An Uncommon Life

Kathryn Hutton

Although my siblings and I had a rocky childhood in some ways, I  send up a silent thanks to my mother Kathryn Hutton (wherever she may now be) for creating an early connection of art to life. As babies we dozed to Brahms and a little  later  toddled around to the dramatic score of Beethoven and Vivaldi. Our walls were covered with original art and bookshelves sagged under the weight of   Renaissance and modern art tomes.

Mom was a professional free lance artist. My earliest memories place her in the studio, bespectacled and working intently on her latest greeting card creation. She was a fine artist, but to pay the bills Mom worked for Gibson. Somehow she managed  to raise four children and maintain an art career through the decades it took to launch us into adulthood. Our father, a closet writer and visual artist himself, had a lesser impact during those same years. Mom was a burning inferno of emotion and creation, a parental presence difficult to compete with. Our father passed away in 1969, leaving some unpublished short stories and several paintings.

Mom encouraged us to create. She hated coloring books, insisting that we draw from our imaginations. We also sang when we were children; my brother Jeff had perfect pitch, triumphantly humming The Battlefield of the Republic at the age of three. My sister and I sang harmonies while we washed the dishes , belting out bawdy songs we’d learned from our favorite groups, The Chad Mitchell Trio and The Limeliters. And we wrote our own songs about the celebrities of the day. “Marilyn Monroe’s the Queen of the Screen” was our most notable.

An idyllic childhood? Far from it. But  the  artistic moments of my childhood offset  the agonizing ones. Being raised by artists planted my feet firmly on a path of creativity, still my greatest joy. – Merry

Children are natural artists and playacting is happily incorporated into their daily, unfettered lives. My granddaughter Ada is home-schooled, so all her creative urges are instantaneous.

“Grammy, there are fairy eggs growing in your yard!” This was an exciting discovery a year ago, in the spring. I had been sweeping pounds of soggy black oak leaves into piles in my driveway, collecting them for the compost pile. I looked up to see my 4 year old granddaughter sitting  next to the exuberantly uncontrolled ferns growing under the oak. “Look, I’m hatching one.”

She showed me the translucent round object she was tenderly warming under her rear end. There were dozens more surrounding her. “Wow! An entire tribe of fairies must have been through here!”

“Oh yes, Grammy! I’m going to hatch one!”

Ada patiently sat on her fairy egg for another twenty minutes–a remarkable length of time for this child to remain motionless.

“It’s not hatching!” she finally wailed.

“Maybe it takes a lot longer. Or maybe fairy eggs just hatch by themselves, without anyone sitting on them.”

“Okay, Grammy.” And she was off on another adventure.

What I love about spending time with Ada is  participating in her live and ongoing theater. She is so generous with her creativity!

When I was five years old I informed my mother, with great solemnity that, “I don’t need to learn how to read because I am going to be an artist when I grow up.” I was not interested in the Dick and Jane readers we were forced to recite in first grade. What was the point of learning to read that drivel?

So with great wisdom Mom bought me The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss. It  had a magical effect, and I became an avid reader.  I still admit to a penchant for the fanciful (Science Fiction) the surprising (Agatha Christie) and the profound (applied philosophy).

And true to my goal, I became an artist. That has been the constant in my life.

But I don’t feel “more special” than other people just because I  make a living by creating. After thirty-plus years of working in the arts as a profession, I feel more like an apostle of the creative path than anything else. I don’t care to hear “I could never do that!” from my customers. I like them to tell me what they do create. Some of them are great cooks, quite a few of them play an instrument and more than one has shyly told me that she makes jewelry!

Some of them have even sent me delightful photographs of their creations.

If there is one thing this planet could use more of, it is artists. I think Dr. Seuss would agree with me.

– Merry

I wish one of my ancestors had written his or her story. Can you imagine reading the first-hand account of how your great great great grandmother ground her own wheat and baked bread in a dutch oven in the fireplace? Or how Uncle Festos shot and skinned a moose with the help of his native American Indian friend?

If those long-gone relatives were able to read and write, they probably thought their lives were nothing special. Certainly not interesting enough to commit to pen and paper.

My own grandmother Eva journeyed to Arizona in a covered wagon, and her father fixed the broken wheel with the help of (so the story goes) Geronimo himself! At least she told us her story, but if it had been written in her own hand, how dear it would have been for all  her progeny.

Do you think your life is boring?

There is a lesson to be learned. Write your story,  and in the years and centuries ahead your family will  hear about our times from one of their own.

When I finished An Uncommon Life, I was aware that in the years ahead my grandchildren and their children would be able to share a life from the 20th and early 21st century. And this is apart from the story of their ancestor Cedar, their talented great great great Aunt whose life ended too soon.

