I have to title and do a write up about each of the paintings I have on display in the gallery in LaJolla. It’s a bit of an undertaking, but I feel like doing it on my blog might make it more fun.

This first painting is one of a set of two. I had them hanging in my own house because I loved the feeling I would get when I looked at them.

Birds Fly Up

Birds always know when to fly up off the ground or out of the trees or off a fence or wire. Birds instinctively know this. Maybe one starts and then they all follow. I’m not sure how it works but the intrinsic intelligence of nature is always there to teach us how to be free. The doves in these paintings are symbols of peace. They are flying up and away spreading the energy of peace and the feeling of freedom. Birds are good to remind us that we can move our energy up and out whenever we want to.

to be around?

That’s easy.

People who are kind.

Kindness is more of an active state than a personality trait as I see it, so I guess what I mean is, I like to be around people while they are acting kindly.

I’ve seen enough instances where a grumpy someone switches to being kind, often when someone else is kind first. Kindness is contagious. I appreciate this.

I welcome kind people always. Please visit me any time throughout my day or life…

Growing up in Canada, hockey was part of life. My earliest memory is going to a game that my dad played in. I mostly remember being freaked out by the blood and all the men with missing teeth.

I learned to skate as soon as I could walk. My hockey coach grandfather bought all the cousins our first skates. There seemed to always be a hockey game on at any house we visited. We played in driveways, on the street, on frozen ponds. There were little games with slots and tiny players that could only move so far. Everyone I knew had a stick, wrapped lovingly in black electrical tape.

Last night we watched a hockey game.

It was part of a four country series between Sweden, Finland, Canada and the U.S. The game was between Canada and the US.

Now this particular game made me nostalgic for hockey from my childhood. Was it because of the three fights that broke out in the first nine seconds? Maybe, but that was just the first nine seconds.

The rest of the game was fast and serious and every single player on both teams seemed to be very passionate about winning.

At the end, we couldn’t believe it was over. It was like watching playoff hockey, only more intense.

I found out after the game was over, that this was only the beginning of the series. Wow.

I guess they’re saying the fights were staged. Still. It was fun to see no one taking the fighting too seriously, kind of how it was back in the day. Kind of fun to see a good, well balanced contest between two teams playing hard to win.

This series should be an advertisement for the NHL. It was compelling and fun and yeah. Anyone remember old school hockey? There were some watchable games back then. I’m glad we were able to see this one.

Also watchable, very much so…

Oh and about being patriotic? I was feeling pretty Canadian. My brother was watching the same game up in Calgary on a big screen with a whole group of friends. A childhood friend was watching in Las Vegas, while his brother was watching in Sweden, where he now lives.

OK. I admit it, I wanted Canada to win. In overtime, in a dramatic nail biting conclusion.What can I say? I’m Canadian 🤷🇨🇦

For joy. For reasons that are bigger than what I know.

I paint.

Before yoga, before meditation, before I knew about breathing, before I’d ever heard anything about a parasympathetic nervous system,

I painted.

I paint to drop into a feeling of flow.

I paint to feel connected to a better feeling me.

I paint when nothing else makes sense, when life feels overwhelming or off.

For reasons I don’t know how to explain, painting calms me down and gives my brain a rest.

When I can’t figure out the world, or people, or my own little role in all of it, there is this sweet feeling head space that finds me. It’s why I create. It’s kind of how I got caught up in sharing it actually.

I learned that art isn’t everyone’s thing. Music isn’t either. Art gives my one friend anxiety. Even if it’s kind of her thing, anxiety can take the joy out of anything.

We all have our own life to navigate. I learned that I want to pay more attention to when things become unfun. Getting pulled into angst is a perfect lesson and good practice for me to try to stay focused. I spent these weeks trying to help my friend overcome her artists block and have fun putting on that show. How could it not be fun!?

Hmmm. Well…

I once was super busy in my younger life and was weirdly criticized for taking time to do art. My ‘friends’ explained that I should be caring about other things. They reasoned that my priorities were all wrong.

In that moment, I knew.

There are a lot of things about myself that I can’t explain, but this one I know.

Taking care of me, by giving myself time to create, IS right. It IS a priority.

Allowing those connected feelings to be, understanding their importance, painting for the love of painting, even feeling thankful for this crazy gift of peace that comes from simply drawing lines and brushing color.

This is for me.

For my joy. for nothing more than to feel happier in a moment.

For me, taking a peaceful me out into the world, is best.

I’m recommitting to leaving everyone else alone.

For me.

It also has a wood shop. The house is one of a few buildings. There are guest houses. My residence is not too big, but feels very spacious. It’s very minimally furnished and decorated. High ceilings, light wood floors, lots of natural light from plenty of big windows. Good sized closets, easy organization. Open, well stocked, but minimal, easy to clean kitchen. All new or newly renovated. The yard is gardens and checker board tile patios.

My studio is big and open. There is a large table and several easils. The best art supplies, all easy to get to and easy to keep organized. It has a cool garage door.

My studio and dream house (and all the guest houses) are both very comfortable and inviting. Beds, bedding, chairs, couches etc. Comfort, ease and beauty are emphasized.

There are beautiful outdoor spaces to sit and enjoy.

I think I’ll savor it for a little while.

Then tell G casually over supper.

The word ‘hobby’ keeps popping up lately.

I was watching this couple on TikTok, who have four kids under the age of seven, they joke about all the crazy things that happen parenting. The wife keeps saying she needs a hobby.

I’m pretty sure she’s kidding, but maybe not.

G’s mom is stuck in the house due to all the snow and freezing temperatures lately. She really does need a hobby, something besides playing Solitaire. Hobbies are good ways to pass time.

