Studio Blog
The profound bond between humans and the natural world is deeply ingrained. Throughout history, our lives have been intertwined with the rhythms of nature.
From ancient civilizations to the present day, humans have depended on nature for survival, refuge, and creative stimulation. Yet, our link with the environment transcends mere practicality. There exists a spiritual and emotional dimension to our rapport with the natural realm that stirs something profound within us.
I had to honor to be featured in the "Handmade Sellers" Magazine. WoooHooo!
Forgot to mention this to anyone (it's a winter issue from back in January- #77).
You can subscribe for free: https://handmadeseller.com/subscribe/
Thank you for taking the time to look over this article. If you’d like to learn more about my story go to: https://www.camillebarnesstudio.com/studio-blog/camilles-story
I had probably one of the most unique studio experiences ever. It’s just a typical day in the studio, paperwork scattered across my desk. My sweet little grand-darling who was only about 6 months old at the time, was spending the afternoon with me. I had her on my hip while walking into my studio area to get some paperwork. Little did I know that this innocent visit would turn into one of the most amusing and heartwarming experiences in my art career.
As I sorted through the paperwork, my grand-darling began babbling away, completely captivated by something in the room. I turned to see her smiling and cooing at none other than CMS Sapp's portrait. I couldn't help but chuckle at the unexpected interaction. It was as if she was having the most animated conversation with the stoic figure on the canvas.
I couldn't resist mentioning this adorable encounter to CMS Sapp himself. His reply was , "Well, babies have always liked me."
A Touch of Magic: In that whimsical moment, I realized that art has the power to transcend boundaries. It can captivate the imaginations of the youngest souls and create a world where anything is possible. Who's to say that CMS Sapp's portrait didn't have a secret charm that caught the attention of my grand-darling? Perhaps she sensed his bravery and esteemed presence, even at such a tender age.
That day, my studio transformed into a realm of innocence, laughter, and unexpected connections. It reminded me of the joys that art brings, not only to the artist but to all those who encounter it. In the future, I will always remember the sight of my grand-darling smiling and babbling away, entranced by a portrait that seemed to possess a baby-friendly aura.
It’s become a studio memory I will always cherish. It’s a reminder of the magic that art can create. It's these delightful and humorous moments that make our artistic journeys all the more meaningful. So, here's to the joyous wonders that unfold when little ones and portraits have a lively chat—truly a tale for the ages.
Nature has an incredible power to nurture and heal, offering numerous benefits for our physical and mental well-being. Research shows that spending time in nature can lower stress levels, boost mood, and improve overall health. The fresh air, sunlight, and peaceful surroundings provide a natural antidote to the fast-paced, technology-driven world we live in.
When we immerse ourselves in nature, our senses come alive. The gentle rustling of leaves, the scent of flowers, and the sight of vast landscapes evoke a sense of tranquility and awe. Studies have found that spending time in green spaces can reduce blood pressure, improve cardiovascular health, and boost the immune system.
Nature also has a profound impact on our mental health. It has been shown to alleviate symptoms of anxiety, depression, and improve cognitive function. The serenity of nature helps quiet the mind and promotes mindfulness, allowing us to be fully present in the moment and find inner peace.
Whether it's a leisurely walk in the park, a hike in the mountains, or simply sitting by a peaceful lake, nature offers a sanctuary for rejuvenation and restoration. It reminds us of our connection to the Earth and the importance of preserving our natural environment.
Incorporating nature into our daily lives is essential for our well-being. Take the time to unplug, step outside, and soak in the beauty of the natural world. Embrace the healing power of nature and let it nourish your body, mind, and soul.
I have often found it hard to believe in myself. I have been hesitant to push the limits, as time has progressed I have tried and do believe that almost anyone can achieve extraordinary success if they come to a place where they move past the place of “I think I can, I think I can” to the place of “I know I can, I know I can”. (adapted from The Little Engine That Could)
In our bustling lives, nature's mercy often goes unnoticed. Yet, it surrounds us, offering solace and healing. Nature's mercy is a powerful force that reminds us of our interconnectedness and the importance of nurturing our lives.
Nature extends its merciful touch to those seeking peacefulness and a place of refuge. A stroll through a serene forest, the gentle rustling of leaves, or the soothing sound of a babbling brook can provide much-needed respite from the chaos of daily life.
