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I had a private painting lesson this week with a fellow who wanted to paint from an old photo of his daughter. The photograph itself presented so many obstacles that copying it would never result in a solid painting. To demonstrate how one might move through the process of capturing the essence of this moment he wanted to remember I decided to just start from scratch. In the three hour session we moved through Notan, line, form, value, color, edges… it was like painting on speed – but it resulted in a sweet little painting. We were both very pleased.

While I love teaching in group lessons, COVID still prevents that.  I’m offering 1/2 day lessons that are completely tailored to each students challenges, obstacles, aesthetic desires, and of course, their starting point.  1/2 day private lessons are $300 and include all the supplies you need for the session.  Email me to schedule a lesson for yourself.

How do the next 30 years play out, assuming I’m ‘lucky’ enough to live as long as my father did. He died in June from Covid. Shitty way to go, for all of us. It would have been nice to hold his hand, to give him a hug, to sit by his bed and play his music. But that didn’t happen. I’m a little bitter. And I’m still a little sad. I talked to him a lot after he first left, but he never answered back so I’ve just started talking to myself. Sometimes I answer. Sometimes I don’t.

How do the next 30 years play out? Too often, lately, I’m consumed and distressed by the ugliness and greed in this world. It makes me unhappy, so I try to ignore it. Am I irresponsible for not following the madness, all the time? If I do, my heart is broken – all the time. So, to beauty I turn. I go looking for it. If I forget to look for it, I often don’t see it. I see the scum, the anger, the void. Why is that so much easier to see lately than the beauty. The beauty is still there, but it’s harder to find. And if I do find it, it’s harder to stay in it.

I have hot tea by my side. I’ve opted for it over beer or wine because I feel better when I drink hot tea. Not that that’s enough to sway me all the time. Often, too often, I’m lured in by the thought of immediate relief to whatever the day has brought on. But not today. One sip and the heat fills my hollow soul with goodness, and I’m happy I chose it.

How will the next 30 years play out? I ask myself, knowing that much of it is out of my control. I ask myself, because I still believe that much of it is mine to shape. Dad hated vegetables. I tried to encourage them, but he would say “hey, I’m still here”. He was. But not so strong, and often in pain, and always aware of what he called ‘the bus’ that was coming to get him. The bus came. I hope there were some familiar friendly faces on it. I can only hope.

I started smoking pot again. I don’t see it becoming a habit though. I had a knee replacement and the pain was intense and long. Pot helped the pain, but not my brain. Anything more than a minuscule hit puts me into an existential tailspin and leaves me wondering why we aren’t all insane. Maybe we are. I tasted extreme anxiety for a spell, being high (but feeling low), feeling like we were all part of some screeching underground world, allowed to surface for a short time, only to be sucked back into the pits of despair when the ‘bus’ shows up. An hour later, with my pain subdued, I’m relieved to be out of that nightmare and grateful for the physical relief. Slowly, gratitude for my humanness and the planet we share returns. But I went there. I’ve been back once or twice, so perhaps it’s best if I just don’t smoke pot – or anything else that bends my brain. Perhaps. Regardless, I have a new appreciation for those who live with anxiety.

How will the next 30 years play out? I keep asking myself that question. I know that there is only the here and now. This moment is all that really matters. It’s the only one we can really affect, because it’s the only one in the present. But 30 years is a long time, even longer if you’re miserable. Get happy, and it will fly right by. Stay happy, and you won’t really care. The knee replacement was more than I bargained for. I was told the recovery time, but I didn’t really believe it. I thought I was younger, stronger, and healthier than most – so I would zip right through. Almost 8 weeks, and I’m barely walking fast, let alone zipping. BUT the pain is starting to go away and I’m excited about the prospect of a better knee. If I want to really heal and be strong again, I can’t fall back into this habit of drinking every day. IT will have a lot to do with how the next 30 years play out. Every day that I make that decision to habitually wash away the second half of the day, I will decide how the next 30 years plays out. I need more sober friends. I wish my sweet husband had some interest in even a semi-sober lifestyle. Meaning – drink occasionally, like weekends. It’s a good habit to lose, but when my society surrounds me with it, sometimes I’m just too lazy to fight it. And sometimes I enjoy it. But day after day after day… then it just makes me sick and depressed and I have to muster up the energy to fight it all over again, alone. The cycle is nauseating.

I’m away right now in my van. I drove to Maryland to paint and hopefully, find some beauty. There is a lot of it here. It’s everywhere – water, boats, trees, bridges, old cottages. This might be my new escape plan. The drive left me too tired to paint when I arrived. I worked my leg a bit and walked the grounds of a waterfront vineyard without drinking wine. I ate cheese and salami and climbed into the cozy bunk in my van, wondering if 6:30 was too early to go to sleep. Aware of my bulging belly and my atrophied leg, and my disinterest in much of anything I asked myself – how will the next 30 years play out. I thought of my Dad. I pondered death. I pined for my interest in life. I see beauty around me, but I just want to go to sleep. I hope it’s still here tomorrow, and that I have more reserves in the morning to respond to it.

