Jodi Hills

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


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Shared mountains. 

We really had no idea the mountains that lay ahead. From the flat playground at Washington Elementary, we were given the gift of believing most things were within reach. 

It doesn’t seem that long ago that we were unfolding the dreaded afternoon napping mat. Reluctantly, lying, waiting… toes curled under to ensure a fast get up and get on with it. Knowing well, that all would be revealed — friendship, love, courage, hope — simply with the release of our hearts into the wild. 

When they came to visit me in France, it was the first thing I wanted to show them — my playground. We climbed up the Montaiguet to get the best view of the Sainte Victoire mountain. Once again, the explanations weren’t necessary — all intimacies underfoot were not detailed, but certainly known. And shared. Look how far we had come! 

It couldn’t be denied — the view from gratitude is pretty spectacular.

Toes curled, I ready myself into the all of it, the hope, the courage and love of the day. I open the door, and get on with it. 


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And the saints and poets smile…

And the saints and poets smile…

Before any sketching. Any building of canvas or panel. Before even touching a brush, I have begun the painting. 

Currently three are circling. Traversing the ribs from heart to brain. Laying a path that says, remember me, remember this. 

I suppose I’ve always been laying that path. Trying to prepare myself for the unpreparable. Maybe we all do. And the saints and poets smile, knowing we can never really be prepared. We can only live.

And with all my thinking and plotting, the paintings will come to life when they choose. How they choose. I will follow the strokes and within them, inside of them, we all will find the breath to see it through. And by through, I don’t mean finished. Oh, sure, I will stop painting, but when hung, and seen, again and again, new life will come from new eyes. Even my own. 

Maybe it’s true about love. Maybe that’s all I ever write about. Paint upon. This love. I’m smiling now too. Unprepared, but ready to live this day.