Nature teaches us the art of forgiveness and regeneration. After a destructive storm, it rebuilds, rejuvenates, and offers new beginnings. It reminds us that even in the face of adversity, there is always hope and the possibility of renewal. Nature's mercy invites us to forgive ourselves and others, allowing room for growth and transformation.
Nature's mercy is a reflection of its profound interconnectedness. I believe that God speaks to us through nature and it’s beauty, it teaches us the value of compassion, reminding us that we are part of a greater whole.
As recipients of nature's mercy, it becomes our responsibility to protect and preserve it. By practicing sustainable living, advocating for conservation efforts, and fostering a deep respect for the natural world, we ensure that future generations can also experience the grace and mercy of nature.
Nature's mercy is an invaluable gift that we often overlook. I love landscape art because it helps in bringing the beauty of the outside world into out homes, office and building where we stay shut off from nature most of the time (well, for most of us).
It is true that God works in mysterious ways, and his ways have been a mystery to me. I oftentimes felt like a detective trying to unlock some of the mysteries surrounding my life.
I was given up for adoption at birth. In fact, my adoptive parents graciously babysat my two older brothers at the time of my birth. As I grew into childhood, I was told many stories of my two older brothers, Forrest and Keith. Forrest was the quiet one, and Keith was the one with a bubbly personality. I was told how precious they were and I began to love them. Pictures of them were being saved for me, but tragically, they were lost during Hurricane Betsy in 1965 when our home flooded. I never saw these pictures, which I would have treasured.
I was also told about my birth mother, a single mom, a hippie, who was quite petite and soft-spoken. She eventually moved to California, I was to learn later on not only did I have big brothers, but also a little brother and a little sister. Wow! During my early life, my thoughts drifted away many times as I wondered about this long-lost family. Where were they? Did I resemble them in any way? My teachers labeled me as a "daydreamer" at school. I spent a lot of time thinking about art stuff and envisioning my long-lost family.
As the years passed, subsequently my adoptive parents were blessed with four children. As a child, I would escape to my room to find quiet time to draw and paint, my most favorite pass time, my hobby.
I grew into adulthood and I married an incredible man. We were blessed with a precious son and two beautiful little girls. Yet, I felt there was a void and emptiness in my life. The stories of my lost family helped some, but they were only bits and pieces of a puzzle (the puzzle of my life), which had so many missing pieces. I had been given facts and information but because there was no memory of this past, I had empty spaces in my heart - empty, empty places crying out to be filled. I felt as though I was expected to regard my birth family as dead, non-existent - if not literally, then symbolically.
In the summer of 1990, my adoptive mom gave me enough information for me to begin my search - my search for that lost part of myself. She told me that my birth mom had wanted to meet me for many years. She would come to New Orleans occasionally and contact the family about meeting me. I was so excited to know that she wanted to know me. Without the advent of internet and the amazing technology we now have today, my search was difficult. I spent many months making phone calls and searching records.
On January 22, 1991, I went to the genealogy department of the downtown Library in Dallas, Texas. I spoke with the librarian about my search, but was told they were quite limited with recent information. Further, census information is not made public for seventy years, which meant census information taken during my lifetime could aid my search was not available to me. My heart sank within me.
“But I do have a few states on file with some current stuff,” the librarian told me, hoping to lift my spirits. The librarian left to go look up the files in another room. My heart raced with excitement, after all these years I am now closer than ever to finding my birth mom.
A short while later, the librarian somewhat reluctantly walked over to me and handed me a paper. To my absolute shock, it was something that I had never expected, nor was I prepared for. I read the words “DEATH CERTIFICATE”. It was my mother’s death certificate. Emotion overwhelmed me, this successful search gave me joy, but the finality of the word “death” washed over me like a tidal wave, I was overcome with grief and tears raced down my face.
When I regained my composure, I examined the document. Alameda County was mentioned. That evening I was able to get a telephone listing in the county stated on the certificate, for a “C. Holter”
If I contacted any of my siblings would they even want to know me? Would I be rejected? Would I be accused of trying to ruin their lives by wanting to meet them, know them? What if the wonderful people I envisioned turned out to be mean and hateful? I knew that my birth mother had wanted to meet me, but I just didn’t know if anyone else would. The questions running through my mind seemed to be endless.
I nervously dialed the number.
“Hello?”
“Hello, my name is Camille, and I live in Dallas, Texas. I’m doing some genealogy research; please tell me if you know any of these people - Forrest, Keith, Christopher, Jessica, or Miriam...”
The voice on the other end responded, “Yes, I am Chris.”
