Silly little stories and some great ones too!

Suzon Lucore - I am an artist who was grounded with a vision to bring expressionistic contemporary art to a wider audience and to create a space where people can engage with art and with each other. I believe that art has the power to inspire, challenge, and transform, and I am committed to bringing the best and most innovative contemporary art to our community.

I am an artist currently living in Sacramento. I have lived in Northern California my whole life. I attended CCAC (now CCA) in Oakland and San Francisco in the late 80’s. I am influenced by Mary Cassatt, Paul Cezanne, and Monet for their loose style and freedom, which led me to often capture portraits and iconic locations throughout California. I was encouraged to go on to art school after receiving her AA from Yuba Community College and accepting a scholarship to the acclaimed art school. Although I received my BFA in painting, illustration, film, and media were also my keen interests.  Marketing is now my primary occupation, and it draws on my artistic talents daily. 

I also enjoy writing my version of what happened in my life experiences.

19 Faces of Covid 19 -  2020 Painting

Those who respect others wear a mask to protect all is the name of my COVID 19 Mask painting. Those who respect others wear a mask to protect all. 

I see divided America. I see the divided World. I see people, ordinary people doing their jobs, their duties and living their normal existence in not so normal times. 

The Covid 19 painting captures some of these people living with the new normal or as many look at it, abnormal. Military people doing the duties that they so valiantly signed up for, ambulance drivers being afraid if front of great risks. Soccer coaches looking for those to guide. Peace officers helping so many why so few tarnishes the barrel of bright, shiny apples. 

Those now building or rebuilding structures as they break down the equality barrier, delivery drivers risking it all for a hot pie from a reputable restaurant hit hard by the pandemic. From the protestor expressing his right to be heard, to the night stock person refilling the empty shelves. You see, this painting could go on endlessly. 

The woman in the lower left corner is the only one with an oxygen mask on. She is the epitome of the COVID patient; alas so are all. The virus does not care if you are poor or rich, employed or homeless, protector or defender. It can take them all. It has. 

Is it difficult to wear a mask? Most people say yes. To all, protect others, do not think of yourself when you wear your mask. Protect the World and stop this pandemic. 

Suzon Lucore, B 1964, Acrylic on Canvas, 6' x 96".  2020

https://www.kcra.com/article/foresthill-woman-uses-art-send-message-covid-19-safety/33236745?fbclid=IwAR3rPeaARFbOrnevW4B7g1pSO8lidkxpRfcivF8gn0sFVRju7Qbez7qEulI

We couldn't accomplish our goals without the help of supporters like you. 

https://www.sacbee.com/news/local/homeless/article215984810.html  

With so many people currently suffering from food insecurity, I was thinking about my own experiences growing up. 

People came to the church pantry to pick up groceries as they needed which happened often in 1974 living in poverty. I didn't understand poverty as a child, I just knew they were hungry. 

I was raised by two wonderful Christians, John and Dain Walton, Farmers from Rio Oso in Northern California. My parents worked with others, specifically at a local Food Bank, to expand their offerings to a town in Yuba County, Marysville, at the Church of Christ in Linda (Marysville).

Mom washed dishes by day at Yuba College, and Dad was the foreman for Gallagher Ranch, primarily farming rice.

It was part of my childhood to assist in packing groceries every week once the food bank opened. I do recall that sometimes there was a line.

My family was definitely lower-middle class, but I didn't know we were poor. We had beans every day and meat at least once a week. I invited kids from Church to come to my house for Sunday dinner. I was surprised to find out most of these people were from affluent families, one of which is still a close friend today.

My favorite food was my mom's flour-dipped, deep-fried pork chops. When I was ten years old and in 4th grade, I started helping my parents and a few of their friends make paper grocery bags for distribution on Saturdays. By the time I was 12, I had the bagging system down. It wasn't often, but I knew if there were any items left, my mom and her friends could take them home. 

Coming up for my thirteenth birthday, my mom bought a huge platter of pork chops and told me to invite as many friends as I wanted. I was no dummy, I didn't invite anyone so I could have more pork chops,

On the day I turned 13, my mom started preparing for a huge feast. She asked me how many people were coming and I confessed none. She was very upset with me and then grabbed the phone with the long cord and her roll-edex; went into the kitchen and started dialing. Ugh, I was so disappointed. Now I had to share with others other than my pesky brother and my parents.

She invited the Crops, Cheryl and 12-year-old Lorn and his annoying four-year-old brother whose name I can't remember. When they arrived, dinner was on the table in just five minutes. As we sat down, pork chops and fixn's were passed around (guests first even though it was my birthday). Lorn took TWO pork chops. The rule at our house was just one. When it came by me, I also grabbed two pork chops. Mom glared at me but let it go because of the special occasion.

