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April 30, 2006

Unsung Hero

Her brother was dying in the next room and Heather (above) was working hard to comfort her youngest brother and sister aged two and four.

The little ones knew something sad was happening but they weren't sure what it was.

All day long Heather kept an eye on the kids, nurturing, helping and comforting them.

Not only that, while her brother was preparing for his final journey, Heather took care of the household while her mum and dad, Dean and Denise, sat on the couch next to their dying son.

She helped prepare food, did the dishes, did the laundry and when she wasn't busy she lay on the couch next to Tylor and caressed his face and comforted his soul.

Heather was an incredible sister right to the very end. And still is.

Tylor died a year ago. Heather was only fifteen at the time.

I was thinking about her today and how incredibly special this young woman is.

Heather is so unselfish. I'm not sure if she knows what a huge difference she has made and continues to make for her family.

Throughout Tylor's entire treatment, Heather was the glue in the family. Not once did I hear her put herself first.

Not once did she ever let the incredible turmoil of her brother's treatment get in her way of being an angel on earth.

Not once did she ever use her brother's pain, for her own gain.

Oh sure, she has complaints. I mean, she's a regular teenager who has teen needs like boys and more boys, a car and clothes. But I have not heard her weave those needs into the pain and suffering that the family is still going through.

Due to Tylor's cancer and some awful luck, the family has been left in a financial bind. I know Heather needs a car and some cool clothes. I hope some small miracle will develop in the universe and work it's way toward Heather so she is rewarded for her bravery, compassion and downright decency.

I would like to take this opportunity to salute Heather and say I am honored to have her as a pretend adopted sister even though she's about to fire me for not calling her when I say I am.

Heather, you rock!

I love you.

Posted by trevor at 12:54 PM | Comments (4)

April 28, 2006

I met a girl once who would not tell me her name.

"Call me Doc," she said.

And I did.

She was a young doctor who had come to South Africa for a few months as part of a medical exchange program.

I met her during the last week of her trip.

"What do you think of South Africa?" I asked.

"Haven't seen much," she said mournfully in a thick Scottish accent. "All I've seen is the emergency room at Baragwanath hospital for the last six weeks."

"That's a shame," I said. "South Africa is beautiful. At least you should have gone to the Kruger National Game Reserve and seen some of the amazing wildlife."

"I know," she said.

My brain suddenly kicked into overdrive. She was attractive, a doctor, and really funny. I wasn't going to let this one go.

"When are you going back to Scotland?" I asked.

"Next week."

"What are you doing this weekend?"

"Not much, actually. I'm probably just going to pack my stuff up and get ready to leave."

Without taking anything into consideration, my mouth suddenly spoke without any permission from my brain.

"Wanna go up to the Kruger Game Reserve this weekend? It's only a five hour drive."

She didn't reply.

"You probably don't have time…"

"I do, actually…"

"Great," I replied.

"But, I don't really know you…" she began.

"That's okay. I don't really know myself," I said, "So you're not alone…"

She laughed.

"Okay," she said. "Separate…"

"Rooms." I said, quickly. "No problem."

Doc and I had the most incredible weekend together at the game reserve. We sat around the campfire and talked till dawn. We laughed. We played guitar. We told stories. We ate great food and we drank wine.

And for about three seconds - we almost kissed - during a stunning South African sunset.

Just as we were about to connect, she pulled away and sighed.

"This is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen," she said, her face bathed in the sunset's red and orange afterglow.

She had tears in her eyes.

We talked a lot after the sun had set, but no words were spoken.

During the weekend we took hundreds of photographs of the animals but she wouldn't let me photograph her.

"Why won't you let me take a picture of you? And why won't you tell me your name?" I pleaded.

"Because I'm falling for you," she said and I have another life in Scotland. I have a fiancée who is a surgeon and…"

"I understand," I said, quickly.

"Thank you," she said, touching my arm gently.

But I didn't understand. I wanted the whole trip to be a romantic Hollywood movie. I wanted to know her name so I could whisper it to her. I wanted to touch her pretty face. I wanted to run away with her. I wanted…well…you know what I wanted.

And as mysteriously as it all started, it ended.

She packed her bags and left.

I was a little upset, because she stole something from me that weekend.

