Jodi Hills

So this is who I am – a writer that paints, a painter that writes…

Monthly Archives: August 2021


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Called you by name.

I had just gotten my banana seat bike for my birthday. I was six years old, this 27th of March, in Minnesota, but the excitement of a new year, a new bike, a new freedom, was enough to cut through the still winter cold. I rode the most beautiful thing on wheels that I had ever seen down the hill. Past Norton’s. Into the “North End.” It sounds more mysterious than it really was, this undeveloped part of VanDyke road. But being a brand new six, on a brand new bike, riding in this uncharted territory was as close to being an astronaut as I would ever come.


There was no sense of time. I spun the tires in the gravel. Raced through rocks and grassless paths. Past barren trees. Over half frozen mud. It was glorious. My only clock was the sun, and it was telling me to go home. I heard a faint call in the distance. Louder as I got closer. It was my name. She was calling my name. Standing frantic at the end of our driveway, her hands raised in the air when she saw me. I’m not sure if I got off of my banana seat bike, or she pulled me off, but I was suddenly in her arms. So tightly held in her arms. I had been gone much longer than I thought. I hate that I had worried her, so I held on too. For the first time I remember letting go first. She was still hugging me. What a glorious feeling. Hugging me with a love, that I somehow knew, no matter where I ventured in this world, would never be lost. Feeling that, it’s my birthday, every day!

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A place for us.

I was working at my desk when he landed on the window sill, just a foot from my shoulder. This magpie seemed to own the whole sky. No worries. He was looking out at the garden, not at me. I watched him. He was so close, but he hadn’t yet turned to see me. When he turned his black and blue head towards me, his mouth, if possible, would have turned into an OH! His neck jerked back, his eyes grew twice their size. What was I doing in his world???? He did a double take, and I was still there. He just couldn’t believe it! He shrugged his wing – he really did, and flew into the endless blue.

We are arrogant to believe this world is only for us. Each bird. Each flower. Has a place. There is room. To fight over the blue above us, the green beneath us, and every color in between… senseless. There is room. A place for us.

They sang it in the song. A time and a place for us:

“Someday, somewhere
We’ll find a new way of living
Will find a way of forgiving
Somewhere
There’s a place for us
Somewhere a place for us
Peace and quiet and open air wait for us
Somewhere
There’s a time for us
Someday there’ll be a time for us
Time together with time to spare
Time to learn, time to care
Someday, somewhere
We’ll find a new way of living
Will find there’s a way of forgiving
Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere
There’s a place for us
A time and a place for us
Hold my hand and we’re halfway there
Hold my hand and I’ll take you there
Somehow, someday, somewhere”

I have to believe it is now. I have to believe it is here.

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Feeling yellow

Feeling yellow.

He was probably only 12 when he came into the studio, but he asked a very intelligent question. He looked at the large painting of lemons, and then the checkered taxi. He compared the simplicity of the large lemons to the intricate details of the cab. “Is it easier to paint the simple things?” he asked. I smiled. I liked that he was thinking. Pondering the strokes. I told him it was a good question. “No,” I said, and went on to explain why. “You would think so, just at first glance – but the details actually work as a map, directions…the details give you more of the answers than the simple shape of the lemon or the bowl or spoon. With the detailed paintings, you are provided with more tools, but with the simple ones, you have to supply the tools, contribute the interest – the feeling. You can create a story with a cab, and a person and a city… but can you do the same with a bowl of lemons. Because that’s the goal, with all creations, I suppose, is to create a story, evoke meaning, sentiment, feelings.”

“How do you make the yellows different?” he asked. We stepped closer. I showed him the yellows were not just yellow, but yellow and white and blue, and red, and gray, and orange. Yellow is never just yellow. “I can feel it,” he said. What a perfect answer. Not just see it, but feel it.

Today you will be given a multi-colored, yellow sun, filled with the simple and the intricate details of a day. Celebrate the beauty in both. Create your story. Find the meaning. Today is never just a day. Feel it!!!

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Worth the time

Nobody sees a flower really; it is so small. We haven’t time, and to see takes time – like to have a friend takes time. Georgia O’Keeffe

She held the clipboard tightly to her chest. It was a listing of all the paintings I was showing at her gallery. She didn’t list the prices on the wall. Only on the secret clipboard. I wondered at first if this was a good idea. I watched her interact with the guests. She was in complete control. Like she was leading the dance. They followed her. Asked questions. Even if someone asked to buy a piece, she said she would write their name down and let them know at the end of the show. Really? Was this a good idea? I didn’t know, but I trusted her, and this dance, it was so lovely. So the evening went on. Glorious with anticipation. People chattered. Who would get the paintings? It was so exciting. Value was added with each inquiry, each name taken down. And she held it all close to her heart.


She took her time, you see. She made the people engage. Ask questions. Learn about the paintings. The meaning of each one. The stories behind them. And it all had worth, the paintings, the people, the time. She sold out the show. The only time this has ever happened for me. It was amazing! What a rare and precious gift. All because she took the time. And in the time, saw the worth, held it close to her heart.


I want to live like this. Make friends like this. Gather it all in, close to my heart, every story, every second. This life, it’s really quite a show!

