Jodi Hills

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

Category Archives: provence


by Leave a comment

Green-footed

I received a pair of green rain boots for my 7th birthday. We lived in green house on Van Dyke road. It being spring, I vowed to wear them, rain or shine, every day until the grass was the same color. I didn’t know the word palette then, but I knew what I felt, and “how glorious,” I thought, if I could run green-footed in the green grass in front of our green house. 

Spring came as promised, and I, feet blistered, and perhaps a little smelly, was a part of it all. I belonged.

I suppose that’s what we all want — to be a natural part of things. Without the need for invitation, to just belong. And it was, glorious! Glorious to find out that this wasn’t a place at all, but a feeling. A feeling I could not only create, but carry with me, anywhere. 

You can wait your whole life and not receive an invitation. You have to give that to yourself. Step into your own palette. Wake up and say, “I’m here.” Wake up and know that it all matters. That you matter!  

My husband asked me yesterday why I was bringing in his old green rain boots from the garage. “Because you’re part of my palette,” I said. He smiled. We are home. Glorious!

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

The gift of summer ending.

It’s easy, I suppose in the heart of the summer to let a day just slip away. I try not to, but it can happen. “Oh, it’s hot – I don’t want to set the table…I’m tired from mowing the lawn…we could just have a pizza…” And the day disappears.

Perhaps one of the greatest gifts of summer is that it ends. I can feel it. It’s not here yet, but it is around the bend, telling me, reminding me, urging me, to enjoy the moment.

Yesterday was some of summer’s finest work. Yellow sun, bouncing off tanned shoulders. Not too hot, just warm enough to welcome the pool. Hair still wet, I gave the white cloth a whip into the tiny breeze, flinging it over the outdoor table. I placed the pool-blue plates with waves, atop the large white chargers. A wine glass next to each. Summer in the south of France calls for a rosé. White napkins. I cut the peppers, green and red, the eggplant – aubergine — and cooked them on the outdoor plancha. Next came the fish — rougets – in my opinion one of the Mediterranean’s finest. We toasted the day as the gift it was given. Not looking ahead. Not looking behind. We always eat slower outside. Gathered in a sea of green, we are still… and ever.

I was having such a good time, I forgot to take a photo. And perhaps that is the best compliment I can give the day. To be in it. Truly in it. Maybe that’s the only way to say thank you – thank you for this beautiful day!

If it never ended, I wonder if I would give it the reverence it deserves? I’m not sure. But I know this — yesterday was a beautiful day, and I, we, enjoyed it. The morning sun is telling me, reminding me, urging me, to do the same today.

Our someday is now.

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

Nothing wasted.


“Inspire” is a tricky word. I think a lot of people want someone or something to inspire them. They want the “other” to do the work. But I’m not sure that can really ever happen. You have to want to be inspired. The receiver has to do the work. For example: living here in France, I can say that I receive a lot of inspiration from the Sainte Victoire mountain. Now, this giant rock isn’t really doing anything. It sits there. But if I watch it – watch it change colors in the different light, watch it turn black and gray under a cloud, turn so white that it’s almost lavender in the summer sun – if I do this, really see it then I am inspired. If I climb up its steep and rocky slope, breathe from my belly to my toes, rubber my legs, pump my arms, reach the summit, then really let it take my breath away – then I am inspired! If I paint it. Photograph it. Wave at it as we drive by – I receive all that it has to give. Inspiration is in the work of the receiver.


Cezanne painted the mountain countless times. He painted a simple apple again and again. He created his own inspiration. Some might look at my sketch book and ask, Why are you painting so many apples? Paint something different. But you see, I am. Every apple IS different. Every apple is unique in its shape and color. But you have to want to see it. And I do want to see it. I want to see the extraordinary in the ordinary. I want to find the inspiration in everything – every day. It is on me to find it. Feel it. Use it. Enjoy it.


Today’s yellow sun jumps from the sky into my hands and onto the page. Nothing wasted.

Shop Now!


by 2 Comments

Any Wednesday

I never imagined you could barbecue sardines. In my head, they were only those tiny little fish in a tin box. So many things to discover. Yes, they do come in bigger sizes. Yes, you can barbecue them. And yes, you have to separate the head and the bones on your own plate. And yes, they are delicious!

There is a certain luxury to having a barbecue on a Wednesday afternoon. Drinking a cool white wine, in the shade of the provencal sun. No longer reserved for a Sunday, but an any day. So was our Wednesday. He was grilling sardines as I sipped the wine and I thought, what a picture of France! (but I never stopped to take a photo) After we got home I thought, I should have taken a picture — capture the moment. But sometimes, when you stop to capture the moment, it disappears. So I didn’t have a picture on my phone, but I had one in my head. It raced down to my hands and on to the paper. The beautiful sardines. So black they turned blue. Grays turning into greens. The moment, not captured, that sounds too harsh, but more embraced. Embraced in the permanence of heart and acrylic.

I don’t know what this day will bring. This Thursday. Perhaps it will turn into a Saturday, if I let it. Why not?! There are so many things to learn. To see. Nothing to be confined in tiny tin boxes, but spread across summer skies and welcoming canvas.

Happy Day, everyone!

Shop Now!