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My mixed media piece, Copper Colorado, was completed in two separate phases.   My canvas was Phase One.  He came home with this plank that had been considered construction rubbish. When he told me it was a tread from someone's porch steps, I was intrigued. I began to scrutinize it and noticed a smudge of antique copper paint that had been stomped into the grain, but no one had managed to stomp it off over its many years.  I noticed its receded soft grains which moved like canyon rivers and its hard grains became imposing Colorado Mesas above. I was motivated to uncover its textural treasures, and I cleaned it up as if I were an archeologist, so as not to disturb any of its landscape, but rather amplify it as is.  The paint smudge remained and became integral. Phase Two was my realization of the purpose of the plank, which happened three or four years later. I stumbled upon some old battery cables that had big, gnarly terminals, and, more importantly, the copper wires were still sle

We got the call at 12:24 a.m.  It was Face Time with me - but I was texting my kid and couldn’t answer.  I was telling him just tonight how much he means to me.  I was telling him how proud I am of him and what I admire most about him that we had just had an in-person intimate conversation about an hour or two earlier.  I had held his face in my hands, his soft ginger whiskers on my palms.  I had looked him straight in the eye and told him how I felt.  And he told me things about his life that felt so painful for a mother to hear.    But everyone left the party happy and feeling warm and loved from having fun and sharing laughs and jovial conversation. And then we got the call.  We were just settling in to bed.  The cat, she climbed up on my chest like she always does, licking my chin to let me know how much she loves me.  And the TV was glowing and not entertaining and we were tired from the busy day. And then we got the call.  The unbelievable call that you never expect.  The call th

Don’t worry she said.  To no one but herself.  Her mom had recently passed away and-but Everything’s going to be Okay.  Everything always has a way of making itself into okay. Everything has a way of being okay.   After all, is life about suffering? Is life about worrying  or  is it about wondering? My head’s been in the clouds lately.  The turmoil has been like a thunderous night.   Waiting.  In anticipation for the rain.   You can’t buy love, but you can buy handmade, and that’s kind of the same thing. Is this fiction, or is it fact?  She had always taught the importance of giving from the heart.  Hold on.  I gotta sit down, she thought. Everything’s going to Come Up Rosie. That’s how life is. A bowl of consequences. Things always have a way of working themselves out, though. There are trials. There are tribulations. There are triumphs. And there are failures. She had taught her a lot.  Wisdom.  Respect.  Integrity.  Patience. And

I have an "inspiration" binder that I keep on a shelf in my office at home where I’ve collected pictures of things I've found in magazines.  There's a few priceless treasures of artwork that my kids made me tucked in there too.  I only add super special stuff - things that I know I'll love for the long term.   Anyway, we were talking about a project at the house when I suddenly thought of a photo I wanted to share with Russ and brought the binder out.  As I was flipping through these pages of images that I'd saved over a good decade of time,  I found this little quote Mom had sent to me.  I don't know when she sent it, but I had liked it so much.  There it was, this two sentence quote that SHE must have cut out of a magazine.  The words were highlighted in what was now a faded yellow marker and she’d written four little words above it on a hot pink sticky note in her beautiful cursive writing.  A note just for me. Reminding me to believe in myself.  

People fleeing from all over the world and begging entrance into other countries due to fear, starvation, persecution and worse has made immigration more prominent now than I can ever remember.  Take away all of the political chatter and you realize that immigration is simply (people) who leave their own home and country of birth to go live permanently in a foreign country.  Their reasons for doing so are probably as long as their list of names?  Whether to pursue a dream and/or to find better opportunities for themselves and their families, human migration has been going on since the dawn of time. Alongside my own personal research, I've been having some intriguing conversations with my Dad the past few years regarding a certain immigrant we knew who has long ago passed and was so very loved by many.  Due to circumstances beyond his control, and in hopes of having a better life, this man immigrated to a foreign country all by himself, when he was just sixteen years old.  He ha

The day before had been nothing but gloomy and cold.  The Magpies had been occupied the whole day with grooming their abode.  The snow that had fallen during the afternoon had accumulated on the roof so Marvin had spent much of his time out in the cold lifting and securing while Mavis had been up to her beak with buttoning and mending on the inside.  Being a homeowner was a lot of work! Today, as a slight bit of blue skies peeked in through all the loose ends, they decided to take a Sunday stroll.       "Where shall we go, my dear" Marvin pleasantly asked as Mavis finished getting ready to go.      "Let's circle around and see who is new in the neighborhood, shall we?" Mavis replied.  "I'm wondering if anyone decided to take that man-made house we saw?  Do you remember that one?  It had the copper chimney?  It was available a few weeks ago."      "Shall we go and spend some time on the live wire as well?" Marvin inquired