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You don’t have to blend to belong

Last night I sat at the table with my French husband and a portion of our family. The table gathered in two nephews, one who is married to a German girl. They speak to their son in both French and German, but to each other in English. The other nephew at the table, married to a South Korean girl. They speak to their son in each of their languages, and to each other in English. Giddy with the scent of youth that danced around the table, was my sister-in-law’s mother, who only speaks French, but said (in French) that she loves to listen to people speaking in English, even though she doesn’t know what they are saying. Also at the table, a cousin who loves only board games. A niece with her friend who is studying dentistry in Spain, both girls wanting to help the environment, but not willing to give up essentials like flying on an airplane to buy leather shoes. And finishing out the table, cousins whose only son makes French pastries in California. We all sat around the table eating Italian pizza.

Somehow we fit. We find a connection. We push tables together, and pull up chairs. Open our hearts and minds, and fill our glasses. We are not the same. We certainly don’t blend, but we belong. We have a place at the table.

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Taste this life!

I have eaten a lot of jelly in my life. At hotels. Restaurants. Even my own house. But eating jelly that I have made, from fruit that I have picked, from a tree in our garden, and put on bread (that I have also made) – well, now this is new. New and exciting! I can honestly say that I think about it before I go to sleep, as if it were Christmas Eve!


Maybe it’s the taste. The freshness. The effort made. The sharing with someone you love. Or maybe it’s figuring out that this is probably “IT” – finding the joy in the small things. Celebrating the little things. Figuring out that there are 364 other “eves” to Christmas – that can all be just as exciting!!


I love that the cover of the jar matches the jelly that colors the toast that brightens the breakfast that fills my soul and begins my day! That’s a good morning! Perhaps even a holiday! The little things — they that make living such a big deal!!!!!!!

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Unassuming strings


Yesterday three different people sent pictures to me of my artwork in their homes. I can honestly say this is nothing short of thrilling. Truly. I will most likely never visit the home in Germany that has the original painting of my clock radio and coffee cup. Nor will I step foot into the house in Ireland where my painting of Gregory Peck hangs. But in a small way, I am there. I am next to the cause that you represent. Next to your son’s image, who has passed. In your daughter’s bedroom where she practices her dance.


We have the saying, “no strings attached” – meaning, I guess, a gift, a connection without obligation. This is good. We should always give without expectations of getting something in return. But I’m thinking how nice it would be if we could, in this spirit, still make the attachments, the connections. Still become a part of other peoples’ lives, with the tiniest of unassuming strings. Strings that reached out in compassion, interest, the pure joy of association, connection. And maybe those tiny strings could weave a web of empathy. Supporting us in the most difficult times. Raising us together in our times of celebration.


Today, I link each letter, each word, each sentence, with the hope they form the smallest (but strongest) of unassuming strings, and somehow, we attach.

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Complementary.

Opposites, in painting, are also referred to as complementary. Isn’t that interesting? They are on the opposite side of the color wheel, completely different, but when placed next to each other in a painting they create the largest contrast, making each color the most vibrant. In other words, they bring out the best in each other. Hmmmm….

I think you can see where I’m going with this. It’s strange that we haven’t found a way to do that for one another. We could, you know, be joyful in ourselves, and stand next to our opposites, those different in race and religion, those with different ideas and lifestyles, different interests and bank accounts, different capabilities… we could stand next to our opposites and bring out the best in them, and they in us. What a tableau that would be!

Maybe today I could be the yellow to your blue. And we could both be vibrant!

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I have to believe my feet will take me where I need to go.


When I was in high school I had surgery on my right ankle. For the first time, and eventually the sixth time. For many years, and for good reason, my ankle was very weak. The doctor recommended that I wear work boots. Work boots. This would be a new addition to my wardrobe. I wanted to be a girly girl, like the girly girl my mother was. Fashionable. Pretty. I saw her get dressed for work. Taking care with each piece of clothing. Right down to the shoes. Shoes. Not work boots. But I needed them. So there was only one thing to be done. Not hide them. Celebrate them. (This was long before chunky was in. Long before Dr. Martens boots.) I had to make them my own. So I wore them with everything. Pants, rolled up and pinned, of course! Dresses! Full view. I was proud of them. I had my own style. I walked steady, and sure — even when I wasn’t — probably the greatest lesson my mother ever taught me.


It wasn’t easy for her, to get dressed for work each day. Answer the school phones with a greeting that people still remember to this day. But she did it. Broken, weak, for sure, (also for good reason) but she put one foot in front of the other and did it with style. I would do the same, in my own way.


Some people in this world stomp and trudge and carry on. While others, they make a path — believe in those people. Be one of those people. And your feet will take you where you need to go.

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What if!

The Edina Art Fair was my first art show. I didn’t even sign up for it. A friend of mine filled out the forms. Applied. And I got in. She didn’t tell me until I had a booth assignment. There was no backing out. Sometimes decisions get made for you. And thank goodness for that!

My booth was very rudimentary. I had no idea what I was doing. But my mother stood bravely beside me, and we laughed from the inside of our hearts and exchanged the art for their money. I sold out the first day. I spent that whole night creating and creating. Fueled with a new confidence and joy. The next day. Sold out again. This was actually happening.

It probably took her 10 minutes to fill out the form. She maybe doesn’t even remember doing it. But I will never forget. It changed my life. It changed my mom’s life. What an impact!

Through the years, when I’ve relayed this story, some people have said – oh, that was way too risky. What if you wouldn’t have sold anything. She would have made things miserable for you. No, I say. Because just the fact that she believed in me enough to fill out the forms, that told me something, gave me something. That alone would have changed my life.

And we need to stop with all the “what if it doesn’t happen?”… and believe in the “what if it does!” Believe in each other. Stand up for each other with wildly high hopes. Stand beside each other with wildly full hearts! And believe that the best could happen! And what if it does!!!!!

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