Blog

WINTERTIME 

2022-2023

Oil on Canvas 

Custom 24k gold frame

48 x 48 in 

(SOLD) 

I don't recall when I first knew . . ..  

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These four weeks especially,  you strike at my heart.  

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I think she will cross over today, or maybe tomorrow.  I just feel it.  

She has put up a valiant fight these past few years. 

(Why did you lie?  Ahhh. . … well.  The ‘81 Degenerates just can't help themselves now, can they?! ) 

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Ahh . . .. Theodora!  

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As I walk on this bed of pine needles  . . crunch,  crunchy crunch crunch . . .. I am dreaming about my home up ahead . . . ..  I am here all alone in the wilderness. This place with a spectacular view, it is warm and cozy.  I can't believe I am here!  Away from it all. . … away from your lies. . …

Snowflakes drop from the Heavens and my Schutzhund-trained pack - especially King -  always all ways reliable, they jump and catch these little wonders of nature falling from above and into their open mouths with jaws that can generate more pounds per square inch than any other but now with lips curled furiously on these flakes they look positively silly - such silly willy guys! - - and now they glance up at me utterly bewildered as the tiny gentle white flakes of perfect organization a geometry disappear as quickly as. . . .  my breath,  a passing white cloud in front of my lips, and yet I do not feel this cold.  It is safe here ~ 

(another coldness helped me decide to come,  . . .. WATB!)   

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I returned to a place I once escaped to before,  The Pine Forest. I saw it in your eyes when you turned on me steps from the Brooklyn Library. Sheepishly asking forgiveness for your actions then wildly off.
I recognized that look from a long, long time ago.  Now. Here. Away from unpredictable earth & peace shattering violence. . …  It is inside of you. I saw it - fleetingly, as you stood there in the cold. It was unexpected and confusing. Something else for Katie to address. She is an excellent therapist!  You need her. . … to fix it. But not with me at your side.  I can't.  That is the reason why I said “go!” 

Here.  The mountains.  A sparkling stream not yet frozen it will be a bit longer. . .  It is filled with life rushing past the french doors of my cottage.  I can lose myself in this beauty.  

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She told me she would hold onto the paper no matter what it took.  Him?  Not a word!  Then she let down her guard - saying  “difficult” “intolerable” “unpleasant”.  She told me many things she despises   The person she sees and the person I see are not the same… Ahh. . . she knows you well. 

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I can not rid myself of her disease. Dying - because of her.  Doctors hospitals biopsies . . … 

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Wildlife, . . ..  eagles gliding by overhead,  bears and mountain lions and wolves (okay I was told ‘no wolves. Those were just very large and very healthy coyotes I had seen one night!). ... I hear “somethings”  nighttime howls, . . .. what beauty God has created . . ..   while some know only how to destroy.   I wanted to run away - - forever - -  to be among nature where I can feel safe and unplug completely from the ‘81 Degenerates and others like them - away from them forever.   This is how I will spend whatever time is left . . ..   

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I wonder if she kept it from him, or if he knew, but I don't want to believe even now that he could have done something so cruel.  I would have liked to have known.  I would have liked confirmation that someone I once believed in more than anyone was not a knowing party to it.  But I suppose it doesn't really matter.  

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Strange,  I was mesmerized by that one episode DC  in GOT,  and I don't even know why.   I think I watched it DC a dozen times. I even named a painting Arya.   Ahh. . ..  well. . ..  with these horrible human beings put there by - you guessed it - the ‘81 Degenerates! -  I suppose it is true then!  'Winter is Coming!" 

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They came disguised as friends.  Narcissists.  Self-serving.  Ice. Liar.  You can not be with a selfish, self-absorbed individual for decades and not become just like them !  You have become what you told me you hated most!  And cruel.  Broken porcelain How did I not see? Never again.  You changed me. 

