Wednesday, December 7, 2016

venice

I have always loved taking photographs to remember the experiences we've had. 

In our family of artists sometimes a photograph can inspire a new song, sometimes even a new novel, but at the very least, powerful new memory.

This photograph was taken on the streets of Venice, a few years ago. The elderly priest is such a part of the atmosphere; it gives the photo a timelessness. In Venice, the lack of cars and wheels, the slower pace, the personalities, and the amazing architecture add to the timelessness. Every alleyway tells you that you are in a historic city. Venice first became a city over a thousand years ago.

Lately it seems like life is moving very fast. In Venice, time has a way of stretching out over a long beautifully paced day.

If you saw this photo, what story would it tell to you? What emotion what it evoke in you?

Thursday, September 15, 2016

lac d’annecy

A few years ago, for the second time, we took our children to France. We stayed in Annecy, in a hotel right on the lake. We awoke the first day to thousands of people stretching their strong bodies in preparation for a bike race. That day we walked around the lake. The air was crisp and clear. The water was peaceful, covered in some areas with brightly colored boats. People were happy, they were on holiday, it was summer.  Every day, for the five days we were there, was an opportunity to see something new.

We travel to get outside of ourselves and find new perspectives.  We travel to see and experience new things, to be exposed to different cultures and ideas. We travel to see something beyond our daily norm.  We travel to connect to the rest of the world.  And when we return home, we are inspired to take some of the magic and expansiveness of having seen something else, and keep it in our hearts.

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

paris

My husband loves Paris, even in the rain. He first took me there in 2009 when our children were young. Paris is a city of artists and dreamers, where the old meets the new and people on the streets are relaxed yet very sophisticated.

The pastries in Paris are the best in the world. Everything is made fresh daily.  We enjoyed chocolate and pistachio croissants, fruit tarts, baguettes of course, and my personal favorite, meringue.

The parks in Paris are so beautiful and expansive. Children sail boats in manmade lakes and ride old fashioned merry-go-rounds. People relax in the sun on wooden benches and old men play chess.

The museums in Paris are places to get lost in. Be sure to visit the main ones such as the Louvre, the Musee d' Orsay, and the Musee Rodin, but also the smaller ones such as the Musee Marmotton Paris.

Friday, February 26, 2016

monterosso

I'll never forget the first time I stepped foot in Monterosso. It was my third time in Italy, in 2011, the second time we brought our children overseas for a vacation. The family had taken a long train ride to Cinque Terre and we were all really ready to get to our destination.

We stepped off the train and were surprised to immediately see the sea right in front of us. It was brilliant blue and welcoming, and so peaceful. We all took a deep breath and smiled.

We walked along the main street for about five or ten minutes to our hotel, our suitcases bumping rhythmically over the stone street, the Liguiran Sea to our left, in this sleepy yet vibrant town.

We arrived at our hotel, a medium sized soft-yellow building along the main road, overlooking a local beach. Hotel La Spiaggia. The owner Andrea greeted us, and over the next week we would come to befriend both him and his young daughter Maria, who also worked at the front desk.  Every day after breakfast they would ask us what our plans were, and make suggestions of places to see, where to eat. To this day we have never experienced this kind of personal service in any hotel we have ever been to.

Monterosso is part of the region in Italy known as the Cinque Terre, or five towns. These small towns hover the sea, many simple homes built into the craggy rocks, high up with incredible views of the ocean. In summertime kids that grow up in the towns run barefoot down the carved stone walkways to the local beaches. They play soccer outdoors til the sun sets. They sit on small rounded multi-colored pebble beaches and talk to their grandfathers in Italian, while anchored boats rock in the distant sea.

I have been to many beautiful places where the earth meets the ocean. Monterosso, with few cars driving on the roads, is perhaps the most beautiful seafront town I have been to. It feels like you are going back in time.  Monterosso is one place where artists will have no shortage of inspiration.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

maui

After our wedding my California husband took me to the place many Californians go in the winter, to Hawaii. He chose his favorite island, Maui.

Maui, to a small town girl from Penfield, New York, was magic.

In the open airport the moment I arrived I felt the warm balmy air on my skin. I remember the brilliant blue ocean, a color I had only seen once when I visited Catalina Island.  I remember eating fresh papaya with a lime juice drizzle every morning, the peaceful expansive green hills upcountry, cows and sheep grazing for miles. I remember the exotic fish meals we had, with macadamia nut crust, and purple potatoes on the side. I remember walks on the soft sand that stretched for miles.

But mostly, when I think of Maui that first time, I remember the flowers -- the sweet subtle smell of plumeria, and the brilliant pinks, oranges, and red colored tropical flowers growing everywhere, just bursting with joy to be alive.

Thursday, February 11, 2016

dreaming up a journey

Mt Tamalpais, Mill Valley California


I married a man I dreamed up in high school. 

As a freshman I was part of a huge cast in the school play, and there was this cute senior named Rick. He was so sweet to everyone and he played the piano. Everyone would gather around to sing with him. I decided then and there that I would marry a man like that.

Eleven years later I was living and working in Washington DC and I took a trip to visit a friend who had just moved to Berkeley. She showed me all around northern California. I loved the beauty and spirit of the area – biking in the mountains, exploring the secluded craggy beaches.   From her house I could walk to the enormous Whole Foods Market on Telegraph Avenue, and wander around the famous U.C. Berkeley campus.  

