"Moonlight Magic" - mixed media on canvas paper, 9" x 12".  Ready to frame.  Available on Artfinder.

When you're way up high
And you look below
At the world you left
And the things you know,
Little more than a glance
Is enough to show you
Just how small you are.
 
from the song "Giants in the Sky", Into the Woods


Here we are, deep in the woods, tra-la-la-ing along our merry way, when giants appear in the sky.  Giants in the form of airport shootings just minutes away from home.  Giants in the form of advancing illness and shrinking medical options for someone I love.  Giants stomping around up there, causing chaos in the forest and shaking our trees.

Well, giants are going to happen.  They are just a part of the journey, right?  But what do we do when there are giants?  Years ago, I would throw on my sneakers and go for a long run to shake off the giants.  When I could no longer run, I would grab the dogs and go for a long hike, leaving the giants behind.  When there were no more dogs, I would get on my bike and head out for a hard ride.  There is a recurring theme  here for me - physicality is my natural response to giants.  And though it doesn't change what giants do (really, those guys are impossible!), it does improve how I feel.  Truly, that is the only thing I have any serious influence over.  But I didn't always know that.

There was a time, back in the day, when giants would make me want to grab a sword, climb up the beanstalk and kick some giant butt!  I have bloodied my knuckles on more giant ankles than I can count, and never won a battle.  Funny how I have to get so old to realize how small I am, how little I know, and how tiny my determination is when pitted against a giant.

So today I will grab a hat and some garden gloves, head out into the yard and pick a fight with some serious weeds.  It might not prevent airport shootings or cure fatal diseases, but it will clear the path for me to continue the journey past the giants into the woods.

Scratching - like removing the surface of a lottery ticket, she says, to see if you've won.  It's what you do when you go on an artist date seeking inspiration at a museum or botanical gardens.  You are scratching when you are enchanted by the coffee-table books and art magazines at Barnes & Noble.  Scratching happens when you are people-watching at the airport and see a girl, a darling girl, in a fancy dress with lacy socks and red, curly hair and can't forget her sweet rosey cheeks or the tilt of her head.  Small things, little things, tiny things that get stuck in your head and maybe later in your sketchbook and somehow become the tiny spark of light for a bigger project or a new series or theme.

I am scratching when I mine the lyrics of Into the Woods for little ideas that might resonate (and there are so many gems in song lyrics).  My favorite form of scratching is to collect names from nametags in restaurants and stores.  Unusual names.  Names that become characters in a painting just because there was something about that particular name that sparked an idea.

My journal should be called a Scratch Book intead.  Filled with scribbled thoughts, sketches, phrases, taped in pieces of paper.  None of them worth diddly by themselves, and some of them really not good at all.  But Tharp says, "Scratching is  not about control and repose.  It's about unleashing furious mindless energy and watching it bounce off everything in your path...Let it be awful and awkward and wrong."  Just let the ideas flow.

Beans?
These must be the witch's beans!
We'll take them with us.

Today, dear reader, I give you beans.  What you do with them, well, that's where the fun begins!

There are games we prefer to play each year (25 Words or Less, Cards Against Humanity, Balderdash) and there is always a new game under the tree from Santa.

This year, the new game was Exploding Kittens.  Yep, that's right.  Kittens that explode.  It is as irreverent as Cards Against Humanity but more silly, more ridiculous and more likely to be repeated for days afterward.  My husband and I are still calling "NOPE" on anything we don't want to do.  My son is infatuated with a card featuring a cartoon baby owl smoking crack.  Oh yes.  It's that kind of a game.

I know you're curious... satisfy your need to know by watching this video.

What on earth does this have to do with Into the Woods, you might be wondering?

Look at her...
There are bugs on her dugs.
There are flies in her eyes.
There's a lump on her rump
Big enough to be a hump-

Well, let's just say there is mischief, limerick and malarkey, especially when you go into the woods.  

​"Sassy Squared" - mixed media on gallery-wrapped canvas, 18" x 24".  Private commission.

