Jodi Hills

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

Tag Archives: louvre


by Leave a comment

New light.

It’s funny that we still say “in broad daylight,” as if any of it should be surprising anymore. 

It took only seven minutes to complete the daylight heist of the Louvre in Paris. At 9:30am on October 19th, the brazen thieves walked away with priceless jewels of France. 

It was Hemingway who wrote about his years in Paris, “You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind…” And still, we didn’t expect it. I suppose we never do. 

Even in the autumn, or the dark mornings before the time change…even after reading day after day of what is done in broad daylight, I’m still surprised. And doesn’t it have to be, surprising, for us to continue this human experience. Amid all the name calling and crimes committed, shouldn’t we still be surprised, shocked at the behaviors all around us. We can’t let this become normal. We simply can’t wash it away as the new light.

For us to maintain any sort of humanity, our most priceless of jewels, we have to be surprised. Surprised enough to call it out. Fight against it. Be better. 

And it was Hemingway, too, who told us, “there would always be the spring.” I still believe. The unshuttered light comes through my morning window. 

Shop Now!


by 1 Comment

My notables. 

They’re very good about marking their notables in Paris. Carved on the sides of buildings. Voltaire lived here. Voltaire died here. I’m not sure everyone notices. They are perhaps too occupied, trying to get the hand placement right on the photograph so it looks like their finger is placed atop the pyramid outside the Louvre. 

And as I stand there, in this sea of outstretched arms and index fingers, I shake my head at myself — wondering if it matters. Me, standing there too, but with my new Degas sketchbook, and Voltaire notebook, lifted by the these lives, feeling their presence still.  Immersed in the joyful responsibility of doing more. Because of them. 

And I do feel it – them – the others that have come before. Those that have made the paintings. Wrote the books. Dared the thoughts. Lived the lives. I have to believe it all matters. 

I sent my Minneapolis friend the photograph of me in Paris, wearing her blazer jacket. Layered over my mother’s blouse, and the t-shirt I purchased at The Walker in my home state. She replied – “The jacket! I’m with you!” — all the proof I needed that it does matter — to carry the ones who once carried us, who lift us still. 

I smile and carve my notables.

Shop Now!


by Leave a comment

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.

Shop Now!