I didn’t know why but I felt so at home there. Being a small town girl I was usually a little anxious in cities. But not Berkeley. I felt so welcome there.

I don’t know if it was the fragrance of the eucalyptus trees, the warmth of the friendly sun, the vibe of the people, or something else. But the atmosphere in northern California permeated my being and made me want to stay.

A year passed and I decided to revisit my friend in northern California. During this trip I met my piano man who was living in Mill Valley amongst the redwoods. I fell in love with him and was already in love with California. So I decided to move there to see if the relationship with California and my piano man would last.

I'm so glad I did. Two years later we were married in our back yard in Mill Valley.


Saturday, January 30, 2016

on becoming an artist

Mom's garden, 2009

Other than yearly trips to Florida, most of my young childhood was spent in my hometown exploring trees, meadows, snow, wildflowers, ponds, and cornfields.  It was enough to drive a half hour to visit family members and enter their homes, their yards, their creative worlds.  That was travel.

I grew up in a big family with four children.  I was the family artist for as long as I can remember. How did I become an artist? Perhaps there was some talent.  But I think it had more to do with the people in my life who, all in their own way, saw the world as their canvas.  And how witnessing them live their expressive lives affected and inspired me.

The adults in my life were creative people.  My aunts were artists.  Two of them sewed beautifully, and made things by hand, one painted on canvas, another painted on velvet.   My father and uncle refinished antiques -- wood furniture, tools, boxes, -- often found by the side of the road, often under layers of paint, new treasures to discover.

And then there was my mother. Somehow she set up our home to be lived in and comfortable, yet also a work of art, her work of art. She decorated the house beautifully with antiques and handmade items. She had incredible flower gardens. One room in our house was filled with over twenty plants and flowers. My mom sewed clothes for us, for our dolls, and she was always getting me craft projects to work on with her. Holidays were a time to make decorations.  Birthdays were a time to make gifts and cards. The birth of a new baby gave reason to learn to make a doll.

My maternal grandmother crocheted, made crafts, and every year we got handmade gifts from her for Christmas.  My maternal grandfather built complex machines with gears and levers from his bare hands, and a dollhouse and balance beam for me.  My other grandmother painted china plates with flowers, so delicately. My paternal grandfather grew flowers. Peonies were his favorite.  Here he was, a stoic German man, but he loved his pink peonies.  They were his pride and joy.

I saw all the things these adults made and would marvel at their skills and the beauty that resulted. I noticed the way the light came in, filtered, from a newly sewn lace curtain and the color of the stain on the wood. I knew the difference between cherry and maple and birch, probably by age ten.  I liked the feeling and look of beautiful things.  I suppose I developed a sense of taste at a young age. But I never went to an art museum as a child.  I didn't need to.

My grandparents lived a few hours from us, but close enough that we would visit for holidays and even weekends.  These drives from Upstate New York to the small town of Bradford in the southern tip of Pennsylvania were my first trips, my first travel.  I remember looking out the window throughout the four seasons, and seeing the landscape change. There were new blossoms in the spring, lakes in the summer, the golden colors of autumn, and sparkling white snow in winter.  And each place, our town and my grandparent's town, had a life, a vibration, a spirit that was different from the other.

My grandparents lived nestled against mountains. Their home was in a rural neighborhood, and even though they lived in a more remote town than us, their neighborhood was bigger than ours, so that world was huge to my young mind.  Their town had rolling green hills dotted with Queen Anne's lace, long peaceful country roads, a charming downtown, a country club with a beautiful golf course, lots of John Deere tractors, and a Zippo factory. Native American reservations were nearby, they always intrigued and mystified me, as did the local orphanage, housed in an old Victorian.  It was all so different than Upstate New York, and "different" was expansive.  

When I was quite young my grandmother gave me a craft project to do that she had gotten in the mail.  She saw how much I loved it and from that time onward every time we visited there was a new project just for me to create. She would take me to her ceramics studio and let me pick out a tiny figurine to paint. I thought I was in Heaven.  It was our special thing, me and my grandma.

The kind things that adults do for you when you are a child, where they see something in you and encourage it, become part of you.  If you are lucky, you are nourished by the best possible people. Your family.

Good adults reflect back to kids their potential.  I was one of the lucky ones. The adults around me saw the artist in me and a fire was lit that never burned out.

Sunday, January 17, 2016

travel

Travel has always been a passion of mine.  I remember at the age of seven, my parents waking us in the middle of the night, station wagon packed, to begin the drive from Upstate New York to Florida. It would take three days. My three siblings and I each brought a small suitcase of toys, card games, books, craft projects. There were no electronic devices to occupy our attention. Only a CB radio we got when my oldest brother turned thirteen. We would spend the next few days on the road, seeing the east coast out the window, and playing with our treasures.  We would stop off for picnics along the way, and marvel at the way people's accents would change the further south we went.

Florida, to a small town girl from the north, was another world.  There were palm trees, lizards, oranges the size of softballs, coconuts, mounds of colorful shells in the sand -- gems to be found, and the tourquoise ocean, lulling us to sleep every night.  I still have some of the shells I gathered as a child. And even now I remember the feeling of peace I experienced walking the beach at night with my father.  It was just one time, and it was just he and I, that night.  But we talked about the moon, and the tides and the magic of the earth.  And it changed me.  It opened me up to something much bigger than I had been exposed to before.  To ideas and feelings and a desire to know the world.