Took a part of me with her. Something that belonged to me.

My favorite khaki shirt.

I suppose I'll never get it back.

Posted by trevor at 10:49 AM | Comments (5)

April 26, 2006

Silent Children

Today my heart goes out to all the Silent Children who are suffering in Darfur, West Africa and surrounding areas.

They have no food.

They have no shelter.

They have no dignity.

They have no voice.

May the prayers of a millions of starving children in Africa become one voice that reaches across the world to the ears of those who can make a difference in the lives of these helpless little souls.

God bless each and every one of them.

(If you would like to help these children, check out the incredible work that both Lisa Ling and George Clooney are doing on www.oprah.com)

Posted by trevor at 07:44 PM | Comments (0)

Gran

I stopped to say hello to the old lady at the end of my block today.

She was standing in her garden and watering her flowers. She lives by herself even though she's in her nineties.

"Hello Gran?" I said.

She looked up rather startled, then smiled warmly.

"You always say hello to me," she said.

I nodded, smiling.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because you are the cutest little ol' granny in the world," I said.

"Oh, hush," she said, "flapping her brittle, bony hand at me.

"It's true," I said. "I just want to hug you every time I see you."

"Well c'mon then," she said.

And I hugged her.

"Well, thank you," she replied in her thick Texas accent. "Now you have gone and done made my day."

I smiled all the way back to my studio.

I am so glad I done made her day.

Posted by trevor at 12:37 PM | Comments (0)

April 23, 2006

The Girl With The Hazel Eyes

I have been doing a new style of photo-watercolor painting and I was looking through some old photographs to work on.

I came across a picture that took me back to a wonderful moment during a memorable visit to Lesotho while on a film shoot I was directing.

During my "down" time I photographed the scenery on remote mountain roads around where we were shooting the commercial.

Every time we stopped to take a picture local kids came rushing out of the scrub, yelling "Sweets, sweets."

On my outings I carried a big bag of goodies to hand out to the kids as a treat, including candy, fruit and bread. I always took "stuff" to give the kids because they are so poor and impoverished and it just breaks my heart to see their tear-stained little faces. (Watch this space for information on an orphanage I would like to build there one day soon.)

At one particular stop I photographed almost ten kids. They were from a small village nearby and had chased the car for a half a mile before I noticed them yelling and waving from the cloud of dust behind the vehicle.

After handing out a bunch of candy and some bread and fruit, (and most of the money I had on me, because I felt so bad for these little ones) I sat on the hood of the car and reloaded my camera with a new roll of film.

A movement from a huge thorn tree just off the road caught my eye.

I looked over and noticed a young girl peering out from behind the tree. When she realized I had spotted her, she quickly ducked back behind the tree.

"Tell her to come and get some goodies," I said to the guide who was driving me around.

He called her over, but she stayed behind the tree.

I held up the candy for her to see.

She didn't budge.

I slowly got off the hood of the car and walked over to the tree holding out the bag. The guide walked with me.

I extended my hand to the girl and she reached around the tree and without showing her face took a handful of sweets.

"Don't be afraid," I said.

The guide translated.

The girl spoke back from behind the tree.

"She says she is afraid you will be scared of her," said the guide.

"Why should I be scared of her?" I asked.

The guide relayed the question.

The girl answered.

"She says you will be afraid because she is ugly," replied the guide.

"That's ridiculous." I said. "Tell her I'll show her that she's not ugly."

The guide spoke to the girl and after a lot of banter and coaching her talked her out from behind the tree.

I caught my breath as the girl came into full view. I could not help staring at her.

She was beautiful.

She had the most amazing, haunting, luminous hazel eyes I have ever seen.

"Ah ha!" said the guide. "She is hiding because of her eyes. African people do not have those colors in their eyes. I'm sure the witch doctors think she is bad luck. That's probably why she is not playing with the other kids."

"That's so sad," I said. "She's incredible, but she's an outcast. It's ridiculous."

"We are very superstitious people,' said the guide, grinning. "Things like that are considered a sign from the gods."

"Tell her I want to show her the most beautiful thing she has ever seen in her life," I said.

The guide passed on my words.

The girl looked over at me shyly. Then the guide said something and she smiled.

