By far, one of my favorite recently (finally) finished pieces—a self portrait.  A glimpse of growing up with no emotional guidance & the task of sussing out every obstacle for danger and options.


That 3rd eye, that intuition & ability to read people— quickly and carefully—has served me well.


It’s one of the positives of struggling with emotional pain on your own when you are very young.


I remember often wishing someone would talk to me about the traumas that surrounded me, just to confirm my truth & soothe my fears.  


It didn’t happen. And I so often thought, even as a 6 year old, why don’t adults realize kids know what’s going on?  Why don’t they acknowledge me and my involvement in it all.


I look back on childhood photos noticing the sweet innocence in my face with gratitude that I haven’t lost the sweetness.  That I had the presence to take care of myself and use my journey to strengthen my will and exercise my curiosity to be the best I could be…even when those who should have nourished those things were immersed in their own stories.


Now in adulthood, I cherish what these early experiences forced forward—even when mourning the loss of what wasn’t there for me.  


My guy talks about radical acceptance…not suffering for what was or wishing to change what  is, but accepting truth and navigating from there.


Wherever my  path, I have chosen one of authenticity and appreciating that 3rd eye honed so early and trusting it to guide me. 

Invitation to Heal


When you are a kid faced with trauma and no one steering you through it, it’s easy to numb out and bury your feelings along with the experiences.  


But the burden of carrying it weighs heavy on your spirit.  


So,  these last few years, I took a deep dive into the darkness—to excavate the pains and let them go.


The path was beyond scary…Appalachian Trail in length. And I needed guides…a great therapist and my guy who listened intently and hugged tightly.


I hung in — the tears were replaced with curiosity.  Ah-ha moments replaced dread. 

And the best and most wonderful part of jumping into the quicksand of the dark, buried parts of my past, was the feeling of LIGHTNESS.  Strength.  


And surprisingly (but really not) there were some wonderful, beautiful parts of myself that came rushing forward that had gotten stuck behind the darkness. 


I felt awash with EXCITEMENT and AUTHENTICITY.


And birthed in this whole process and unfolding is “Invitation to Heal.”  


An initiation to explore what scares you. Welcome it. Know there is something there for you amid the mud and dirt and sweat.  Surprises beyond your expectations.


And so, I had to include in this painting, the poem THE GUEST HOUSE…written by the Persian poet Rumi in the 13th century…the wisdom to open yourself to all the feelings that come at you.


Your life is a guest house…you may choose to close the door on some of the feelings that are hard and scary but WAIT!!  Welcome them in…they are there as as guide for you…from beyond…or from your inner place of wisdom…there is something there for you to learn and find light within the fear.
​

DC friends:  Join me for my upcoming solo show, UR Not the Boss of ME.  A collection of more than a dozen large mixed media paintings exploring themes of fragility, strength & resilience at the Waverly Street Gallery in Bethesda, MD.

The show spans Sept 4-Oct 1 with a Reception (Friday, Sept 9, 7-9pm) and Artist Talk (Saturday, Sept 17, 12pm).  

Waverly Street Gallery
4600 East-West Hwy, #102
​Bethesda, MD

I started this impassioned piece more than a month ago. The layers and tweaks and wholesale changes were immense.

The passion started with the threat to Roe—women losing agency over their bodies. And yet many of the anti Roe folks who claim to be “protecting life,” refused to wear a simple mask to protect the actual lives of others. Or even support assault weapons bans. The hypocrisy.

My easel became my pulpit. I papered the table with Washington Post articles and editorials about the dangers of turning back the clock. And painted this exhausted woman—readying her voice—the calm before the storm.

And as I worked, the news became more bleak. Shootings. Every damn day. Followed by politicians cowering to the NRA and hiding behind a 2nd amendment that was never meant to protect AR-15s.
​
In the midst of it all, I watched a documentary on Hitler’s subtle but dangerous movements that created the Holocaust. The parallels to today are uncanny: banning books, white washing history, creating laws to “turn in your neighbor,” creating “the other,” leaders willing to ignore morality…Where is America heading and how can it be righted?

This painting: Everyday, Every Hour Turn UR Pain Into Power…a call to let it all in—feel it all. Whatever pain comes up for you. Gather yourself. And then rise up. Not giving in to the loudness of a few or the cowering of the powerful
.
My art is my voice and my vote is my power.

​Catch ME (JUMP)
 
I’ve worked this piece for the entire quarantine—at least 30 layers of paint, fabric and other up-cycled materials—no kidding.
 
It’s perfect that I finished it today—as I am trying to wrap my arms around this strange and truly traumatic covid journey.
 
Once I was fully vaccinated, I felt joyful—relieved. 
 
Yet oddly, when quarantine restrictions began to lift, I felt a sense of imprisonment.
 
Anxiety.  Shell shock.  Like I got out of jail, but couldn’t walk through the gate.  I found myself wanting to be at home.  I felt empty.
 
In speaking about it, I realized for the past 14 months,  I had numbed myself  to the horror of the virus in order to keep any sense of hope.   In the midst of great stress, you do what you need to do to get through.  
 
But those tricks for getting through—numbing out-- weren’t working for this post quarantine period. 
 
Talking and tears (and of course, painting)  have been so helpful in the process of letting myself be more present –allowing myself to feel fully.   
 
Today, my guy shared words from therapist Esther Perel that resonated & that felt so affirming—there is no right or wrong as we navigate our lives post quarantine—I respect that he and I are different (thankfully) and we are there with each other—
 
So, Ester Perel’s inspiration: 
 
“I frequently drive myself nuts with this chicken or egg question of which comes first—risk or trust.
I think of the Catch-22 posed by trust researcher Rachel Botsman: “Can we take risks without trust? Or is it the act of risk-taking that allows us to develop trust?”

