Jodi Hills

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

Monthly Archives: February 2022


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Creating a song.

My mom and I drove to Galveston for the sole reason of the Glen Campbell song of the same name. It wouldn’t be the last time I was lured by the romance of a song.

Yesterday, my husband and I drove to Lake Charles, LA. We can thank Lucinda Williams for that. I (we) have been singing her song “Lake Charles” since we entered the South. The glorious power of seeing things through someone else’s eyes.

Maybe that’s the best thing about all of the arts — seeing things as others see them. In the city where we live in France, Aix en Provence, the Sainte Victoire mountain is the star. Cezanne painted it again and again. I have often wondered if it would have had the same appeal if he hadn’t shown us the beauty that he saw. I’m not sure, because now I can’t unsee it. And it is beautiful.

I write of the simple things. Paint them as well. Some might even say ordinary. I tell you of my home town. My mother. My grandparents. My school. For me, none of it is ordinary. And maybe you see it. See them. And maybe it helps you see the extraordinary beauty of your own life. And with any luck, that beauty gets stuck in your head, like a favorite song.

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Running on toast.

It’s funny how far you can run on toast.


My mother used to help me work the trade shows. Minneapolis. Chicago. New York. Dressed elegantly approachable, I was always so proud of her. People loved her. Still do. We fed off of the connections. To have people react to my work, my (our) stories (because the art is brimming with them) was more than filling, for the heart, soul and spirit. Each sale was filled with laughter, tears, heart-clutching empathy. I didn’t have a staff waiting to relieve us for lunch. And I’m not even sure we wanted to leave. (Get off of our feet, sure, but food, it didn’t seem that important.). I’m not certain who thought of it, or why we started, but soon we became known for it – we brought toast that we made in the morning, at home, or the hotels, and ate it cold for our lunch, or break. It was simple. Not messy. And certainly inexpensive. People were amazed how far we could go on a piece of toast. But they had no idea how far we had come, on what some would call nothing. But I, we, never thought it was nothing. We had more than anyone. We had each other. Nothing was more sustainable. And, oh, how it carried us!


Traveling around the country, the first thing my husband and I “look for” each morning, is toast. And if successful, I email my mother, and tell her – we found toast! I’m happy to report, this morning, we did indeed find it! It’s going to be a great day.


“It was the simple things that held them together, kept them strong, gave them joy.”

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Passing Through.


I guess if you want to be inspired, you’ll be inspired. The responsibility lies within.


Most of the towns we have visited in the last couple of days, won’t find their way into travel brochures. Some, not even on the map. I have been guilty of passing by, sure, but I want to be someone who passes through.


We have been to the Louvre in Paris, the Met in New York, so you might think that we wouldn’t stop to see the museum of art in Tyler, Texas. But we did. There was no signage for a front entrance. We walked around the entire building (to be fair, it didn’t take that long), until we found a door. There was a single woman at the front desk. She seemed excited to have us. “Take as many postcards as you like,” she said, “Magazines even!” They had two exhibits. The first was Norman Rockwell. Familiar sure. Was I a fan? That might be a stretch, but in we went. The first drawings were of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. Elaborate, beautiful drawings, depicting wonderful phrases from the books. Now, if you follow me here, you will know that just the other day I wrote of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. This is not lost on me. It felt like a connection. From the banks of the Mississippi in Natchez, to this lovely little museum on dry land in Tyler, we were connected. Entwined. Within. Passing through. I felt inspired. Back at the hotel, I took out my tiny sketch pad and made an attempt at a Rockwell character. It felt grand. Grand in the biggest way — in this tiny town, on this tiny sketchpad, it felt larger than life.


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Where’s Julian?


I have asked that question in English, and French, countless times. I would have never met him had I not married his father’s brother… but I did. Now I wonder where he is. He is a traveler. Not a tourist. He immerses himself into different cultures. Learns different languages. Wanders. You can see it in his face, his eyes. Always looking onward.
He once sent a video from a hole in a village, maybe Cambodia, I’m not sure, but it was, to be polite, remote, this community bathroom (this giant hole), and I thought, wait, they have internet? The world offers opportunities. Chances. And Julian takes them.