"What did you say to her?" I asked the guide.

"I told her what you said." He replied. "Then I told her not to worry because the only ugly thing around here was you, not her, because you are so white."

The guide and I burst into laughter.

"Am I really ugly?" I asked him.

"A little," he replied.

We both laughed again and this seemed to put the girl at ease.

I took out my Polaroid camera and positioned myself in front of the girl.

She leaned forward and peered closely at the strange looking object in my hand.

I took the picture.

The picture popped out of the camera and I waved it gently in the African heat to let it dry.

After it had developed fully, I showed it to the girl.

"You are beautiful," I said to her.

The guide translated.

I handed her the picture.

I will never forget the look on her face. She held the picture like it was the most delicate thing she had ever handled in her life.

"Is this me?" she asked the guide.

He nodded.

The little girl glanced up and said something.

The guide looked like he was about to cry.

"What did she say," I urged. "What did she say?"

"She said," he replied, softly. "I AM beautiful."

Posted by trevor at 10:13 AM | Comments (6)

April 20, 2006

Just For The Day

Dear Trevor,

Hi this is Denise. Just want to drop a line and say hello. I've been thinking a lot about you and wanted to say thank you again for the awesome trip to L.A. that you and your crew sent our family on. It has been almost a year today that our family spent what would be our last vacation together, and a very special one it was.

That trip was one of Tylor's dreams and because of you caring so much, you made that happen for him and all the family.

Today would have been Tylor's 15th birthday.

I am missing him so very much. I miss him every day, but today is even harder. No birthday cake to make, no gifts for him to open, no birthday cards, just a broken heart , lots of tears and the memories of the birthdays before.

I think about the day he was born and how perfect he was. So healthy and beautiful. It breaks my heart to talk about him in past tense. I was thinking about how you said when you have a lot on your mind you paint or draw or write and how it helps you to feel better. Well, as we all know, I can't paint or draw, but writing really helps. I have written a poem for Tylor' birthday and I would love to share it with you:

Just For The Day.

Dear God ,
May I be excused just for the day
from the lessons of life in this huge classroom
where we live and learn?

I am finding the lessons of this earth too hard to learn.

Just for the day, can I stop to rest in a quiet place
and lay down my head.

As you know, I have lost my son,
and the role is too hard for me to play on this day,
the words spoken are false
my face is a mask, and my smiles are fake.
The only truth I see is love, and that I find hard to see today


So please, God
may I have this day
just for me
no worries
no lessons
no pain
just my inner peace that's been missing for some time.

Please God may I be excused.
Just for the day?

Posted by trevor at 08:55 AM | Comments (3)

April 18, 2006

And then...

So I walk into my studio this morning and there she is - my muse- standing alongside the picture I painted yesterday.

"Nice," she said.

"I'm so happy with it," I replied.

"This could be a new style for you," she said.

"I hope so," I said. "I really like the way it turned out."

"Wow, I just love this part of the script." She said.

"What script?" I asked.

"The script of your life."

"The script of my life?"

"Yeah. The script says you're going to look at the picture you painted yesterday (below) and say to yourself, "I love this picture but can I do another one that's as good?"

"Hey, that's exactly what I just said to myself."

"Yeah, I know," she said. "I wrote this episode."

"What happens next?" I asked.

"Well," she said. "You either freak out because you don't remember what you did... and you're scared to fail...and you never try to do another one of these paintings or…"

"Yes," I said eagerly.

"Or you get off your little South African backside and paint another picture."

"But…"I said. "I think I need some paper and I think l should try some other paints and I think…"

"Blah, blah, blah," she said. "You're thinking too much. Don't think...just paint."

So I did. (Above.)

I can't wait for her to tell me what she thinks I'm going to do next.

Posted by trevor at 04:24 PM | Comments (10)

April 17, 2006

Today two art forms collided in my studio and my whole being erupted with the most incredible sensation I have ever experienced.

I cannot describe the power of the electricity that surged through me.

It was so strong I found it difficult to breathe.

I have been taking photographs for a long as I can remember. I have always been a competent photographer but never quite as good as I wanted to be.

I have been dabbling with watercolors for years. I have always been a competent watercolorist, but never quite as good as I wanted to be.

