It’s an odd process finding one true thing to say about myself every day. Truth can be simple but doesn’t come easy. Possible threads drift through my thoughts daily, but I don’t always want to write into them. I was twelve years old the first time I ever boarded a plane alone. I believe that singing a song you love at the top of your lungs can be a form of prayer. I talk to trees and plants. Zoos and other places that imprison wildlife make me weep. One of the reasons I stay home with my toddler is so that she can be in the dirt and fresh air, on the beach and under trees. I struggle with the way writing pulls me away from my daughter and my husband. When I was twenty-one, I visited Cezanne‘s studio in the south of France, crouched on a hillside with my canvas while the wind blew dirt and twigs into my oil paints, and I painted my own Mont Sainte-Victoire.
I’m pretty good at painting tiny details. It feels meditative and relaxing. I made this today for my beach-combing, rock-collecting valentine.
The design I painted here is an inexact copy of the artist and illustrator Phoebe Wahl‘s 2016 valentine. I adore her work! Phoebe just won the Ezra Jack Keats book award and I can’t wait to get her new book Sonya’s Chickens.
Since I’m emphasizing scale, perhaps this photo makes more sense.