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



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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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