Jodi Hills

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

Category Archives: art, artist, stone, build, dream, begin, do the work


by Leave a comment

Launched.

People from miles around envied the swings on our playground at Washington Elementary. And by people, I mostly mean the other grade-schoolers up the street at St. Mary’s. Those at LIncoln School had their own, but I imagine they were still impressed. The chains were so long. And the straps of the seats didn’t cut into your thighs. They were perfection. And placed as they were, after pumping for several minutes, and perhaps aided with a slight push from behind from your best friend who dared the thrust of your return, if you stretched your legs at the height of your swing, it appeared as if you were climbing atop the roof of the school. What a thrill to reach that height. And it was that thrill of being lifted that made my stomach jump to my throat, and gave me the courage to face anything the school would offer after the ringing of the recess bell.

Imagine my delight, the first time it happened without the aid of chain links and gravity. I had just cut my finger on the very razor blade in the kitchen bureau that my grandma told me not to touch. It was my heart that sank first. Not because it hurt that badly, but because I was sure she would no longer love me. Still operating under the rudimentary conditions of the playground, where friends were lost and gained in one recess, I started to cry. She wiped her ever dish soaped hands on her apron and knelt before me. Walked me to the bathroom sink and cleaned my minor wound on my finger, but the one on my heart remained. I was still small enough to be shattered, but too big to be carried, so she walked me to grandpa’s recliner. She sat down first, making that happy sound of a cushion expanding. She told me to stand in front. She grabbed the wooden lever on the side, and with that one swoop, she launched the recliner’s leg, and lifted me off of mine into her lap. My belly jumped, along with my heart, and I could only laugh. I knew I could face anything, as long as she loved me.

Even typing this, my belly races to my heart, and I am saved.

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

The blush of hope.

It’s easy to misread anyone I suppose. Up until the fifth grade, I was extraordinarily quiet. I wouldn’t have put it that way, but that’s what they wrote on my report cards. My mother, not seeing anything to defend, replied, “When she has something to say, she’ll say it.” I sat beside her, cheeks flushed and smiling, I nodded. The teacher, once again misreading the room, looked at my face and said, “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”  My mother knew what the pink in my cheeks meant. “She’s not embarrassed, she’s hopeful.” 

We ripen at different stages. I found my voice. I still get nervous. I get angry. I get tired. Sometimes sad. Sometimes so much joy that it’s overwhelming. And it all blushes out my heart and through my face, because through it all I am hopeful. I am hopeful that I will understand. That I will be happy. That I will pass on all that joy for others to carry. 

Sometimes he looks at me and says, “Nice colors.” And I know he sees me. Just as she did. 

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

Chance of rain.

Growing up in Minnesota, there was a certainty to change. The weather varied, of course, from season to season, but also from within. Winter could make a humbling final blast in the middle of spring. Summer could hang on for one last hug, even after school began in the fall. 

Through them all, there was always a chance of rain. 

It was on the ball field, behind the Dairy Queen, beneath the threatening gray skies that I heard it first. Our bikes rested in the dirt next to the dugouts. We nervously checked the skies, holding our metal bats. We were maybe only 10 or 11, but we knew what was important — teams without uniforms, friendship without conditions. The new girl summering in our town said it out loud, nervously, “It could rain…”  But it was Brenda, who had been through it all before, who had played every summer, rain or shine, who had huddled within the circle of the Dairy Queen lobby as lightening danced above us — smiling with all teeth and heart exposed, she said, “I’m so happy we’re together.”

And isn’t it still true? Everything, anything, can change from day to day. There’s always a “chance of rain.” But it’s our relationships that hold us. Our friends. Our loves. They huddle us through. 

I’m so happy we’re together.  

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

Thoughts nesting.

In a large gathering, I couldn’t really tell the difference between a Hvezda and a farming neighbor. Looking up from the height of their waist, I could see that we were all pretty much the same as I weaved through pant-legs and nylon stockings.

I can’t tell you the moment it changed. Maybe it was in small spurts, like my growth. One day though, I remember thinking nobody could possibly understand. Because surely I was the only one to feel this way. And the irony, I suppose, was that in all those differences, everyone else seemed to be having that very same thought. 

It’s funny that it takes so long to see them, the thoughts nesting atop our heads, but once we start talking, sharing our experiences, we find that we’re really not that different after all. “Family” or not, we are all related. 

On runways and red carpets, they like to play, “Who wore it best?” — pointing out how the same dress curves around the different women. And unfortunately, we seem to do the same with feelings. Judging who grieves better. Who recovers more quickly. Who wins (or loses) with the most grace. And I’m guilty of it too, and then I feel it, the flutter of those nesting thoughts…and I think maybe, just maybe, we’re not that different after all. 

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

Between two screens

Working between two screens, sometimes my cursor gets stuck in the opposite one that I want. (Like my brain doesn’t do that all the time.)

It’s so easy to think, “Well, I always did it this way…” Whether I’m talking about different countries, different languages, loves, relationships, even my hairdresser.  And I catch myself swiping madly on the wrong screen.