FOLLOWING DAY UPDATE: The beauty was still there, and I had more reserves to respond to it. It wasn’t without sadness, but it was still beautiful.

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Our 20 year old boy came for a visit, he did.
Playing with his phone, down the steps he slid.
Well, tumbled perhaps more accurate to say.
At the bottom he landed, crushing three vertebrae.

The ambulance came and swept him to trauma.
Due to Covid, alone he went, without his mama.
He’s getting stronger and will be braced for weeks.
But all is well, because his limbs work, and he still speaks.

Upside down the world’s been for a while.
But I feel incredibly lucky to see my boy smile.
Out West we’re headed to bring him back home,
Under the Big Skies, he’ll slowly and carefully roam.

Soon he’ll be dancing and rebuilding his core,
Then skiing off cliffs and begging for more.
I’ll bring my paints, and a good book or two
And I’ll send out new works to all of you.

I’ll take this time to study well.
To produce meaningful work, that hopefully, I can sell.
Beauty still matters, when uncertainty rules.
If your space needs a lift, here are some tools.

Enter code Strand2020 when you buy some art
And 25% will come off your entire cart!
This is a short run sale to get me through the hitch
Ensuring my dreams stay out of the ditch.

I’ll wrap up by saying thank you for reading this through,
For following my art and finding beauty in it too.
I hope you and those you love are well.
I hope the sun comes out tomorrow, and we all have good stories to tell.

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Bundle up, the cold is coming on. A slice of me welcomes the sweaters, the fireplace, the constant opportunity for a good hot tea. I like painting in my 3rd floor study when snowflakes fly outside. I’m protected from the chill and I look at the bundled people walking below, and sometimes it feels like a dream. I think about how we come and go as people, how we live and die, how my life feels so vibrant – and then it will be gone. Just like every other one, walking below. Mostly, as of late, this thought doesn’t scare me so much as I’m fascinated by the poignancy of my thoughts, juxtaposed by the fleeting moments and impermanence of everything. I see the chaos in our political system, the climate refugees around the world, the imbalance of money and power… and I wonder how the earth will right itself, despite – and without regard to the human life that depletes it, and so fully relies on it. I inhale this moment, and I’m grateful for the oddity of peace that I feel in my heart while chaos ensues in so many places around me. I know this moment is temporary and so am I. I know this moment will shift and soon I’ll be pulled to action, no longer a passive witness to the passing of time. This peace will pass, and so will I. And I guess, that’s all ok.

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It took a year of pretty solid work. Our sprinter van conversion was a serious labor of love. It’s been across the country twice already and I look forward to more in the springtime. I keep looking at my schedule to see if I could sneak in a little time to escape from the cold weather sometime in January/Feb. My plate is pretty full, but my laptop and paintbox work from anywhere…so we shall see!
In Teton Canyon, Wyoming

Van Yoga on a rainy day.

Visit in the van with my sweet daughter and her very wonderful dog!

On the edge of the black hills and headed home. This little family held me up for a bit, and I was quite happy to wait for them.

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My maiden van adventure has been spotted with adversities, which I suppose is common when your working out something new. I’ve learned a few handy things: *Heat circulation in the “garage” area is necessary as to not freeze the pipes. *Using the handy restroom while the van is in motion is a risky idea. *Locking the van from the outside with someone moving around on the inside will set off the alarm. *Sprinter vans have TWO batteries, and the obvious one under the hood is NOT the one that starts the engine. *And finally, icy steps with arms full of cargo are NOT a good combo.

We would set off, leaving wintry Lambertville, NJ headed to an even more wintry Idaho, via storm-filled freezing Iowa. It would be a family affair. Our children, 19 and 22, were headed out west

and the plan was to travel in tandem together, dropping our son Liam at a NOLS course (90 days in the wilderness), and helping our daughter Aidan relocate to Teton Valley, Idaho. My husband Tom would join me in the van for the first leg to Iowa to be sure all the new van tricks were in working order. The kids and I would caravan to Idaho. I would go on my merry painting way from there. That was the plan.

My husband is the son of a gypsy girl, creative and always on the move. Widowed far to young with 4 babies. His father left behind a huge swath of relatives in Iowa that Tom has not seen in 35 years, and the kids have never met – grandpa’s family. Aidan called the closest connection Tom had and they arranged a visit, which was nothing less than heartwarming and wonderful. Cousins from far and wide came out to welcome and meet the long gone offspring of the legendary boxer/badass/charmer, Pat Sullivan. The kids heard stories of their grandfather, “he had two strong assets – his looks and his muscles, and he wasn’t afraid to use either of them,” got a treasure chest of old photos, and were given his military funeral flag. It was meaningful, and it filled them with a sense of belonging to a place they had never been. Delayed by final work on the van, Tom and I arrived in Iowa two days later. Enough time to hug lots of relatives, travel treacherous white-out roads and freeze my pipes. We have an open invitation to return and I look forward to painting the rolling hills and rich farmland of Iowa when the grass is green, the apples are ripe, and the corn is sweet.

