Jodi’s Blog ... From the Artist’s Heart — france



Here.

“You only are free when you realize you belong no place — you belong every place — no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great…”  Maya Angelou It took me a long time to understand this quote. Decades. Oh, I was familiar with the “no place at all.”  That didn’t seem to be a problem. I never thought I fit in with my town, or even my family. And that is a lonely place. Because we all want to belong, it’s our nature as humans. It’s why we have gatherings, schools, religions.  And so I began my journey. Away from this town. Away from this state. And eventually, away from this country. But each new place,...

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Le pic et la belette (The woodpecker and the weasel)

Since Covid began, I have made my daily walks inside of our yard. It’s a grand yard, so no complaints. Lots to see, smell and hear. I walk past the pool, the olive tree, under the pines, past the mailbox, the driveway, the fruit trees (all named) Officer Bob the peach tree, Becky the cherry tree, Abigail the apricot tree, Prune rouge – her name was just too perfect as is (the plum tree)…past the American and French flags…I walk over the space where Daniel used to grow – the almond tree – he didn’t make it – nothing to do with Covid… and past the back gardens, the art studio, the green house, the swing set… it’s lovely, full...

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W.W.I.D.?

I accidentally fell in love with a French man. Thank God, for accidents, random acts, chance meetings, fate, worlds colliding, (maybe they are all just the chances we take) (whatever you want to call them)! These are the unknown gifts – the risks we take – the dreams we pursue without knowledge or permission. And that is the gift, I suppose, the uncertainty, because maybe if we knew everything involved, we might not do anything.  If I had known how hard it was to actually learn a new language (French) in mid-life (that’s maybe generous), I’m not sure I would have made all the same decisions – and how tragic – I would have missed out on the love of...

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The process

Yesterday I painted Fran Lebowitz for the soul purpose of painting Fran Lebowitz.  I would not sell her (in fact, I knew I would be giving her to a friend who adores her). I would not gain any exposure. There are no hashtags. Fran Lebowitz does not own a phone.  She would not see it.  She doesn't own a computer. She would not come to France, because she doesn't leave New York.  No, this was about the process. The joy of taking a blank piece of paper and creating an image. Seeing her come to life with each stroke. I love to draw. To paint. To create. I really love it. And I get to do it!  Imagine that!  Imagine...

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Ours.

The first time we drove along La Corniche, the radio was playing.  I didn’t understand the language.  The more the announcer talked, the more the view disappeared.  It’s hard to see when you’re drowning.  Each word was an anchor. It was so hard to breathe.  What was I thinking?  This couldn’t possibly be for me.  This view.  This bienvenue.  No, not for me. I couldn’t see the blue, the turquoise… I was going under. Each word I didn’t understand said you don’t belong here. It’s funny when we don’t understand something how quickly we can translate. Create our own narrative. “Use the back door,” she said.  She knew I didn’t belong to “the club” – The Alexandria Golf Club.  That...

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