Its possible painting is my mine. At least painting my own non commissioned art.

What is the definition of hobby anyway?

So does that mean running a non profit is a hobby? Now I just have more questions. Doing something for enjoyment is maybe the best definition. I think the word hobby lowers the bar and keeps it light. And fun. Which is the opposite of the way things have felt art wise, lately.

If I’ve re-learned anything this past week and month, it’s that there are aspects of being an artist that aren’t really fun, certainly not enjoyable.

Maybe that bumps it out of the hobby category. Still, I do enjoy the process of actually painting.

If you know me, you know I want to keep things light and as fun as I can, because that is my preference.

A long time ago, and before I looked up the definition, I would have called worrying my hobby. I used to spend big chunks of time thinking of what might go wrong or what I was doing wrong, or what was wrong with me. Or analyzing every encounter, or everything I did.

Definitely not enjoyable, but it kept my mind busy. Over time I replaced that hobby with graditude. Which fits the definition better. When I find myself settling in to my old pastime, I now remember that, oh yeah, I gave it up because, it wasn’t just not enjoyable anymore, it made everything way worse.

So that’s my answer. I gave up worrying. There is no room for it in my life. It’s an activity that I lost interest in. I hope I’ve outgrown it.

Friday was the culmination of a long month (in my art world), a very long week, a long day and finally, one long night.

My paintings are currently in a gallery in LaJolla on Prospect St.

Does it matter that I spent two and a half hours in almost stopped traffic in the much needed rain (so not to complain, just saying it was sunny again today). Paintings wrapped in plastic were in puddles of water by the time I arrived, late.

I was soaked through from loading and unloading. And this was the easy part. The part that went almost smoothly. The rest, I don’t want to remember. It’s done. The art walk is over, my art is in a cool spot. It happened.

My soul is still intact.

Ah sweet, sugary, colorful

c a n d y

My favorite has always been chocolate. I like chocolate by itself, on or with most anything. Does it count as candy?

Candy, the colorful kind that makes any candy store beautiful and magical, was weirdly, when I was young, something I loved, but didn’t care to eat much of. My brother was easy to bribe or buy with it. So Easter, Halloween gave me a measure of kid currency, aka power. I was often robbed, (by the same brother), but tolerated it because I somehow knew he couldn’t help himself.

Candy is nostalgic. It’s fun. Many years ago it was in very short supply (rationed), or expensive for most families which made it all the more special. There is something about a simple treat made extra special because of it being in short supply. It’s so easy to buy now, I wonder if it holds the same punch as it did back in pioneer days.

Healthy families try to limit sugar for their children. I once knew a mother who never let her kids eat any. She had a complicated system of trading toys for all her kid’s Halloween candy. Her children thought chocolate was the worst because it was brown and not pretty like other candies they collected. I wonder how that went when they grew up and tried it for the first time.

I didn’t have candy on hand when my kids were growing up. I didn’t buy soda, but if it was offered, I didn’t swoop in and protect them or anything heroic.

No one in our little family complained about regular home meals, or no dessert, but when we made cookies or ate candy, it was fully appreciated. Candy made movie night special, fun and memorable. Even making cookies was an event.

It’s hard to know how healthy that was, but there’s no taking it back now.

The seventies remain a mystery. How were people walking around smoking and eating McDonald’s and eating candy bars, (protein bars were yet to be invented), so slim? What happened in the eighties and nineties that made everyone vilify, yet worship sugar and fat and somehow ruin all it’s fun?!

I think I’d like some chocolate covered almonds, some licorice, maybe a gummy bear or two and a movie right now…

Years ago, my best friend found a philosophy that was centered around what the originator called ‘the three principles’.

She studied with his protogies and it became a cornerstone for her own life philosophy.

I, (I don’t remember why), often argued against it. I don’t think I really disagreed so much as I didn’t want to be pigeonholed.(and maybe liked the debate?)

One thing I remember was this concept that if you can find a way to drop the heated subject (whatever is giving your brain grief, as in thoughts that are keeping you up worrying all night or arguing with your friend). If you can set that down as if it’s a glass of muddy water, the energy (or sentiment) will settle and things will become more clear. That clear mind energy place is a better mind space to make choices, have conversations or really go about life from.

I have been getting my own lessons on this concept in my own personal life classroom lately and it some days feels like boot camp. It’s as though my friend is trying to tell me something. I lost her to cancer a handful of years ago, but still often feel her input.

Am I learning? I hope so. Its not complicated. I understand it, but I just keep getting opportunities to practice. You’d think I’d recognize this right away, but instead, there I am again lamenting about some injustice, new or old, losing sleep, challenging my own concentration, until I slap my hand over my heart (necklace) and take three long, slow deep breaths. Then remember that I want to keep my heart open no matter what, take more deep breaths, and yeah…

Trying to get my brain to cooperate is a whole thing. I’d say I have gotten better. I used to joke that I had the ability to think so many thoughts at once that you could multiply the average amount of thought in most people’s heads by at least 10 and it might come close to what’s happening in mine. ‘ADD’, if they still call it that, is a fun gift. Talk about multitasking, I practically invented it.

Ten years of yoga has helped me.

Lately, I’m really committed to keeping an open heart. Oh my! It sounds so easy

I assure you it’s not. Stepping back and observing my thoughts as they race around inside, causing my body to feel sluggish and unwell, has been a dizzying ride that I am not enjoying. I might be fearing my next encounter with humans.

I don’t even know how to proceed past deep breathing. Setting this glass down has been all consuming. Welcome to the serious business of art I guess.

A mental exercise, every day. Oh my. I must be growing…or something.