We all need both security and adventure, but some of us can tolerate the lack of security better..and others better tolerate the lack of freedom. Which one is true for you?

One of the important things I’ve learned in my life is that if I wanted to build trust in myself, my career, in the world, or in my partner, I had to take risks—and that didn’t mean being more in control. Rather, what it meant is that I had to be able to accept uncertainty and live with the unknown.

Taking risks is not the same as being reckless. Like I said before, we all need both security AND adventure in this life. It’s okay to stop at the edge of the dock and assess the dark waters below… but it’s just as important to take the leap of faith.”
 
 
So here is my painting, Catch ME (JUMP)…started without the awareness of how meaningful the title and sentiment would be.  The desire to jump—the need to trust.  And getting there with the guy who listens and offers to Catch ME.  Taking Risks.  Assessing the dark waters—one toe in at a time.  But getting there. 
 
We survived this awful year—may you find new joys and may you be patient with yourself and others as we navigate these new adventures. Namaste.



 
 
 
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​This is Billie Holiday, Eli Wiesel, Dalai Lama, Joan Baez—Me--and YOU--if you run to the mic to shine light on injustice. 
 
I started this painting months ago simply to express my love for jazz.  And it stagnated until I learned more about Billie Holiday & her bravery at age 23 to sing Strange Fruit for her mostly white audiences. 
 
In clubs, where she had the lights turned off & only a spot on her, her last song of the night was Strange Fruit—at the end, the venue went dark and when the lights came up she was gone.  Civil Rights activists applauded—others walked out in protest. The FBI hounded her relentlessly until she was jailed for 18 months and they continued to make her life miserable until her death at 44. But she never relented.  She sang and sang and sang the painful truth of Strange Fruit.
 
Strange Fruit was written by Abel Meeropol, a Jewish civil rights activist, when he couldn’t get a lynching photo out of his mind—he had to write about it and Billie had to sing it.  Time magazine named it the song of the last century.
 
Protest art moves people. Shakes them up. And as an artist, it allows a platform for speaking truth—it is a privilege.   
 
In this work of art, I collaged the lyrics to Strange Fruit over the entire body of this strong lady.  It is the fabric of who she is. It is defiance.
 
As I sat at my 1940’s typewriter, repeatedly typing the lyrics for Strange Fruit, I had a visceral reaction to the imagery.   A sickening feeling of how lynchings continue in so many iterations.  In 1939, people hung from trees.  In 2020, there were knees to necks and joggers tracked by vigilantes.  These crimes sicken me.  The resulting pain it causes communities of color is unfathomable.
 
Shame.  
 
But we cannot feel shame and just move on. The overt micro and macro acts of aggression based on race, religion, culture, gender identity and sexual orientation  are WRONG.  
 
This week, Georgia passed legislation outlawing bringing water to those waiting in line to vote.  We must be WATER CARRIERS.  
 
In every new effort to put a stranglehold on voting, rights and people’s ability to be safe and be afforded equal opportunities, think of Billie and use your voice…again and again and again.
 
 
Strange Fruit
Southern trees bear a strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swingin' in the Southern breeze
Strange fruit hangin' from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant South
The bulgin' eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolias sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burnin' flesh
Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather
For the wind to suck
For the sun to rot
For the tree to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop
 

It’s been an entire year full of suffering.   Painting this over the last weeks helped me through my despair.
 
In it, I typed out Maya Angelou’s poem, “Life Doesn’t Frighten Me.” Because I DID feel frightened and wanted to channel her.  In my studio, her words became my flowers.
 
A 1929 farm woman’s journal became the foundation of my vessel.  
 
I wondered how she would feel about her journaled words joining my painting.  And I wondered if she lost her farm as the Great Depression struck just months after she wrote about hanging her laundry.
 
I felt kindred to her in being blindsided by a mega event that changed the world.
 
And then, unconsciously, I created a broken/repaired pot.
 
Having picked up a yellow wax pastel, I marked the vase with a pattern of breaks.  
 
And then I saw it.  KINTSUGI.
 
Kintsugi is the 400 year old Japanese tradition of repairing broken pottery using gold.  
 
Once repaired, the piece is considered stronger and more beautiful—embraced for its imperfections.  The idea that being broken makes something (or someone) even more interesting & precious. 
 
In painting, I was guiding myself beyond the despair. 
 
So here we are.  With the roadmap of Kintsugi, Maya & an anonymous farm woman.
 
Sometimes we break.   That is certain.
 
And yet, we heal.  
 
And find beauty in unexpected places. 
 
And then Rumi appears to confirm it all:
 
“The Wound is the Place Where the Light Enters You”  
 
May your breaks bring enlightenment.   May you discover a new found strength and your own growing beauty.  Namaste.       

​In a year that felt like time stood still—so much changed.
 
Outwardly, so much.  Inwardly, so much.
 
Masks. Gloves. Missing—of people & places. Fear. Hope. Strength.
 
I picked up a pencil and sketched for the first time in decades.  Okay with the unknown journey this would present.  I went for the ride.
 
The tiny ripples in me, moved me forward.  I can’t actually say where it took me or where it’s going. But I trust it the way I trust everything right now.  Doubt is not a choice.
 
So I painted my “Still Life.”  From pencil on page…to mixed media on canvas.  My first leg of this evolving artistic journey.  It is peaceful. Joyful.  Resilient.  And a reminder:  you never know what gifts are present if you don’t open them.
 
My Not So Still Life.  To be continued.