As Dominique and I travel, moving from hotel to hotel. I look at the walls. Where is the art? Certainly not on these walls. Safe squiggles. Safe words – “good vibes only.” Every instagram picture with a million likes. No chances here. So we look for the art, in the people, the places, the cultures, the land, and hope, by some glorious chance, it finds its way into my heart and hands and onto the canvas and page.


I know some might say Julian should stop. Settle down. Fall in love. But I think, isn’t he? In love I mean? I think he’s in love with his own life. And that’s beautiful. That’s more than a safe squiggle on a wall. That, my friends, is art.


I understand this is not for everyone — travel — but I’m talking about living. I encourage you to take a chance. On life. In love. On yourself. This will take you where? — farther, further, than you could ever imagine!


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Hearts of youth.

We started making our boxes about a week before the 14th. Covering former shoe boxes with pink and red hearts. Tin foil to add texture and shape. Folding strips of paper to make springs so the hearts would jump (almost) from the box. Anything to make our Valentine mail boxes stand out. Get noticed. Cutting a hole in the cover — awaiting our special deliveries. It was Valentine’s Day at Washington Elementary. And we did everything we could to encourage the love.

Our mothers bought us packets of premade Valentines to give to the class, but we made hearts with our hands to give to those we truly loved. We were supposed to give a Valentine to each classmate. I’d like to think we did, but I don’t think so. Even with the purest hearts of youth, it’s hard to get everything right.

I’m still working on my Valentine carrier — my heart — I suppose we need to, every day. No longer to get noticed, but just to be open, to receive. And with my chubby, unsure fingers, I cut and paste and create, in my own imperfect way, and give to the one I love. I fold these words, to spring from my heart – Happy Valentine’s Day!


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And then I see it from your side…

I read the Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn, in the first bedroom that I remember. It was small. I shared it with my sister. Already a teenager, she didn’t appreciate my still childlike enthusiasm. I suppose it took up too much space. But it WAS big. This love I had for words. This adventure it was taking me on. Books. Stories. It was just so magical. The books didn’t just show you the river, they took you for a ride. And oh, how I wanted the ride. I suppose I still do.

Seeing the Mississippi River, in Mississippi, Louisiana, it’s not the same as in Minnesota, where I grew up. Yes, the water, the banks, I guess they are not that different, but the stories it rolls along… The stories. If you pay attention, you can hear them. And if you really listen, with any luck, (more grace, I suppose) you can feel them. But that takes up space. And only an open heart and mind has room for that.

Our country is divided. You could say by race, or religion, or politics, but maybe it all comes down to understanding — learning —education — seeing the other side of the river.

Tom Sawyer said, “Right is right and wrong is wrong, and a body ain’t got no business doing wrong when he ain’t ignorant and knows better.” I want to do better. I know we have many rivers to cross. But my heart is open. My mind is open. Tell me your story. I’m listening. Let’s ride!

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She could see something beautiful.

We were looking for the post office in Laurel, Mississippi. Full of construction, google was getting confused, and so were we. At a stop light, we beeped the horn gently to get the attention of the woman next to us. We asked if she knew where the post office was. She started pointing, and you could see the calculations working in her brain, trying to maneuver through the construction… “Oh, just follow me,” she said. “I’m not in a hurry. I’ll show you.” And she did.

Google has taken us around the world. Gotten us out the deepest woods, literally, and onto the right road. More than useful. And we are grateful. But there is something about the kindness of strangers. No electronic device can compete with it. Google is efficient, but it doesn’t make me want to be a better person. This woman did that. Dominique and I talked about it, and we both felt it — inspired by this simple kindness.

We were impressed by Laurel. The storefronts. The stores. The local food. The coffee shop. The energy in the air. It was alive. We didn’t see the stars of the HGTV show, but I think we saw the true stars of the town. The people behind the counter at Pearl’s Diner — proud of the food, the line out the door. The young lady who made the coffee at Lee’s Coffee and Tea — so full of smiles – we wanted whatever she was drinking – whatever she was making. The Cincinnati man, visiting just after retirement, eager to see everything in town, eager to learn about where we live in France.