Set aside a few minutes a day, and start typing! Sharing your story will be a gift for generations to come. – Merry

I just went to my brother Alex’s website and saw a painting that was new to me. It is especially gorgeous, and I am compelled to share it! I doubt Alex will mind, and perhaps you’ll be tempted to check out his work for yourself.

Alex is working now in New York, painting sets for Broadway and off-Broadway shows.

When we were kids, Alex and I were constant companions. We played in the dirt, composed songs together and generally ran around like little hooligans during those hot Ohio summers. In the winter, all four Hutton kids sat around the kitchen table and drew. Alex invented a comic book about a dashing young man called… Now what was his name? Maybe Alex remembers.

I’m very proud of my talented little brother.

By the way, the name of his website is huttonart.com

Go there and be amazed!

My mother, Kathryn Hutton, was a fabulous artist. Although she spent most of her life doing commercial art for a greeting card company and designing children’s Christian books (she was an agnostic herself) she was truly a fine artist. This portrait of an Angora cat is typical of her  artistic ability. My house is full of her work.

My walls also boast many luminous pastels and watercolors created by my brother Alex. Alex is mentioned in my book; he is a fine artist who works on Broadway and off-Broadway sets in New York.

But honestly, the artwork in my house that  touches my heart the deepest are the funny, irreverent pen and ink creations by my daughter Cedar. I have two of them hanging in my kitchen, and two in the living room above the piano. I have many more, as yet unframed. These stay protected in a portfolio, deep in her closet. But they deserve the light of day, so I will get them framed eventually.

It is an amazing thing to have my walls covered with original art, all created by people I have loved.

My mother passed away several years ago at the age of 90. An unfortunately, her portrait of this cat has also  disappeared. All we have left of it is this photograph, but according to family legend, the original hung in a Senator’s office in Washington D.C. for many years.  – Merry

This is an amazing little book, written by Brenda Ueland back in 1938. Do you want to write, draw, act or sing? Please read this book. I stumbled on it two decades ago, after which I bought a notebook and recorded daily thoughts for several weeks. I found that notebook not too long ago, and was amazed by the clarity and beauty of my scribbled notes,  so recently inspired by her book.

If anyone deserves the title of “creative writing teacher” it would be Ms. Ueland.

Here is what she says about you:

“Everybody is talented, original and has something important to say.”

One of the most irksome things ever said to me at one of my jewelry shows is “You are so talented! I could never do something like this!”

I want to say “Pshaw!” And sometimes I do, in so many words. After all, these are my fellow human beings.  I take it personally that my partners in life, my human relatives think they can’t create.

Read this book and change your mind! – Merry

I believe artists are crucial to the collective health of mankind. No matter the economy, the state of the environment, or how many wars our politicians manage to keep the rest of us involved in. Artists are the dream-makers and the condition changers.

My daughter knew this well. “I want to make a difference with my art,” she told me more than once. She was sensitive to the degrade of society, and really worried about the public schooling that her peers received. And she was tough, ready to take on society’s ills and do something positive. Her intention was to help send life spiraling back upward from the direction it was headed.

I think artists are more influential than politicians, because they can touch and change our hearts. – Merry

The fenced-in garden we had in California was a draw for rodents of all kinds. Besides the gophers who ate my bean plants (but I couldn’t bear to poison) a family of mice lived within its confines. Cedar was in the garden picking me some squash one evening, trailed by her beloved cat Molly, when she heard a frantic squeaking.

While Cedar had been searching for zucchini, Molly the Cat had focused her intention on a terrified mouse. Cedar bent down and put her hand next to the shivering ball of fur, and it leapt into her palm without hesitation. “Molly!” she scolded her cat while transporting the rodent to safety in the cucumber patch.

All animals loved and trusted Cedar. Although she had never ridden a horse, she made fast friends with our neighbor’s mare, offering her pats when she sidled up to the fence on our morning walks. And the little Shetland stallion that lived a couple properties over loved it when Cedar ran next to him while he playfully followed on the other side of the fence.

As a matter of fact, we became total vegetarians for years, mostly because Cedar was so upset by the appearance of chicken at the dinner table.  – Merry

My (almost) 6 year old granddaughter is a storyteller. Sometimes, to my great delight, she enhances the ones I tell her.

For the past two Christmases Ada has received handmade books from her “Grammy.”  These are stories I have created involving the various races of fairies that inhabit both our yards. For instance, here in Florida we have  mango fairies, grapefruit tree fairies, mushroom fairies and even starfruit fairies.

The adventures these little people take part in are subject to alteration and elaboration  by Ada throughout the year. She informs me that they have  babies, engage in what we humans might consider noxious behavior (such as eating bugs) and so forth. As you can see, Ada herself is a fairy, so it makes sense she would be so knowledgeable.