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



No more abandonings.

Yesterday I was looking for something in our pile of scrap metal and iron, (yes, we have one),and I found this piece and knew immediately that it had to be a frame.  It was beautiful, it just needed a cowboy (and who hasn’t said that at least twice in their lifetime).  Dominique cleaned it up with vinegar, and I painted a cowboy for this lovely frame.   I want to see things, not for what they are – or were – but for what they could be.  Maybe if we could do that for each other, too…  No more waste.  It is, we are, not disposable.  Let’s find the beauty in everything. No more abandonings.

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Keep the music playing.

Miles from our destination, (possibly my whole childhood), in the car with my mother, the music kept the wheels turning.  Frank Sinatra and Lorrie Morgan asked, “How do you keep the music playing?”  Indeed, that was always the question.  From the start. We skipped ring around the rosie until we all fell down.  We got up again and sang. London Bridge fell down and we kept singing.  Musical chairs were set up and taken away one by one until the music stopped, but we never believed it would ever really end.  When I started school, Mr. Iverson, the music teacher told us that we all had a song in us.  Could it be true?  He told us to write a...

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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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People Bath

Soren Kierkegaard got his inspiration, his knowledge, by taking a daily walk through the streets of Copenhagen.  He became known for plunging into conversation with everyone and anyone.  He called these excursions his “people bath.”  For me, the canvas is my Copenhagen.  I explore the lives and stories of everyone I paint.  They are as real to me as anyone that breathes beside me.  Because it IS you.  You are in the paintings.  The stories you whisper to me through each stroke of the brush come through loud and clear.  That is why, I think, when people see a painting, read the story, they say, “Oh, it’s like you know me.  This is exactly me.”  Because it is you.  Isn’t...

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