As we were eating, Lorn grabbed another pork chop and then the race was on. At four chops each, Mom took them away and put the rest in the kitchen. 

After dinner, Lorn and I went off and played in the Motor-home. He pretended to read a paper and smoke a pipe. I pretended to cook pork chops. A few minutes passed and he stood up and twirled me like out of the movies. He then kissed me French style. GROSS! Lorn assured me that this is how adults kiss and he saw his parents do it all the time. I was surely superior because I was now 13 and he was a meager 12-year-old brat. I let him kiss me once more. I was completely stuffed but after all, he tasted like a pork chop.

I still feed people. I was regularly feeding the unhoused and hungry people from all over on Sunday and serving meals out of the back of my car in Sacramento. Since COVID and my divorce, I now just pass out ice cream bars on hot days not leaving my air-conditioned car.

My father passed away after a heart attack loading groceries in a woman's car. What a way to go. Doing what he loved; feeding people. My mother happily cooked for every potluck until she passed, just days short of her 88th birthday. I am sure she never new of my first kiss but would get a kick that it was centered around her pork chops. We always had food - even if it wasn't to my picky-as-a-child standards. Today, I still hate pinto beans but love pork chops.

Oh great, now I want a pork chop!

I need to show my work more often, always looking for good connections to grow my audience. 

Stories often told by my parents growing up were about them getting me from the Sacramento Zoo. I had imaginary playmates as many creative kids do and my parents thought this

was because I had no one to play with; so they got me a brother. I was 3 1/2 and

we picked him up at the zoo. When I was five, I went to the zoo on my kindergarten field trip. When we were leaving I tried to pick up a kid in his stroller.

The mom screamed. My teacher screamed. I started crying. All kids did NOT come

from the zoo.

My mom asked when I was five what I wanted to be when I grew up. I said an

artist. She said I can't be an artist because artists starve. I knew I was an artist like I

knew I was a girl. So I didn't want to starve ‐I began eating double. My skinny little

body swelled like a balloon.

I sold everything to make money. Candy on the bus, crawdads to fisherman,

hamburgers left over from McDonald’s, fireworks, anything for a buck.

My mom was such a terrible cook in my opinion but was infamous at the Church potluck for her chicken and dumpling. I have to admit, they were better than most of what she made. I thought green beans were a joke because

everybody knows they are brown and taste like bacon. So much bacon grease that

it was a potpourri of bacon in our mobile home.

She was the cook at Church camp and people sent their kids there to lose weight. I

was one of them.

I thought hamburgers were crunchy until I was 13.

My mom baked wedding cakes and although dry and crumbly, she decorated them

quite nicely. For whatever reason, she made cakes for people that lived in the

mountains all the time. I had to hold one layer on my lap. It would scoot off the

base and I had to catch it with my hands. Fingerprints and crooked cakes were the

norm.

Beans on the stove left out for days. Turkeys cooked for 12 hours till they gave up

the ghost and the leg bones were all that was present. ‐ it was turkey jerky.

My college roommate, Bettina Klaus, Smoking her cigarette, said "You stink"

After the German introduction to deodorant, I found myself with four newfound

friends

One Friday night ‐ I told them about my Mom's Chocolate Gravy and Biscuits. Hot

chocolate gray similar to hot chocolate pudding poured over biscuits. An Arkansas

staple.

They didn't believe me ‐we piled into my '82 beat‐up car and headed my parents’

house, We Slept on the floor, and woke up ‐ no mom/ her Car was there/not in the

Laundry or canning room. Nada.

Ready to leave when Mom came home with a bright green T‐shirt on and a gold

medal around her neck. "I won first place in my age group for the turtle trot race. I

was the ONLY one in my age group."

She made us Chocolate Gravy and Biscuits and of course, the bottoms of the

biscuits were burnt. I went into the kitchen to thank Mom. She said to me "You don't stink”.

Mom, in her last days offered to tell me the secret of her yeast rolls. The only

things I liked that she cooked were roast in the crock pot, deep-fried pork chops,

and yeast rolls. She told me to go into the kitchen and get the package of Fleshman’s yeast. I did, and she said, "Turn it over". And I did. In Black and white, there was her yeast roll recipe.

I am grateful that I was adopted. I was picked on purpose, my Mom would say.

Today I am an artist and a pretty good cook. My hamburgers aren't crunchy, My

green beans are green, and thankfully I don't stink.Thank you.