I was sitting in my studio today having a heart to heart with my muse. We were discussing the move "Whale Rider." (I saw a documentary on the making of the movie last nigh and was moved so deeply that I thought about it all night and again this morning.)

"I would love to create a peice of art that touches people like that movie touched me," I said.

"What would it take to do that?" she said.

"I don't know," I replied, gazing out of the window at the doves drinking from the water fountain outside my studio.

"What do you think it would take?" she asked.

"If I could actually combine the photographs I took in Africa with the lose watercolors I like to paint…"

"What's is stopping you?"

I shrugged and walked over to my photo file. (I love humoring my muse.)

I found a picture of a young African boy with haunting eyes. I remember taking that picture in Kei Mouth, South Africa.

I scanned the photograph and printed it out in a light sepia tone on heavy watercolor paper. I then took my watercolors and some white gauche and slowly massaged the photograph with the paint.

I sprayed the picture with fixative and came back with some more watercolors.

I did not look up for a second.

I felt like I was part of the painting and it was part of me.

I had no plan. I let the picture tell me where to paint.

When I finally stood back and looked at the picture I couldn't believe the image that had developed on the desk in front of me. (See above.)

I was amazed!

The muse was amused.

Today, for the first time in my life I have succeeded in putting down on paper the pictures I have seen in my mind for over forty years.

It made me cry.

I wish my dad were here to experience this with me.

I think he would have cried too.

Posted by trevor at 08:03 PM | Comments (10)

April 14, 2006

I have spent a lot of time with kids who have been dealt devastating blows in their lives, many of those suffering from cancer.

In all that time I have not seen many of those kids complain or whine about their lot in life.

Yesterday, I witnessed a friend’s fifteen year-old daughter experiencing some earth-shattering news.

It was tragic!

Why? Because her mother had confiscated her cell phone. The girl had racked up over three hundred and fifty dollars in calls in one month.

The girl had a melt down. She threw a tantrum and kicked and screamed like a possessed person. She was sitting in the back of the car and kicking so hard I thought she was going to destroy the front seats.

Poor kid. It must be really hard to suffer like that.

Posted by trevor at 03:32 PM | Comments (0)

April 13, 2006

Free

Dana was a great kid. She was sixteen and had lost a leg to cancer. I was visiting her at Brackenridge Children's Hospital a number of years ago.

It was dusk and the room was swimming in a beautiful twilight purple.

"Hey girl," I said kissing her on the cheek and sitting down on the chair next to the bed.

"Hey," she said, smiling.

Dana's eyes always sparkled when she smiled.

"You have the best smile," I said. "It's funny. You're the one who is sick, but for some reason I feel better when I see you. "

Dana smiled even more.

"Man, I don't know how you manage to find anything to smile about with all of this ," I said, looking around the room.

"Well, I learned a little trick from you that sometimes helps," she said, chuckling.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

I really wasn't sure what she was referring to.

"Remember when we first met," she said. "And you told me about how you would lay on your bed when you were a kid and imagine you were a wild horse running in a field"

"Yeah!" I said, smiling. "When I was a child I was really sick with Glandular Fever and I was in bed for a few months. It was awful and I felt so claustrophobic. To escape I used to imagine that I was a horse galloping across a green field."

"I haven't forgotten that story," said Dana. "And when I feel trapped in here with all these tubes and wires I imagine that I'm on a mustang galloping as fast as I can. I feel the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. And in my dream I have hair. Very long hair. Not like this wig. Thinking about being a horse really helps me to take my thoughts away from here."

I smiled. I was so happy that Dana was able to use her imagination to give her mind a vacation. A well-deserved break from the pain and sadness she sometimes felt while stuck in a gloomy hospital room for weeks on end.

"I think when I die, that's what's going to happen," she said "I'm going to ride a white horse with a long flowing mane right up through the fluffy clouds all the way to heaven."

And a few months later, she did.

Posted by trevor at 10:26 PM | Comments (0)

April 11, 2006

More Than Meets The Eye

I was looking through some of my old drawings today and came across the piece above.

This is one of my favorite drawings and fills my heart with warmth every time I uncover it in my file drawer.