“Well, do you know any of the people I just mentioned?” My heart was pounding as I asked.
Then Chris replied, “Yes, that’s my family.”
I became choked up as I said, “I’m Camille, your sister.”
He replied, “Cool! How ya’ been doing?”
We began to talk and to share our lives. We poured out our hearts to each other for almost three hours, as if we could recapture the lost thirty years. “We were told of a sister, Camille, who lived in New Orleans. We thought it was hopeless to find you” Chris shared.
Over the next two months, I had many heartwarming conversations with my newfound siblings. My sister Jessica, a journalist, was able to have a copy of a photograph of our mother made at the newspaper where she worked. She sent it to me. After opening the envelope and seeing it, all I could do was to stand there in amazement. My hands shaking, I took the picture and peered deeply into the black and white photograph. This is her! This is what she looked like. I wish it could have been a video! I wanted to hear her voice, hear her laugh, see her smile. What were her mannerisms? What kind of things would she talk about?
One day, Dave told me, “It’s time to meet your family face to face. I’ll buy you a plane ticket and baby Rachael can go with you; I will take care of Ben and Bethany for you to go.”
My heartbeat with joyous anticipation as March 7, 1991, the long-awaited day finally arrived. The drive to the DFW airport was a long one for me.
My mind meandered back over the last thirty years, as I remembered the compelling desires that brought me to this day and the stories that were told to me...
It all began at The Seven Sea’s bar, the pleasant stranger said to the man on the barstool, “Hi, how are you?”
"Fine, thank you, and you?"
“Oh, I’ve been better,” quipped the stranger “my name is Paul Schroder. Good to meet you. I was just thinking about my girlfriend Miriam. She’s pregnant, and needs to find a home for the baby.”
“Really?! My wife has had three miscarriages, and we desperately want a child. Let’s talk!”
Their meeting resulted in my being legally adopted at birth, just a couple of months later.
In the ’60s, the morning talk shows were filled with psychology. Guests warned parents about nutrition and fast foods, about the ill-effects of spanking children, and about the negative results of not telling children when they are adopted.
Before I even understood what the word “adopted” meant, I was told I was adopted. All my life relatives referred to me as “adopted.” I always felt loved, wanted, and chosen, but I also felt “adopted,” which made me different from my siblings. A natural curiosity ensued which developed into a burning need, a compelling and necessary need to know.
During the flight to Oakland, California, my emotions intensified. What would my brothers be like? I wish my sister could be there too. Would they welcome me? Would they like me? The resolution of all of my life’s questions had been answered for me in only two short months. I felt a miracle was in the works which would transform my life. I was so excited and so very nervous.
As I exited the airplane off-ramp, there they were - Forrest and Keith, my “big” brothers, with their wives. “Oh God, I hope they like me” I whispered to myself as I descended the escalator, seeing them below waiting for me. I was to meet Chris later that day. When we were all together there was an instant bonding. My brothers were some of the most wonderful people I had ever met. My dry wit that had been so out of place at home was something we all had in common. THEY WERE LIKE ME! I WAS LIKE THEM! The house rocked with laughter that week-end. I wanted to savor every last minute with them.
There was one thing that really made me feel uncomfortable. Many times during quiet moments, I would notice they would all be intensely staring at me. I did not expect this, nor understand it and did not know how to react. Forrest recognized my discomfort.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Camille,” he said. We seem to be staring. It’s just that you are so like her - like our mom. He continued, “I wish you could have known her. She was a wonderful person.”
“And so talented,” added Keith. “She not only was an artist, she also played the piano and sang.” I proudly announced, “So do I!”
I learned many things about my mother that weekend. Her own mother died when she was young, and my mother had to be a mother and maid to her many brothers and her not-so-kind father. At the first opportunity, she eloped with a young soldier simply to get away from home. He was the father of Forrest and Keith and may have also been my father. Only a DNA test could reveal this mystery, but it was too costly for us. We’ll never really know for sure, but it doesn’t matter. This man was listed as “missing” by the military and my mother took up with someone else.
The one thing that I could not explain to my newfound family that first weekend we shared was why I was so grief-stricken over the death of a person I had never known. I found out that weekend from her dear friend Rosalind, my mother had mailed packages and written poetry for me. I never received these things from her. I wanted so badly to meet her, to let her know that I loved her and that it was okay that she had to give me away. That weekend, I was trying to deal with the reality of my mother’s death. I understood why no one ever found me. This understanding gave me peace.