Change is never easy. Neither growth. But both are so necessary. And it doesn’t mean you have to give up everything in the letting go, the moving on…You keep the lightest of things, like joy and hope and love — none of these will ever weigh you down.

Too often I’m unaware. It’s barely more than air, the little birdie that tells me things. But when I’m paying attention, really paying attention, all the truths that move between who I am and who I want to be, chirp seamlessly between my heart and my brain, and I am saved. 

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

Heart full.

It was just a line. A handful (but heart full) of words. I wrote it yesterday morning on the back of my sketchbook. I could hear it, her, what she was saying so clearly. And with that one line, the words came pouring out. I wrote for hours.

It’s been said, and I believe that it’s true, that a painting is never finished. Each time you look at it, it takes on your story. You are painting as you listen. I suppose that’s why we are asked to be quiet in museums, so everyone can hear. 

If you lean in, she’s telling you something. Her shoulders relaxed into the truth. Her heart unobstructed. Her head lifted to hope’s promise. What is it you need to hear? You already know what it is. Let it come. Let her whisper to you. She’s handing you your story, by the heart full.

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

The Chorus Effect.


Leave it to music, the universal language, to teach us how to live better. Long before technology, it was pretty clear that people sounded good when they sang together. There are many explanations — strength in numbers, an averaging of tones, bad singers influenced by the good ones (a raising of the bar), the pleasing sound of imperfection. They probably all can be true at the same time. So much so, that they invented a way on instruments to create this same tonal pleasure. It’s called the chorus effect. 

Hammond introduced the Model B-C in 1936 to lock in true organ tone once and for all. A Hammond Model B-C organ. Using a second tonewheel system with slightly detuned notes, the B-C’s onboard chorus generator fulfilled Hammond’s vision of providing a richer, harmonized sound. Thus, chorus as an effect was born.

I can feel it in my sketchbook. One bird is nice. But a page. A flock! I can feel the chorus of the birdsong. And therein lies the wow! Even with the inevitable smudge, the handprint, the slight splatter, I think it adds to the beauty. This coming together. This gathering. I hope we can do it in our daily lives. Oh, how we need to gather. To find ourselves in the universal song. With all of our imperfections, we are still capable of “a richer” more “harmonized sound.” I want to be a part of that greater song. Can you hear it?

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

So many wings.

It’s not lost on me, the irony, that my current most popular painting on Pinterest is of the woman taking flight by reading a book. And I’m as guilty as the next person, searching the internet for all things analog. But I do find comfort in the fact that we still celebrate the sketchbook, the written word, the paper and pencil. The intimacy of heart and hand. 

And maybe it’s the pushback to all of this Artificial Intelligence. Maybe it’s the understanding that’s it’s all about the gathering. The joy of the gathering. 

I’m so happy that I grew up in an age when you had to go to the library. You had to search for a book to reference, sometimes only to get to another book. And then another. Feeling each cover. Smelling each page. Digesting each word. Feather by feather, I suppose, we earned our wings. 

I see it in my sketchbook. How one simple little bird became another. And then became a French bird. Or a bird on a wire, and a purse.A stack of books. On a person’s head. And that person became another. In a different time. A different race. Each with a different story. A different song. Together. So many feathers. So many wings. All that flight from the gathering. 

I wonder if we can do the same, with everything, reaching with heart and hand… 

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

Heaven’s TikTok.

It turns out my mother is currently living under the assumed name of “animal prints” on TikTok. I know this to be true, because yesterday when I posted this video, she was the first to respond saying “I love that striped top. I need to be wearing it.” That is so my mother.

We had a shared language. From ruffles to stripes. One developed through years of shopping malls and our own closets. Playing dress up. Fashion show. The joy flowed like well draped fabric. And I understood completely. For her to say she was “scouring the catalogs for that blouse” after seeing a recent painting, was the best compliment she could give to me. 

So how could I doubt that heaven has TikTok? 

I suppose believers will always believe. And I do. And if you needed any more evidence, there’s this — while typing today’s post, I checked google to make sure I was spelling “scouring” correctly — here’s the sample definition that appeared — “I scoured the mall for a blue and white shirt, but couldn’t find it anywhere.” Feel free to say hello to my mother on TikTok. 

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

There’s the sky.

I don’t think anyone has to convince the birds to fly. Has to motivate them. Nor give them a reason. I’m sure it’s pretty clear. There’s the limb. There’s the sky. What do you want to do?

Repeatedly I’m asked “What motivates you?” I suppose we all want the answers from time to time. I know I did, standing on the shore of Lake Latoka. Watching, admiring, envying even, those on the diving dock. I’ve told the story many times. Seeing the older kids fly off into the air, like birds from a limb, my heart fluttered. Before I was even old enough to swim past the buoys, I knew, one way or another, I was going to fly. And it took some work. Battling nerve and wave. Every day braving a little further. But I did it. I did it!  

I guess I simply keep making the same decision. Every day. Limb or sky. And I always choose sky. 

Shop Now!