The series was done while I was mourning the death of my father. Each and every pencil stroke in the drawing was created with a powerful mixture of graphite, tears and prayers.

Looking at the picture reminds me of a young African lady I once met during a visit to Swaziland.

She was sitting on the side of the road carving miniature little elephants out of dark little chunks of wood. They were very simple but so beautiful.

"These are so wonderful," I said, marveling at one. "They are so tiny I don't know how you can see what you are doing."

"I don't see what I am doing," she said. "I feel what I am doing."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I carve them with my eyes closed," she said, smiling. "I meditate to God while I am working. I can feel with the tips of my fingers where to carve. That way I put a little bit of God in each piece."

Posted by trevor at 10:28 PM | Comments (0)

April 08, 2006

The Light Inside

"These are two of the pictures I painted in Trevor's studio. The top picture is about heaven and hell and everything crazy in between. The bottom picture is the World Trade Center during 9/11. Obviously you can see the two buildings in green and the wild stuff going on beneath them. The black spots are those who survived. The yellow spots are the souls of the people who died. And the red, well, that's the bloodshed. The purple above is heaven and the white spots are the waiting angels." - artist, Ashlin Williamson (11 years old)

Last year the Williamson family talked me into giving weekly art lessons to their young eleven year-old son, Ashlin.

At first I was reluctant to teach art because I am a new artist myself, I have never trained as an art teacher and don’t know a bloody thing about teaching art. (Actually, I'm not sure what the word art means anyway.) Besides, I was a little short on time as I was writing three books, working on a video series, writing a blog, trying to avoid trouble and drinking loads of tea.

I shared my concerns with his parents and they said, “That’s okay. Just show him what you do.”

Then I met Ashlin. A small boy with round glasses, a mop of curly hair and a magnificent smile that lights up his face and embraces anyone within twenty feet of him.

Within thirty seconds I agreed to 'attempt to' teach young Ashlin how to draw and paint. (I must admit, I had a few sleepless nights worrying about how I was going to teach "art".) I eventually decided to help him learn how to "express" himself rather than attempting to "teach" him how to paint or draw.

Well, we’ve been creating "art" for over a year now and Ashlin has taught me more about life and overcoming obstacles than I’ve taught him about art.

I must say, in little over a year, his creativity has blossomed. He started by doing tiny, smudgy, pencil sketches and now paints large canvases. He has gone from wanting to draw cartoon video-game anime characters killing each other, to painting INCREDIBLE canvases often with deep philosophical interpretations. (He is amazingly insightful for an eleven year old.)

To tell you the truth. I did not do very much. I showed him how to hold a paint brush. I introduced him to different art materials and I helped him to focus. (Which he and I find hard because we are both dyslexic.)

After about eight months, Ash found his "style" when I put him in front of a huge canvas with an array of acrylic paints at his feet. I put on some music and I told him to open his soul and let his feelings out. (The result is what you see above and believe me the photos do not do the work justice.) It was almost a religious experience to witness him seeing the light. It was amazing to watch him dancing around the canvas and applying paint. The look on his face was priceless.

It is heartwarming to see a kid - who only a year ago hid behind his mop of curly hair -now stand proudly in front of his art and explain the meaning of his work. Gone is his fear of people staring and whispering about his cleft palate and scars under his nose. (Ashlin has had twelve surgeries on his face. The last when, I believe, bone was taken from his hip and attached to his jaw.) His inhibitions and social fears have been replaced with a beaming albeit slightly crooked smile as he proudly displayed his colorful expressive work, which in essence, represents his outlook on life.

I'm not saying that my art lessons with Ashlin were responsible for his incredible growth. (Although I'd love to.) But I honestly believe being able to express himself has added so much to his life.

I held an exhibition of Ashlin's art in my studio last year for his friends and family. This was his first one-man show and the beginning of what I believe will be a great career. (He sold a bunch of work that day. Granted it was to friends and family, but he sold none the less.) During the opening he said, “This must be the best I’ve ever felt in my life. It’s so good to feel worthwhile. I feel valuable.” (I think he meant to say valued, but little does he know how valuable he really is.)

I’m looking forward to my next art lesson (therapy session) with Dr. Ashlin. I can’t wait to see what I’m going to learn about life from him next week.