Yesterday I wondered what might be lurking in the woods...and thanks to a couple of mischievious girls, I found the first fierce beastie almost immediately.

I met these two charming kiddos at ArtServe last month, and found them completely irresistible.  They saw adventure around every corner!  A conference room table and chairs became a jungle gym.  An umbrella became a magical tool which both had to hold simultaneously to keep things fair.  In the way of little innocents, these girls were head over heels for their friendship even though they had just met.  I couldn't help but follow them down  the path into the winter woods, where they were completely fearless and tamed the wild bear in seconds.

The way is clear,
The light is good,
I have no fear,
Nor no one should.
The woods are just trees,
The trees are just wood.
No need to be afraid there

A sassy duo worthy of the song lyrics. 

When we're very young, we're afraid of many things - the dark, monsters, strangers, asparagus.  But when we get old, we're afraid of things we never worried about as very young kids - what others might think of us or whether or not we look silly, and it gets in the way of our ability to play.  These two lovelies reminded me of the pure joy of being immersed in your imagination, and in the comfort of someone who really gets you.  

In all honesty, this piece took much more than one day to create, but I saved the finishing touches for this month.  I was a bit sad to be done, as these two brightened my studio and kept me smiling for days on end.  I will add them to my joy pockets. :)  Already, this journey into the woods is proving to be a delightful adventure

And before we've stepped foot into the woods, we've put a monkey on our backs with our own thoughts.  Well, at least that's how my brain often works.

One of the gifts I received this Christmas is a book by the choreographer Twyla Tharp called The Creative Habit.  I'm a few chapters in, and truly impressed by her creative discipline, which begins with understanding her own thoughts about everything.  Including fear.  

Our ability to grow is directly proportional to our ability to entertain the uncomfortable.

Are you uncomfortable reading that sentence?  I was for a second.  But if I think about all discomfort using the exercise metaphor (using muscles causes discomfort which then causes stronger better bigger muscles) then I begin to see the uncomfortable as a launch pad for something great!​  Just changing the thought around the thing makes it less of one thing (fear) and more of another (challenge), and then I no longer hesitate.

Today's piece is an abstract inspired by the little things growing in the forest...lichens, mosses, algae. And like our budding ability to embrace the uncomfortable, they play a mighty role in the world.  

Last January's 30 in 30 challenge was also my first ever "Adopt a Painting" online event.  And there are a whole bunch of paintings celebrating their first year in a new home as a result.  Yay!  It was a great way to get affordable art in the hands of folks who wanted to begin collecting original pieces.

But let's try something even more adventurous this year - a "Pay What You Can" event!  (Thank you to Jodi Ohl for this incredible idea!)  Here's how it works:  each day, in addition to a new 30 in 30 piece, I will feature one original work at the end of my blog post.  If you're interested in the piece, email me what you'd like to pay to own it (shipping will be added to that price, so keep that in mind).  Before the next day's blog post, I will email the winner, who will be selected at random.  It isn't about who offers the most, it's about getting art into your hands to start your new year off with a creative BOOST!  (Can you tell I am super excited about this?)

So let's meet today's "Pay What You Can" featured piece:

"Native Girl" - mixed media on canvas paper, 9 x 12.  This will be shipped flat.  Anticipated shipping cost is around $10.  Email me at imajenation@gmail.com to put your name in the hat!

"Johnny Moonlight" mixed media on canvas paper, 9 x 12.  Sold.

It's raining this morning in south Florida.  A steady, drizzly rain, the kind which makes the sky a hazy gray and the world feel blanketed and muffled.  A perfect day for pajamas and tea, gift wrapping and music.  A contemplative day - I find myself reviewing the year, its highs and lows, moments of laughter and tears.  And it has been an incredible year.

