Jodi Hills

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

Tag Archives: little things


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Little puffs.

I’m working on a new portrait. The main character is in a crowded city, so the amount of detail is extraordinary. People, buildings, reflections, restaurants. After working for hours, one’s eyes can begin to play tricks. Everything becomes just shapes. It’s hard to differentiate one from another. It’s then that I have to take a photo and regard the image as a whole. I was struggling the other day because I was working on a woman in the background — there were so many shaded lines to her jacket. My hand was going through the motions, but it wasn’t quite making sense. After I took the photo, it was so clear. “Oh, it’s a puffer jacket!” It was no longer a problem at all, only puffs — light and pillowy puffs.

I’m not proud of it, but I can get caught up in the details in real life as well. The he saids and she dids of it all. The monotonous shapes of discontent. I remind myself again, as if it were the first time, and then once again — Step back! “Look,” I tell my heart, it’s only little puffs, you can handle that, you can handle this.”

I suppose it may sound silly, but most of the time, that’s my goal, to get there — where my problems turn into puffs. Today, may I, we, step back for a minute, and all find the way.

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Shopping small.

If Herberger’s was ever low on pantyhose, there was a distinct possibility that my mom just restocked her drawers.

She was always prepared. Had she been a scout, and they offered a fashion badge, her sash would have been decorated immediately. Eagle status. Not only did she have the right pair for every outfit, and any future outfit, she kept them in pristine condition. After wearing and washing, she folded them back into their original packaging and filed them neatly, easily visible by color, into her pantyhose drawer. On days when the world just didn’t make sense, I, we, could look to that drawer and find hope.

Sure, it may sound silly. And it probably was. But so what. It brought her joy. It brings me joy. Still. When I see the advertisements to “Shop Small,” this holiday season, I think of her drawer. I think of all the little things she gave to me.

I think we can all get caught up in the “it has to be bigger, grander, more expensive,” to mean something. But, I suppose, it’s always the little things. With gifts. In life. In love. It’s the small things that we will carry. That will fill us for our entire lives.

I bought a pair of green pantyhose two days ago. They match perfectly with my green dress. I wore them yesterday, with all of my mother’s pride. And I saved the packaging. My heart is filled with small mercies.

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Big deal.

Yesterday morning I was romanticizing the beauty of hotel bedrooms. I’m not sure why. The person who does the filing in my brain must have pulled out that particular file and the images were so inviting, I sprung into action. I pulled the sheets off of our bed, the pillowcases and duvet cover, putting them in the laundry. Found a new set of sheets, and stretched them over the bed. They were ironed, (yes, I do iron our bedding) but still needed the smoothing of my hand, if only for the welcoming. I dressed the pillows. Filled the duvet cover. Found a new throw blanket to style. Even though the cover was ironed, it’s time in the cupboard was apparently not that easy, so I got the iron and steamed it back to its origin. So clean and fresh, I lit the candles on the bedside tables in celebration. The sun shone directly on this hoteled bed and for one brief moment, I thought, yes! But the sun said, wait… look at the windows. Oh, that sun can see everything. This beautiful bed deserved clean windows, so I got the Windex and paper towel and squeegee and went to work. Round and round each pane. The inside and outside. Of course, in doing this, yesterday’s vacuumed floor was not spackled with dust, so I got out the new vacuum and followed it’s headlight until the floor was once again clean.


Today, it will show a bit of rumpling, and I will fight the good fight with smoothing hands. But tomorrow it will show a little more, and a little more the day after that. And that’s ok. Because yesterday, for a brief moment it was perfect, when my husband eased himself under the covers and said, “It feels like a brand new bed!”


We think life is made up of a few grandiose events, but really, it’s a million little moments. The everyday things. The clean sheets. The croissants for breakfast. The hopes that shine through the windows with each morning sun. These are the moments! I want to respect them, work for them, enjoy them, live them!


Here comes another! Don’t miss it! Each little thing is a pretty big deal!

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Tiny portions.

I guess the question is, and always has been, “Can we do the small things?”

It’s like the old joke —

The food here isn’t any good.
Then why do you keep coming back?
Well, the portions!!!!!!

Large paintings have the advantage of being seen. They definitely make a grand statement just by their presence alone. And most people assume, well, it’s big, it must be good. Or it’s big, so it must be more expensive. And both of these statements can, of course, be true. I love a big painting. To take someone’s breath away when they walk into a room, well, that feels wonderful! But big doesn’t mean more important. More value. It doesn’t mean that it took more skill. To paint something small, and still make it significant, this takes a special skill. To convey sentiment, with the smallest stroke, this takes attention to detail. You really have to love doing it, to put in the same effort for a small result.

Yesterday, I stretched a small canvas. I may never put it up for sale. I may never even put it in a show. I did it because I love doing it. It feels good. And it may sound crazy, but I think even the smallest canvas deserves my attention. Deserves to be noticed. Taken care of. So I do.

I suppose it is the same with us humans. We all want to make the grand gesture. Be seen for the grandiose good deed. But when you think about it, the big things usually have a way of working out. We can rely on the firefighters to put out the big fires. The doctors to prescribe the medicine. But who is going to take care of the little things? Be there to hold a hand? Have a conversation? Share a laugh? It’s not that hard to remember a birthday. Buy a big gift. But are we there on Tuesdays? Or lonesome Sunday afternoons? Some might say, “Well, you know I’d be there for you if you really needed it?” But don’t we? Really need it? Every day? I know I do. I really do. I hope I’m giving them as well, the little things. Hugs and laughter. Time spent. Meals shared. Smiles. I want to share in all of these things. Because, Oh! how filling, these tiny portions.

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