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



Into the spotlight

Sometimes when I’m walking and listening to a podcast, the words clop along with each step, coming in and out of the path like an autumn leaf.  Then other times, like this day, the words are so clear, so near, so understandable, it’s like the slight touch of an old friend, words that you not only recognize, but ones that find their way into that empty space in your heart, and fill it.  These were the words.  This musician spoke of being at an awards show in the early 2000’s.  She was to go onstage after June Carter and Johnny Cash.  It was the old fashioned kind of stage, steps on the side that you climbed in the almost darkness.  She watched Johnny climb the stairs,...

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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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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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