingly given up all of her rights.

My parents were afraid of any painful repercussions that might result which is understandable. I cannot be bitter in any way because I do not know what I would have done had the roles been reversed. In today’s news, there are horror stories of natural parents ripping babies from the loving arms of adoptive parents. Emotions of all parties involved in an adoption run very deep, are complicated and seem to grow in complexity as the years’ pass.

The plane left with its pensive passenger reflecting on the last four miraculous days. The kind lady sitting next to me spoke to engage me in conversation. I began to share my story with her. We talked for a long time, even though our landing and take-off in San Diego. We were interrupted by an announcement by one of the flight attendants.

“As we announced earlier,” she began, “I have a round trip ticket to give away in appreciation for your re-boarding so quickly in San Diego. We are now back on schedule. We don’t usually do this, so I’m not sure how exactly to go about this.. .If someone would come up here and sing a song, this ticket is yours.”

From a front-row seat of the plane, a man jumped up and grabbed the microphone before anyone else had a chance to respond. He crudely burst into a chorus of “Happy Birthday to you...” rather off-key. The passengers looked around at each other questionably as if to say, “Certainly this guy isn’t going to get that ticket!” The flight attendant reluctantly handed him the ticket and sat down.

I said to my new friend, “I wish I would have done that so that I could have had the chance to see my family again. I don’t know when we’ll afford another ticket!” Then I noticed the restroom was free and excused myself.

As I returned to my seat, the man who had won the ticket stood up and handed it to me.

“Happy Birthday!” he smiled.

The flight attendant announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, this young lady has just met her birth family for the first time this past weekend. This fine man has just given her the round trip ticket so that she can see them again.”

I stood in total amazement as everyone on board clapped and cheered. The dear lady sitting next to me told them my story when I was in the ladies’ room.

The very next week WAS my birthday. I know this was a part of God’s plan in answer to my life-long prayer.

We arrived in Dallas on schedule. Dave and the children seemed so happy to have “Mommy” home again. I could not stop talking about my visit to Oakland. In fact, I told anyone who would listen about my joyous experience.

A few days later, there was a knock on our door. A neighbor handed me a plane ticket to Oakland, California! She said, “Camille, I booked this flight way in advance, but can’t use the ticket because I’ll be in the middle of final exams. It was a deal where I couldn’t get my money back, so I hope you can use it. Oh, it is scheduled for a baby too!”

“Of course, I’m thrilled, but Dave will never let me go to Oakland in May. I just got back from there. It’s too soon!” I said, and she noticed the disappointment in my voice.

“Well, just keep it and use it if you can,” my friend responded, “and if you can’t, give it to someone who can. I’m off, now.” And, she was gone in a flash.

Between March and May there were three times that I could have given away the ticket to Oakland, but each time something inside stopped me. I didn’t know why, but I held on to the ticket even though I felt rather guilty about it.

Late one evening, my brother Keith called me with tragic news; his baby girl had been stillborn. The funeral was to be on May 16. I looked at the ticket my friend gave to me to Oakland, the date was for May 15.

Standing at my niece’s graveside, Keith turned to me and said “We could never understand how you could grieve so over someone you never knew. Now, we all understand. You know, Keri is in Heaven right now, and Mama is rocking her.” Keith then hugged me like a big brother does so well.

To this day, I believe that Keri was a part of God’s perfect plan. No one can really understand her death. Perhaps His purpose was to enable all of us to understand ourselves and the depth of our emotions and ties. We lost precious Keri, but somehow her death seemed to strengthen our family bond. She rests in a beautiful place. I look forward to the day we can meet her.

God has blessed my life so much. He helped me search for and find the answers I searched for in my life.  He directed me each step of the way to find my missing family and restore to me so much that it's hard to put it into words. 

I was never able to see my birth Mom or any of the art she created.  I'm sure it must have been beautiful.  She raised such wonderful children and had to have been an awesome person. My heart's desire is to use the talents, (that I inherited) to bless others and touch the hearts of those caught up in the routine of today's complex busy lifestyles.  

   Today Camille continues to keep in touch with her family in California. She currently lives in Louisiana and continues doing artwork, illustrating books, and paints.