The invisible woman
Maggie had been unable to have children. She and Edward considered adoption when they were younger but eventually focused on their careers. Over the last few years, Maggie complained to Edward that she was becoming an old woman. Her hair had grayed, her eyes required glasses and despite yoga and walking, it was harder to keep the weight down.
“You’re a beautiful woman, inside and out,” sweet Edward would always say. And while she owned a dynamite smile, big brown eyes, and attractive features, she knew that the passage of time can be unkind.
“I was walking into Starbucks yesterday,” Maggie told Melissa a few weeks after her retirement, “and these three good looking young men were strolling out. The three of them walked right past me. It was like I was invisible.”
Melissa frowned and put her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “Sweetie, you’re a beautiful, smart, talented woman.” Maggie smiled at the comment and said, “Yeah, but let’s face it. When you’re in your sixties, fewer men turn around and admire you. It’s not that I want to reclaim my youth. I guess I just feel kinda adrift and alone.” Melissa gazed at a small painting on the wall of Maggie’s living room.
“Didn’t you paint that?” Both women gazed at the artwork and Maggie said, “Yeah, I painted that five years ago. The design firm sent several of us to take a workshop with an amazing California artist named Kathleen Dunphy, to help us improve our landscape art. It was wonderful. We painted in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. Edward and I talked about me getting into fine art, but I never did much with it.”
Melissa smiled and said, “Maybe it’s time you revisited that.”
The wisdom of Christopher Reeves
The following week Maggie was getting her mail when she came across her neighbor, Douglas. Douglas was a paraplegic military veteran, confined to a wheelchair ever since an IED in Iraq altered the trajectory of his life. He was also an accomplished watercolor artist, and Maggie realized he might have some tips to help her dive into fine art.
“Douglas, may I invite you over for some coffee and scones? Now that I’m retired from the design firm, I’m thinking about getting back into fine art. I’d love to get your advice.” Douglas grinned and said, “You know, each scone requires about fifteen laps around the neighborhood to work off! But you have a date.”
Later, at Maggie’s house, she brought a tray with coffee and scones and the two talked. Maggie shared her feelings of uncertainty. “I feel lost, Douglas. Maybe it’s too late to start over with a fine art career?”
“You know, Maggie, after Iraq I thought my life was over. But then I remembered how much I loved the artwork. I used to enjoy watercolors and started back up. I fell in love with artists like Keiko Tenabe and Brienne Brown. So I took workshops, painted like crazy, and now I’m selling work in several galleries.”
“That’s amazing, Douglas. But I’m in my sixties. Even if I get back into painting, I feel like I’m too old to accomplish much with it.” Maggie frowned as she said this.
“Maggie, do you know what the actor Christopher Reeves once said? ‘I think a hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure despite overwhelming obstacles.’ I love that quote. Besides, there are lots of artists who found success later in life.” With that, Douglas took a sip of coffee and nibbled on his scone.
“Oh really, name one,” Maggie said.
“Millard Kaufman wrote his first novel, ‘Bowl of Cherries,’ when he was 90 years old. Kathryn Bigelow was nearly 60 when she directed ‘The Hurt Locker’ and ‘Zero Dark Thirty.’ She won an academy award. The artist Louise Bourgeois created drawings, prints, and sculptures all her life, but only became well known in her early 70s after a 1982 retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art in New York.” Douglas took another bite of his scone, pleased with himself.
“Wow, I guess it’s never too late to chase your passion and follow your dreams,” Maggie said. “All this time, I’ve been feeling sorry for myself. I guess I should dust off my french easel and get busy painting?” She smiled at Douglas, admiring his spirit and wisdom. And then he leaned forward and said something very profound.
“Maggie, we celebrate beauty, youth, and child prodigies. We overlook the determined souls who overcome obstacles and whose stunning accomplishments arrive later in life. To achieve in one’s golden years, despite the indignities of aging, is more remarkable to me than the early success of some wunderkind. It’s not too late, Maggie. It’s not too late to embrace the next chapter of your life!”
No, it’s not too late
Inspired by Douglas’ wisdom, Maggie found her old french easel in the attic and threw herself back into painting. Much to her surprise, she hadn’t forgotten how to craft a pleasing painting. She remembered many of the lessons Kathleen Dunphy taught her.
With summer just a few weeks away, Maggie decided it was time to take a workshop and update her artistic skills. She always admired the artwork of Scott L. Christensen, and decided to travel to Victor, Idaho, and attend one of his workshops. She knew the workshops were popular and filled up fast.
Maggie phoned Christensen’s studio and spoke with an assistant about the upcoming workshop. “I’m recently retired and praying that there’s still room in the workshop,” Maggie pleaded. The assistant was pleasant and kind, stating, “Let me check the roster and see.”
Maggie thought of her late husband, Edward, and her friend Melissa’s kind support. She remembered her workshop with Kathleen Dunphy in California. She reflected on her neighbor Douglas, and his uplifting encouragement. She held her breath as the workshop assistant checked the roster. And then the assistant said, “No, it’s not too late. We have one opening left.”
A few tears of joy came to Maggie’s eyes. “No, it’s not too late,” Maggie said to the assistant. “Not too late at all. Go ahead and sign me up.”
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Before you go
I’m John P. Weiss, an artist and writer. Get on my free email list here for the latest creative work.
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This post was previously published on Medium.
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Illustration by John P. Weiss