All too soon, it was time to say good-bye.
We had a long tender group hug before I left for the plane terminal. The embrace was tender; it felt good. I felt complete, whole.
The first time we met.
My adoptive parents felt it in “our” best interest that this woman did not have any rights to me whatsoever. After all, she had willingly given up all of her rights.
My parents were afraid of any painful repercussions that might result which is understandable. I cannot be bitter in any way because I do not know what I would have done had the roles been reversed. In today’s news, there are horror stories of natural parents ripping babies from the loving arms of adoptive parents. Emotions of all parties involved in an adoption run very deep, are complicated and seem to grow in complexity as the years’ pass.
The plane left with its pensive passenger reflecting on the last four miraculous days. The kind lady sitting next to me spoke to engage me in conversation. I began to share my story with her. We talked for a long time, even though our landing and take-off in San Diego. We were interrupted by an announcement by one of the flight attendants.
“As we announced earlier,” she began, “I have a round trip ticket to give away in appreciation for your re-boarding so quickly in San Diego. We are now back on schedule. We don’t usually do this, so I’m not sure how exactly to go about this.. .If someone would come up here and sing a song, this ticket is yours.”
From a front-row seat of the plane, a man jumped up and grabbed the microphone before anyone else had a chance to respond. He crudely burst into a chorus of “Happy Birthday to you...” rather off-key. The passengers looked around at each other questionably as if to say, “Certainly this guy isn’t going to get that ticket!” The flight attendant reluctantly handed him the ticket and sat down.
I said to my new friend, “I wish I would have done that so that I could have had the chance to see my family again. I don’t know when we’ll afford another ticket!” Then I noticed the restroom was free and excused myself.
As I returned to my seat, the man who had won the ticket stood up and handed it to me.
“Happy Birthday!” he smiled.
The flight attendant announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, this young lady has just met her birth family for the first time this past weekend. This fine man has just given her the round trip ticket so that she can see them again.”
I stood in total amazement as everyone on board clapped and cheered. The dear lady sitting next to me told them my story when I was in the ladies’ room.
The very next week WAS my birthday. I know this was a part of God’s plan in answer to my life-long prayer.
We arrived in Dallas on schedule. Dave and the children seemed so happy to have “Mommy” home again. I could not stop talking about my visit to Oakland. In fact, I told anyone who would listen about my joyous experience.
A few days later, there was a knock on our door. A neighbor handed me a plane ticket to Oakland, California! She said, “Camille, I booked this flight way in advance, but can’t use the ticket because I’ll be in the middle of final exams. It was a deal where I couldn’t get my money back, so I hope you can use it. Oh, it is scheduled for a baby too!”
“Of course, I’m thrilled, but Dave will never let me go to Oakland in May. I just got back from there. It’s too soon!” I said, and she noticed the disappointment in my voice.
“Well, just keep it and use it if you can,” my friend responded, “and if you can’t, give it to someone who can. I’m off, now.” And, she was gone in a flash.
Between March and May there were three times that I could have given away the ticket to Oakland, but each time something inside stopped me. I didn’t know why, but I held on to the ticket even though I felt rather guilty about it.
Late one evening, my brother Keith called me with tragic news; his baby girl had been stillborn. The funeral was to be on May 16. I looked at the ticket my friend gave to me to Oakland, the date was for May 15.
Standing at my niece’s graveside, Keith turned to me and said “We could never understand how you could grieve so over someone you never knew. Now, we all understand. You know, Keri is in Heaven right now, and Mama is rocking her.” Keith then hugged me like a big brother does so well.
To this day, I believe that Keri was a part of God’s perfect plan. No one can really understand her death. Perhaps His purpose was to enable all of us to understand ourselves and the depth of our emotions and ties. We lost precious Keri, but somehow her death seemed to strengthen our family bond. She rests in a beautiful place. I look forward to the day we can meet her.
God has blessed my life so much. He helped me search for and find the answers I searched for in my life. He directed me each step of the way to find my missing family and restore to me so much that it's hard to put it into words.
I was never able to see my birth Mom or any of the art she created. I'm sure it must have been beautiful. She raised such wonderful children and had to have been an awesome person. My heart's desire is to use the talents, (that I inherited) to bless others and touch the hearts of those caught up in the routine of today's complex busy lifestyles.
Today Camille continues to keep in touch with her family in California. She currently lives in Louisiana and continues doing artwork, illustrating books, and paints.