Posted by trevor at 02:13 PM | Comments (5)

April 06, 2006

The Reading

I have written about a wonderful twelve year-old named Megan Stento before, but I was reminded of her yesterday and thought I'd share her story once more:

Megan was an amazing twelve-year-old girl who taught me how to turn feathers into wings.

I remember visiting Megan at the hospital one morning and telling her about a new book I had just written called "The Other Side Of the Invisible Fence". (Which is unfortunately out of general circulation, but available on my web site.)

“I’m going to dedicate the book to you, I said.

“Thanks,” whispered Megan softly, with parched, dry lips. "That means a lot to me."

Megan was a beautiful child with a smile that could reach across an entire room. The effects of chemotherapy and grueling radiation sessions did not dampen her wonderful demeanor.

“As soon as the book comes out, I’ll read it to you,” I offered.

Megan said nothing for a few seconds. Then she said, “You’ll have to read real loud if I’m in heaven.”

She turned to me and smiled.

“I will.” I said. “If you die before this book comes out I’ll climb on the roof of my house and read so darn loud you’ll hear me all the way up there."

Megan fought an incredible battle, but she was no match for the savage cancer that ripped her body apart from the inside out. She died only days after our conversation.

Megan’s mom Becky spoke to me after the funeral. “You are going to keep you promise to Megan aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” I said, fighting back my tears.

Becky called me later that day and asked if the family could come over to my house when I climbed on the roof to read the book. She thought it would be a good memorial to Megan.

“Absolutely,” I told her.

“Becky called me the next day and asked if I wouldn’t mind very much if Megan’s class came to the reading on the roof.

“I would love that.” I told her.

A few days later the principal of the school called and asked if the entire school could come to the reading on the roof.

That’s when I said, “I don’t think it’s possible. My garden is too small.”

Well, that did not stop Becky Stento. By the next morning she had arranged for me to do the reading on the roof of the Laguna Gloria Art Museum here in Austin. The location was ideal. The two-story building had a flat roof with a deck on it and was surrounded by a beautifully manicured green lawn.

It rained the entire week before the reading and we were fearful that the reading might not take place. Then on the morning of the event, as I climbed the stairs to the roof, the sun came out and bathed the entire garden in a warm golden light.

Once on the roof I leaned on the little wall surrounding the deck and looked over the edge.

My heart stopped.

Sitting on the lawn on chairs and blankets were almost a thousand people. I still do not how so many of them heard about the event.

The entire crowd was completely silent. The only sound I heard was the chirping of happy birds in the woods surrounding the lawn and the occasional barking of a dog way off in the distance.

The silence touched me in ways I cannot describe.

I looked up into the sky...and read the book to Megan.

Posted by trevor at 09:44 AM | Comments (2)

April 04, 2006

It was one of those days today:

I bit my tongue while eating.

I got soap in my eye while washing my face.

I could not get the key out of the lock in the front door.

A family member hurt my feelings.

I tore the seat of the car while trying to transport a bicycle.

A clerk in a store barked at me when I asked a question.

My day was really crappy until I saw the picture of Sidique on my desk. Sidique is one of our Candlelighters Childhood cancer Foundation kids.

This amazing young boy has learned to fight the odds with an attitude that is so beautifully reflected in his smile. Cancer has not robbed him of his ability to brighten the world with his brilliant soul!

I was wallowing in my own self-pity today and seeing the joy of life on Sidique's face made me realize once again... that the world does not revolve around me.

How wonderfully humbling.

(Photo ©Jed Share)

Posted by trevor at 09:36 AM | Comments (2)

April 01, 2006

Enquiring Mind

I was giving my five-year old godson Oz a piggyback during our walk this morning and we were having a deep discussion about the value of 'time' in our lives.

"How many seconds are there in a week?" he asked.

"Millions." I replied.

"What comes after a million?"

"A billion."

"And what comes after a billion?"

"A trillion."

"Oh. And what comes after a trillion?"

"I don't know?" I said. "I could find out though."

"Maybe you should Google," he said.

"Google huh?"

"Yeah."

How old are you Oz?" I asked. "Thirty-five?"

"No silly. I'm five."

Posted by trevor at 06:21 PM | Comments (3)