Jodi Hills

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


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Here to stay is the new bird.



There are many theories to the lyrics in Winter Wonderland — “Gone away is the bluebird. Here to stay is the new bird.” Sometimes the most likely answer is true. It’s the one I choose — that bluebirds migrate away, but some arrive, like the cardinal (the new bird.)

Some of the other teams mocked us for our mascot – the Alexandria Cardinals. Them being cougars, bears and wolves — surely they assumed themselves to be tougher. But I knew something different. I knew what it meant to be strong. To stay when the weather got bad, when times were tough. To dare the longest of nights, and still greet the morning with hope. My mother was a new bird — a cardinal. A pure and beautiful symbol of the very strength we wore proudly on our uniforms. And to see it, even when the others didn’t, well, that just made it even more special. It made me, all of us, stronger. And so we sang our fight song proudly, “We are the cardinals, mighty, mighty cardinals…”

Wearing my vintage cardinal t-shirt, typing the words while the Christmas songs go through my head, I do miss my mom! But just as promised, she is here to stay — the new bird. I smile knowing the strength I too carry, easily underestimated I suppose, sometimes even by myself, but strength I wear proudly, carry with me. Hope, just like the cardinal is mighty!


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Journey home.

The only creative power I know is that of what might roughly be called ‘love’; not of course a sentimental love: a far more impersonal and less individual emotion. I sometimes think that migratory birds may have it for each other. They fly in the same direction, and have never been seen to interfere with each other’s flights.” Phyllis Bottome

It’s always a bit of an adjustment, returning home after traveling. My brain is usually just a beat off, but in that beat I find myself falling in love again with my own life. What a gift that is! Everything is brand new, just for a moment. The morning croissant, just a little more flavorful. The bathroom lighting, more forgiving than the last hotel. My pillow — my pillow!! The paintings on the wall, in the studio — my heart. The candles lit. The windows open. The trees in the garden know my footsteps. The birds are singing. I am in love.

I sat down to make my first painting after this trip, this migration, and I am the bird after a long flight. I am filled with all the colors of travel, and all of the life of the familiar. My brain, still a little fuzzy, relies on my hands, my heart, for they know what to do — and I follow. Stroke by stroke. Bird by bird. I know who I am. And I am home.  

It is my wish for everyone. The sky is big, and meant to be shared, meant to be loved, knowing we are all on this beautiful and constant journey home.


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Barely more than air.

There is a group of migratory birds that, each year, flies over 7000 miles over water, without stopping, without eating, without sleeping.  They are able to shut down a piece of their brain.  Their heart rate changes.  Their digestive system adapts. These beautiful living beings, weighing barely more than air, have been given every tool necessary to make the journey.  Each year, at the same time, in the same place, without worry, without discussion, they take the flight. They don’t gather and wonder, “Well, I don’t know, it’s a long ways… I’m not sure… It’s super hard…We could get hungry… Probably tired… Maybe we should wait…”  No, these are the voices in my head, probably yours.


When I was five years old, I began to write and I began to draw. My mother said, no matter what I was feeling, I would go into my room and create the feelings on paper. Feel them. Work through them. Resolve them.  These words and colors would carry me through unimaginable things.  They still do.  


Sometimes I forget. Clogged down with little things like, oh, my computer isn’t working correctly, how can I possibly go on… I’m embarrassed to say that I can be grounded by the smallest things, when I know, I have been given everything I possibly need to make each day’s journey.  


I, we, barely more than air, hold the most magical gifts.  Here comes the sun, my friends.  We can do this. The sky is open with possibility.  I’ll see you up there.  

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