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



And so she would dance.

“No one expected me. Everything awaited me.”― Patti Smith, Just Kids I had packed it all securely on a pallet.  Circled and circled with shrink wrap.  Paintings and dreams deserve extra protection.   The Statue of Liberty was standing just for me.  I couldn't tell if the other passengers on the plane knew it, but I was sure.  I hung the dancer center stage, per her request.  She stood there with such confidence, (Lady Liberty like) that she almost made me believe, I too, belonged here.  She sold immediately.  People actually bid higher for her.  My heart became the dancer she always believed she could be.   Last night I watched Restless Creature on Netflix.  It is the story of Wendy Whelan, of the...

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Begin

First I made a squaring table out of an old butcher block and two pieces of scrap wood.  I found a small piece of wood in the wood pile, just enough to make a small frame.  I cut the lengths, and squared them up in my new tool.  From an old, weathered outdoor table, that stood as long as it possibly could, and then gave out, I cut the inside flat frame that the canvas would eventually be mounted on.  This fit (squarely of course, because I used my new homemade tool) inside the frame.  I measured another piece of scrap wood, cut to size, to make the mounting frame for the canvas.  I cut an old piece of tarp...

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Wild flowers and John Prine.

I was twenty something when I first heard a John Prine song.  A summer day on the back of motorcycle.  Backroads of Wayzata, Minnesota.  A place where songs, if you really heard them, were written just for you. A part time model and handyman was driving the Indian motorcycle.  (Maybe he too, was just hanging on.)  He was every cool kid I never dated in high school.  The sun was back-of-the-neck hot and the music that played in our helmets said, “I only wanna dance with you” … and I felt pretty.  Not like in the magazines.  Not photo shoot pretty – but wild flower.  Side of the road, blowing in the breeze, captured in a passing glance from a...

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The memory of tools

My husband is working to remove the rust on his father’s tools.  Gently with vinegar.  And maybe more than taking away, he is revealing the memories they hold.  I believe they hold.  Most of the things built are long gone.  But the memories are there.  They say we humans have a muscle memory.  I think it transfers to the tools we use. I got a pair of used brushes in Brittany.  They easily became my favorites.  They held on to the paint, and just as easily let it go, like they knew the drill.  It wasn’t their first time.  They had been asked to release the painting again and again.  My hands were familiar, and new.  What a comfort to be...

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Unnecessary

Our humanity lies not in the ordinary. We do the things we have to in order to stay alive. Alive. But to really live, we have to do the unnecessary. We create extraordinary things. We gather ourselves in music and art and dessert. And this is where we really live. And oh, how beautiful. This beautiful stillness. It was never necessary for an apple to be beautiful. It could offer the same nutrients in a plain package. In fact, we could take vitamins, and maybe get the same thing. But there it is for us, in all of its unnecessary beauty. The brilliant ball of red, and green and yellow, that fits perfectly into the palm of your hand. What...

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