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I slept easily last night here.  And when I awoke it was to the sound of the stream and the sight of a young deer with her fawns drinking quietly just outside my window.  A noticed another small drop of blood.   It is peaceful here.   I watched from my window for a moment.   I held a tissue, wiped the tears.  I was unable to breathe, and I let out an audible gasp.  I tell myself this too shall pass.  Just breathe.  For a moment I am transported back back across decades.  

My mother is sitting on the edge of my bed,  and she brushes my long dark hair back from in front of my eyes.  She tells me not to be afraid.  He will hold my hand, and she will be there.  And then the image disappeared as suddenly as it appeared.  I do not know how much time is left because of what she has done.  Because of what all the ‘81 Degenerates have done.  The air is cold, but a fire crackles & sends embers up through the chimney.  It smells like wintertime.  And now I am surrounded. . . ..   trees,  trees,  trees,  birds.  And now I feel it.  I am here again in my Pine Forest.  It is safe here, and  I am home.  

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Ahhh. . ..  you ask about Him.   

Who is he you ask?  

The ‘81 Degenerate howls ~ 

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Finally, . . ..  Peace.  He is with me.   And I will create something truly beautiful for him using this gift He's given me.  

Like that piece on the strings that serves to modulate the sound,  so too this gift you gave to me,  with this brush these hands . . ..   

I will show you what I can REALLY do!  I can hear the music sounding so sweet.     "Janai,"  you whisper my name. "Do not be afraid because of what the ice queen has done ~ “

A calmness washes over me, and I begin to paint . . ..         

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THE LESSON

Original __ Natural Dyes on Silk__

I took Molly Brown and Sammy up to Drummond Ranch.  And one day we had the good fortune of being present for the introduction of a litter to the sheep for instinct testing. They were led into the pen and released. Some ran back out. Some six-to-seven week olds ran into the fencing.  Some silly willys just toppled over their own tiny feet. A few ran into each other then flopped onto the dirt.  But one little curious guy ran directly up to one of the old sheep to investigate.  And as he approached, the sheep leaned slowly gently over and their noses met.  This was that really special moment to the best of my recollection, and I hope Dear Reader,  that you can catch a glimpse of that magic here, too!

*   Currently in Artist's Private Collection  *  

2024:  Second Place,  Wyoming State, Juried Show 

WINTER IN HUBEI (Pandemic Series, # 1)
Original__ January 2020__ Oil on Canvas__ 40 in. x 30 in.

(Excerpt from 01/22/2023 entry)

I use surgical gloves when I paint with oils. It makes 'clean up' easy. All I have to do is take the gloves off and discard them. I also no longer use a palette. I love the feel of the oils - they are so tactile - and I use my left (gloved) hand as my palette. You may be wondering what on Earth this has to do with the painting, Winter in Hubei. Everything.


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I used to volunteer at German Shepherd Rescue, before they relocated up to Temecula. I'd go in at 5 in the morning on Saturdays and Sundays to give baths to 20 or more dogs. (Nobody coming to adopt a rescue wants to look at a smelly dog - Duh. . . )
Not only is a good bath conducive to getting the dogs adopted, but from a practical point of view, I could do a relatively complete physical on each of them. Checking for lumps and bumps. . . Bites and wounds. . . Hernias, parasites, and a whole host of other problems. . . And an added plus of bathing - it relaxes the dogs. It puts them in a good mood and helps calm them given the excitement of the meet and greet, an otherwise anxiety-provoking event for many. They realize it may be their chance to get out. . . Find a forever home. Forget about the adoptive 'parents' for a second if you would. It's a stressful situation from the dog's point of view.

Yes, there were many reasons to do what I did. But the truth is more than anything I just loved it. I'd pull on my tall black water-slogging boots and a pair of old ripped and thrice-patched blue jeans and a short-sleeved t- and get in there and get good and dirty. I'd get as wet as the dogs and didn't care. I'd rub them all over and massage them into a trance. This relaxed them, and they were happy. And for just a little while, I was able to forget or at least not think about what had been done to Sim, my black labrador retriever.