People. I guess it always comes to that. When they show you who they are, as Maya Angelou says, “believe them.” And we do. This is what I want to share with you — the best of us — “Follow me, I’m not in a hurry. I’ll show you.’

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Tiny baskets.

I was wearing my Mona Lisa sweatshirt from the Louvre when we visited the Lauren Rogers Museum in Laurel, Mississippi. Founded in 1923, it was the first art museum in Mississippi. Worlds apart. Same goal.

The Lauren Rogers Museum has an extensive Native American basket collection. Beautiful weaving. The finest detail. Within this collection, it boasts of the smallest woven baskets ever seen – or almost seen. You have to look through a magnifying glass, and still, it is barely visible. I suppose the first question many people ask is, “Why?” Baskets were made to be used. Functional. Carrying the essentials of food. So why the microscopic basket. What could it carry?

I suppose as any artist or creator, I have asked myself the same question. Is it important to make the art? What does it matter? What could my words, my paintings possibly carry? But any of these microscopic doubts are always erased by connections. Connections with you.

I recently spoke to a group of Minnesota teachers at a conference in Brainerd. After speaking, I was selling cards and books and art. As they carried their selections up to me, each person also carried their story. One woman needed the cardinal book, “Here I am,” because her young son had died and this is how he spoke to her. Another needed the lipstick book because, her mother, like mine, always told her to “slap it on.” Each person connected to a different piece in a different way. Bringing with them their stories, taking with them mine — tiny baskets.

I could feel it yesterday. This American girl, now living in France, wearing an Italian masterpiece, standing in a Southern museum, with Native American art, I knew, the importance, the significance of all, even the smallest of us, perhaps especially. And it matters. We are connected. Carried.

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Home town.

In Kindergarten, Mrs. Strand had the audacity to leave us mid year to give birth to twins. In the first grade, Mrs. Bergstrom, hair pulled back in a bun, wore her long pencil skirt and wool sweater all the way until summer break. We knew she would never leave. She taught us the meaning of the word trust, and then taught us how to spell it. She was opening our worlds. Then one day, she lined us up, single file, and quietly led us up the stairs, turned us to the left, opened the big wooden door. All was silent but for the singing of my heart’s choir! The library! All those books. A conversation from wall to wall. Information. Entertainment. Belonging. Yes, most of all the belonging. I knew I would be both comforted and launched — I suppose the perfect definition of home.


And I was home. Here in the words.


Yesterday we arrived in Laurel, Mississippi. Being an HGTV fan, I wanted to see it all. Where they filmed. What they made. The houses they transformed. People have told me, oh, you’ll be disappointed – it’s only make believe.


We pulled into town and the first thing I saw were the giant books painted on the side of the building. I smiled. I have always been one made to believe — the very day I stepped through the big wooden door at Washington Elementary. I know all is not always as it seems. But it is always what you choose to see. Today I choose to see the magic of it all — from the giant books on the side of a building to the promise of a small home town. It’s hard to hear the doubters over the singing of my heart.

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A little more hope in the air.


During our last trip to the US, I went to Oncology with my mom. Because of Covid (it seems I start way too many sentences like that), I couldn’t go into the doctor’s office with her. I said it was fine, but those pesky tears in my eyes thought differently. So I did like my grandfather always told me – focus on someone else. People filled the room, all waiting… all hoping… and as I told you in a post at that time, I took a piece of paper out of the drawer, and wrote, “If you see this, I’m wishing you a good day.” So simple. But it kept my tears at bay, and put a little more hope into the air.


This year, as we were leaving Oncology, the head receptionist, told me to wait. She slipped a note into my hand. It read, “I did see the note. It made my day better. If you see this, I’m thanking you and wishing you a good day too.”


Connections. I’m not sure there is anything better. Whether we connect here on social media, or in real life, I can feel it — I am blessed by it — I am grateful for it! So if you see this, I’m wishing you a good day!

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