The Extravagance of Butter

My grandmother left me with several pearls of wisdom before she passed far too soon. She was a tiny woman with a fiery spirit that matched her striking red hair. She was a suffragette and a flapper, from Upper New York State. She married my grandfather Rebel, a tall, handsome southerner whom I never got to meet. He was a career naval machinist whose ship was bombed at Pearl Harbor, but his death was attributed to lung cancer from his years in the hull of a ship.
Early in her career, my grandmother taught grade school. After my grandfather's death, she supported herself and her two young daughters working for San Diego Pacific Gas and Electric.

Grandma was a resourceful woman. She defied her physical stature, making up for her diminutive appearance with remarkable strength. I remember her most for her love of all things French, she spoke the language and fueled my dreams with stories of Paris. It was her encouragement that kept me on the path towards a career in art despite my parents urging to find something "more suitable" to do with my life than fashion illustration.

My grandmother taught me that life is much more enjoyable when you allow yourself certain extravagant treats. Perhaps it was the ban on butter during the war that made her so diligent about always having butter at the table. Her distaste for margarine angered my mother who maintained it was a waste of money to splurge on such things. I grew up with margarine and thinking that it was somehow my civic duty at the very least to be frugal. For mother, it was somewhat heretical to eat butter, unless I was at Grandma's.

When I became the head of my own household, and finding myself also raising children on my own, I rediscovered butter. There was just something about the extravagance it represented, despite supporting children on minimum wage while going to art school that made all the limitations and deprivations seem worth the while. Grandma was right.

​Today, I felt that same surge or blush of absolute decadence as I opened the box delivered earlier in the day from the UK. I purposely made myself complete the household tasks before opening the box. I wanted to savor every minute. As I slowly opened my new set of pastels, I allowed myself to absorb the beauty of the colors, the rich texture of each piece of hand crafted elegance and dreamed of what I might first create with them. This box of pastels has special significance to me because it is a gift, a prize actually, for a piece of artwork I created and then was brave enough to submit as an entry in an "art challenge" by a gifted artist/mentor/teacher I admire greatly, Emma Colbert. Her work is stunning and inspires me. (You can find her work here). 
​

I was so honored to win that challenge, no prize was necessary nor expected. But thanks to her generosity and that of the company who makes the pastels that she uses, I am now the proud owner of what is to me, the equivalent of the extravagance of butter. Just holding one of the Unison pastels is a clue to the quality of the product they sell. I have been dreaming of splurging on a particular set of Unison Pastels for some time. But like  many artists, it is hard to feel as if I am good enough to own such premium materials. To get the full scope of just how lovely and special these pastels are, visit the Unison Colour Website and watch the movie about the company's inception and standards they have set for themselves.
​
This prize is not only much appreciated but symbolic on many levels. I surprised myself by being brave enough to submit a piece of my artwork in the challenge. I was shocked beyond measure to have won. And now, I have promised myself to feel like I do in fact deserve this set of pastels. In  a recent email from Emma Colbert, she left me with a pearl of wisdom that speaks to that old nagging feeling of not being worthy somehow. Her words will go up on my wall as she reminds me - "But most of all, get them grubby and broken and enjoy them!" Now that is extravagant!

"Charlemagne" , Pastels, Laurie Kathleen Clark