Caring for those shepherds - Van Gogh/Snuggles, Magic, Lady, Wilson, Hero, Lissette, King, Rocky, Angel and the others was exactly what the doctor ordered! I loved it and I loved them, and I wanted them each to know that someone cared. That they were loved. That they were not alone. And I began to pick up on slight nuances of their behavior, their likes their dislikes their quirks. Rocky was motivated by playing ball. Lady loved to have her head rubbed. Magic was fearful and hand-shy (he must have been beaten by someone so you had to be especially careful in how you acted around him ~ so as not to exacerbate the issue - or get injured). I knew what each dog was thinking, how he or she would react, and what things set him/her off. Because of this, I could help direct them to the 'perfect home' -- the one where not only the adoptive person would be happy, but equally important -- where the dog would be happy. After all, things hadn't worked out before for them or they wouldn't be here. Wasn't it imperative that we got it right this time around? (The saying is, 'Happy Wife, happy life' - but it also applies to dogs!)

One thing I noticed was that minutes before the gates opened on any given Saturday/Sunday morning and people started to stream in, the mood among the dogs would abruptly change back in the kennels. Seconds before gates were unlocked, while I was in the back up to my neck in bubbles and bathing, preparing them all for their momentary spotlight - hoping that they'd each get adopted - they would turn their huge ears in unison and point them in the direction of the front gate. They were like little antennas with a switch that transmitted to a receiver a radar pulse - incoming. They would record and process the information and act on it. First silently. Just the ears. Then the heads would turn in unison. There was more than one entrance, and I could always tell exactly which gate was being opened by watching the ears. And the heads turning. But it was more than that - you could also tell WHO was coming. Because certain rescuers engendered a more highly anticipated response than others. There were a handful that they were especially excited about. Like Lori. And Caroline. And Linda and Dennis. And I began to be able to read their body language. It's amazing all the things they say - if only people would pay better attention. Maybe it's instinct for them. Or maybe they just pay closer attention to the signs better than we do. But if you stop. . . listen. . . . . and pay careful attention . . . . you can learn a lot.


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I had just returned from an international showing of my work at the National Art Center Tokyo. It was a beautiful show in a thoroughly exquisite venue. My work, Belonging (In Memory of Sam), which I was loathe to leave behind, was on its way from Japan to China, where it would become part of a Permanent Collection. To me that means the work will survive - forever. Long after I am gone, people will be able to see and appreciate it - and for this particular piece - know how much a dog named Sam was loved. The painting would live on and therefore, so would Sam. About that  - I was ecstatic. And too, as often happens after seeing beautiful work from around the World, I was inspired to escape the business side of the art world and return to what I love the most -- the tranquility of being alone, in my space, able to do what I love! I ordered a whole bunch of gloves. And I waited. . . . . . . and waited . . . . and waited. . . .


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Amazon usually delivers the day before you order anything. Really. You just hit SUBMIT and go sit by your front door. The doorbell is already ringing. It's Amazon Delivery! Here's your Prussian Blue, your Violet de Quinacridone Sennelier Oils and the Gamvar Gloss you ordered (2 seconds ago), Miss!

Hit SUBMIT again, and Callisi is standing by the front door, barking. It's the Amazon Delivery guy -- Here are your Peanut Butter Dog Treats, Young Lady!

Dear Reader, You get the picture. . . So what on Earth is taking so darned long with my surgical gloves? I continued to wait. A week passed. Then two. And all the while the News raged on about the new virus in Wuhan. And a dark thought entered my consciousness, and I just couldn't shake it. I knew something BAD was about to happen. I just didn't know what. . . And when I checked, I learned that ALL of the surgical glove suppliers that Amazon uses are based overseas. In China. And not one of them was delivering on gloves. The delay wasn't a problem shipping to the West Coast, say from New Jersey. Surely executives at Amazon must know what's going on here. I wonder what other products are being impacted. Suddenly I felt a lot like the dogs at German Shepherd Rescue. My ears went up and turned in one direction.


