Mother-daughter bonding through jazz and art

Believe you me, my 30 odd-year artist/daughter has become an old soul.  She likes my music.

We were sitting in an outdoor café in Melbourne and the café was playing music by R&B, jazz singer Dinah Washington.  “What a difference a day makes, 24 little hours, brought the sun and the flowers where there used to be rain....” Suddenly, she pulled out her journal and started to scribble random notes like we were waiting for the rain to stop.  On a sun-streaked day?  She wrote:


“Picture an overcast sky of purpley-grey, with hints of peri-winkle blue sneaking through little cracks in the clouds.”

I smiled to think that she uses colors to describe her surroundings.  The color purple pops up in her paintings all the time.   I think it was inevitable for her to like this color when everything she grew up with had a mauve tint, definitely “Mama’s color,” while periwinkle blue and cornflower blue again hint of lilac, a few shades lighter than purple.  I showed her a sapphire stone from Sri Lanka (Ceylon) that was considered gem supreme.  She said, “Oh, Mama, the color is soft, very gentle like a floating cloud or a crystal lake.” 

“A park next to a bridge hosts a patch of grass so green, it looks as if it is laid with emeralds; and the river by it flows steadily, singing a sweet chorus to all those who choose to enjoy the afternoon.”

Immediately, I conjured “Walking in the Park with George,” a painting with the title “Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte” by 19th-century French artist George Seurat.  This artist introduced a unique technique called pointillism, where he painted with tiny dots of pure colors that blended into a single image in the viewer’s eye.   


 “The air is damp after a light drizzle of rain baptizes the city into the first day of a new planetary moon month.  I sit with Dinah by the riverbank with a fresh sandwich in my hand.  Sheer delight.”

Like my daughter, I loved to sit on a public bench that faced a cool and shady tree-lined street next to a Gothic cathedral.  It was my lunch break and in that brief respite, the park, the street and the populace put on a show for free:  A squirrel scampered up an acorn tree, a shiny, red fire truck flashed its lights and blew its siren in a mad dash to put out the fire, and a retired couple was admiring photos of their grandchildren while waiting for the tram to make a scheduled stop.  Mundane, ordinary?  Yes, but still worthy of note.    


 “Blue-collar workers are distracted by pigeons as they waddled nearby picking up nibbles.  ‘Lucky ducks,’ I thought.  Look, there are more breadcrumbs just 10 meters away. One hefty man gently lowers his hand and feeds his feathered friends.”

One of my favorite romantic movies, Sweet November, was filmed in 1968, starring Broadway actor Anthony Newley and leading lady Sandy Dennis.  (Newley composed songs like Who Can I Turn To, Goldfinger and Why as sang by teenage crooner Frankie Avalon in the early ’60s.)  In one scene, Dennis was teaching Newley that the soft, moaning calls that pigeons and doves make are known as cooing and that birds show a psychological eating pattern.  If you crack it, you will get these hungry birds pitter-pattering close to you and pecking from your extended hand.  I asked, “Is delving into the behavior of birds tantamount to acquiring a bird brain?”  

 “As I sit eating my sandwich and breathe in the cool air, I realize just how incredibly blessed I am.  Tiny miracles abound in each and every moment, and the space that surrounds us city folk holds so much magic, pleasure, and joy if only we were aware of it.”

It is in the one-ness of man with other living things that makes life abound with pleasure, gratitude, and purpose. 

 “A slight breeze assures me that there is no need for expectation or struggle now; rather, only a gentle surrender to the flow and the sweet appreciation of play in every day.  Dinah my dear, what a difference this day made, indeed.”

When we returned to her flat, my daughter turned on her music pod and played Dinah Washington again:  “Like the wind that shakes the bough, he moves me with a smile.  The difficult I’ll do right now, the impossible will take a little while.  I say I’ll care forever and I mean forever even if I have to hold up the sky.  Crazy he calls me, sure I’m crazy.  Crazy in love am I.”

“That’s spellbinding,” I thought.  Let us catch the moment before it slips through our fingers, like a song that has come to an end.  Remember, Time gives no reprise.

Ahh, Dinah, nothing like music to bind mother and daughter into one, dazzling chanson d’amour.