But the world doesn't want me to sit in contemplation.  No, it demands goal-setting for 2017.  Planning and scheduling.  Examining what worked and what didn't and making a new strategy for my personal life and my art.  Articles popping up every time I go online - "Have you set your goals for next year?", or "Goal setters wildly outperform others" and such.  And I am a goal setter, so this shouldn't annoy me so much.

But just this once, I want to savor the year all the way to the end of it before tackling the next one.  I want to drag my heels a bit, run a stick along the fence rails, lollygag and dally.  I want to savor this last morsel, eat every crumb and lick my lips.  I want to tarry awhile.

Even as I write these words, I realize how oddly wonderful this is.  One of my goals this year has been to play, to savor moments, to relax and sink in to the present moment.  And here I sit, already transformed, refusing to be pushed out of the present.  This is not who I was a year ago.  And if I hadn't tarried here with these words, I might not have had this realization.

With this one last blog post for the year, before the family arrives and the late nights, board games and hilarity begins, before the inevitable (and important) goal-setting and planning, I want to thank you, dear sweet reader!  Thank you for reading when your day was already so busy.  Thank you for commenting and sharing your thoughts.  Thank you for supporting and cheerleading and uplifting.  Thank you for sitting with me in the present moment, just for a bit, in this wild ride that was 2016.  See you next year.

"Winter's Child" - mixed media on canvas paper, 9" x 12". Ready to frame. Available on Artfinder.

"They might say I couldn't sing. But they won't say I didn't sing." - FLORENCE FOSTER JENKINS

This line from a movie has been tumbling around in my head since we watched it last weekend. Have you seen it? Based on the true story of a woman who loved to sing opera, but didn't do it very well. Yet she put on shows in big venues, sang her heart out, made records and became a bit famous, either because of or in spite of her awful singing voice.

As I watched this story, I felt at first uncomfortable...a bit of the nerves we all feel when we do something creative and put it OUT THERE IN THE WORLD, open to criticism and judgment. Florence was mostly protected from negativity by her husband, and perhaps that's why she kept going despite the odds. All she heard was remarkable feedback until near the end of her life. And she was encouraged to go big! Carnegie Hall, no less! Her dream came true.

Now I am one who really appreciates ALL feedback, not just the positive. Because I truly want to get better at what I do. But the movie did get me to wondering how far a person could go if they were simply encouraged over and over again. As a society, there is a sort snarky judgement vibe that pervades everything we watch and read, for the most part. I see it in our youngsters and in media aimed toward them. I wonder how much this critical undertone inhibits them from reaching for their dreams?

In the end, Florence lived her dream at Carnegie Hall and had her songs played on the radio. True, maybe the songs weren't very good. But her personal experience of her own life was unlimited, grand and fearless! And don't we all want that?

So as we roll into a new year, contemplating goals, dreams and resolutions, I am determined to encourage others - endlessly, fully and enthusiastically. Because with a little cheerleading, any one of us, or ALL of us, could live out our dreams.

And I went into this event, as adults do, filled with the wisdom and whimsy I was going to pass along to these youngsters. The universe (you knew this was coming, right?) had another plan for me.

It was only thirty minutes.  A dozen or so slides.  A presentation of my story as an artist.  And everything went according to plan...until the drive home.   I was replaying the event in my head, looking for areas of improvement for next time when I was overwhelmed with tears.  Happy tears, grateful tears, but tears, nonetheless.  

I've told my story before - in soundbites and elevator speeches, captions and quick paragraphs, in interviews and blog posts and workshops.  But never before as a story beginning with Once Upon a Time...  It was the first time I vocalized my own fairytale, in the third person, from start to finish in the whimsical style of my very own creations.   It was magical... these kiddos gave me the enormous gift of listening, participating and applauding.  And I felt like Cinderella, magically transformed into the person I really already was!

Public speaking isn't something we normally consider a gift.  More like a Herculean task to be conquered with shaking knees.  But the opportunity to tell our story is a HUGE gift - one that has the power to influence others and to transform ourselves.  

In this month of exchanging gifts, I am so grateful to have received this one.  It will go into one of my joy pockets!