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Red flowers in China are symbolic for life and longevity. They are also symbolic of compassion.


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The sky was blue. All seemed peaceful. But what ought to have been an easy day of painting turned suddenly dark.

I never know exactly what is going to come out. But I do have colors in my mind that I'd like to see together or at least try to combine. That shade of _{blue definitely was calling out to cornflower yellow. But that's not what happened. And I don't know why. I have NEVER used that color of deep red}, burgundy before. But somehow or other that's what felt right. It's a really dark shade of red. Red is supposed to be passion. To be blood. To be life. But this red was different. I'd never chosen that particular color before. It is the color of deoxygenated blood. At first I wiped the flowers away. I found them unsettling. Now they are all gone. The life that is the sculpted 3-dimensional flowers is gone off of my canvas because I erased them. Not really. The stain of the red is left behind. And I remember thinking - 'They are all gone. Only ghosts remain.' That upset me, so I scribbled the ghostly remains of the flowers back where they would have been - if I hadn't wiped them away. But they kept wanting to populate the canvas. So these dark deoxygenated flowers returned.

And I thought of the virus. It was a capsulated virus, this coronavirus. I put some bubbles in. I want them to blend. I don't want them sticking out. Nobody is going to notice them initially. They are in the environment, but nobody sees them. There they are. They are all over the place.

And then I start to cry. And the oils are still very wet in one area and my tears mix with the wet, thin areas of paint and drip down onto the canvas. Oh my, I will need to correct that. You can see me crying right onto that canvas so that can not stand. I'll have to come back to this area in the upper left of the canvas and 'fix it.' But oh, wait. Maybe I should leave that be. It feels right.

The ghosts, the capsules, the tears. . . up up up they go. And then it is over. And it says everything I wanted to say.


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I thought of calling it Winter in Wuhan. But the alliteration - bothersome. I changed it.

This work is a lament for all of the beautiful Chinese people who suffered so greatly, especially at the beginning of this Pandemic. But it's a lament in general, for all that nCV19 (COVID-19) has wrought upon the World. I put the piece to one side of my studio and didn't show it to anyone for a long time.

Then February came and went. And still no gloves . . ..



Provenance & Publications:
Art in America, 40th Anniversary Edition, December 2022 - January 2023
"Art in the Time of Corona," Exhibition & Catalog (Volume 3), Dab Art Co., Los Angeles, California U.S.A., January-December 2022
XXth International Japan Exhibition, Chiba City Museum of Art, Tokyo, JAPAN
https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/lHcgti_fMjZmzTKa_ISJ8Q
https://youtube.com/shorts/vzmaO0XpMYU?feature=share
https://www.japan-live-exhibits.com/m_cbcb_ChibaCityMuseumofArt/
ARTSY, January-December 2022
Art News, August/September 2021
Artillery Magazine, July/August 2021

Exhibition News:
"Art in the Time of Corona," Exhibition & Catalog (Volume 3), Dab Art Co., Los Angeles, California,USA
ARTSY, January-December 2022
Art News, August/September 2021
Artillery Magazine, July/August 2021



* Please note: Beatrice Wood Arts Center handles sales and is a 501c3.

CRUISING THE GALAPAGOS

Silk 

They were given a gift - isolation from human beings.  No airport on the islands.  No flights onto of off.  Far from the mainland. They didn't know enough to be afraid.

It was like stepping into a fairytale. One in which all species lived together in harmony.  They were unafraid and would drag themselves up in the boats, onto the sidewalks, wherever they could find a space to relax. And relax they did. 

This guy was sunning himself on a small boat in the harbor. He didn't flinch as I walked by.  He opened  one eye, glanced over in my direction, then went back to sleep. 

i wanted to capture that - the beauty of naïveté. (Because I had heard that an airport was being built. And that made me very sad)