 

We bought a small electric heater to defrost the pipes, dropped my sweet husband off at the airport, and headed West in attempts to beat the impending blizzard. We escaped most of it, and settled for the night in a Walmart parking lot in Cheyenne, Wyoming. My kids are pretty funny when they’re together and I looked forward to an evening of close quarter silliness, laughing at their road weary antics. Instead, Liam was cranky and unable to entertain himself, let alone us. Aidan was frustrated by his irritability and working hard to smooth it over, and I was feeling like the warm lovely zen nature of my super cool camper had been completely sucked dry. The heater did it’s job on the pipes but continually drained the battery, forcing me to get up every few hours – step over the sleeping kids and dog – turn the van on, recharge, go back to sleep – repeat. Morning came, we made great van coffee, filled the tank, checked the batteries, and headed north.

There were severe wind warnings all the way across Southern Wy. Gusts blew so hard the roadways were covered and the center line was hard to make out. We eventually reached Hoback Junction where the wind died down and the mountains shot up. Truly one of the prettiest landscapes I’ve ever driven through. I took a deep breath, turned up my stereo, and sung my day through the winding mountains all the way up to Jackson Hole – where the pass was closed due to an avalanche and we were forced to spend the night – repeating the same process as the prior evening. The icy morning brought good van coffee, battery check, tire pressure warnings, and the long trek south over Pine Creek Pass into beautiful Teton Valley, Idaho. Ahh….. deep sigh of relief, great night with family, quiet warm nights sleep in the van safely parked and plugged into power. No midnight battery checks, no ornery kids, no road worry.

Morning brought good van coffee and 6 more inches of snow. I was relaxed and happy. I turned the key. Nothing. Again. Nothing. What the hell? We pulled out the cables. Nothing. Called roadside assistance. Nothing. Called for a tow. Sorry Ma’am, the 3 roads in and out of the valley are closed. They stayed that way for days. When the weather cleared and the roads opened I felt free. Wahoo, up and running again! Yippee. Later that day I wiped out on the icy front steps and landed myself in the emergency room. The bruise that I lovingly refer to as my Teton Valley Tattoo starts at my spine and wraps it’s way around the backside of my hip. It’s at least 5 inches wide and somehow radiates grueling pain down my right hip and thigh. I’ve become reacquainted with my Physical Therapist from years ago and he says I should be able to drive out of the valley in a few weeks – assuming I don’t get snowed in again.

Am I painting? Not so much yet, but my van is full of supplies. Before my fall, I did spend one lovely afternoon with my old friend and neighbor Scott Christensen. We looked at hundreds of paintings and talked about lost edges and suggestive strokes. He listened to me prattle on about getting rejected from the OPA show, and reminded me of all the good reasons that I shouldn’t care. We painted for a little while and I let all of my worries of the road flow out into this little piece. Lots of lost edges and suggestive strokes – yet left unfinished.

Now on my fourth day of Prednizone, I can see the light at the end of this pain tunnel. I’m headed to the bay area to spend a few days with my sister. Then traveling to see a few fun artist friends as I head back to the east coast, stopping in LA, – Sedona, Arizona, Taos, New Mexico, Hot Spring National Park in Arkansas, and Lexington Kentucky – painting, reading, writing, and hopefully laughing about all of this along the way. As my family and friends have requested, and my body allows, I will surely keep this blog filled with short stories and paintings from the road. Maybe a few poems too. Thanks for wandering along this colorful path with me. Kelly

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I found the ‘almost’ perfect van. It had all the best systems, designer wallpaper, natural woods, exquisite lighting – but no flush toilet and minimal solar. AND, it was $100,000. Stop. My handy husband convinced me that we could build it better, and that it would be more ‘me’. He was right. We still have a way to go, but we are enjoying the process. So many friends have asked for more pictures and a bit of info- so here you go!

After sifting through thousands of vans online we found this beauty at a dealership in Georgia. She’s a 2009 Dodge Sprinter van with only 42,000 miles on her. And fun fact, her previous owner was NASCAR racer Bill Elliot. Tommy and I flew down, and started the road trip home. Now she lives in front of the house. Our living room has become a tool shed, and the front porch our workshop. Our neighbors have been patient and supportive of this long and noisy project. They will be pleased when I finally get her out in the wilderness for a spell.

We began with the electrical, cut in our first of two windows, an AC outlet, and a hole in the roof for a fan.

After running the wiring and getting the window and fan installed, Tommy did the nasty job of insulating the van.

I taped it all off though, and stood close by (outside) in case he needed some help. I was very happy NOT to do this part myself.

We installed the wood ceiling, and the walls and began to frame in the refrigerator. Tom convinced me that I will be very happy to have a larger fridge on the road, and a freezer will be nice too. Smoothies. Lots of Smoothies. It will be nice, but it was a bugger getting it all installed, vented, and connected. It runs on propane or AC power. Fitting it in also forced us to shift around some interior layout – which worked out better in the long run anyway, creating more interesting angels and a feeling of more space.

We cut in the intake and the vent for the fridge, and added the second window on the sliding door.

Now I can load up the veggies and cold beverages. We framed out the first cabinet and the bathroom walls. The faucet looks large for a little camper, but the hose extends out the door to rinse off shoes or pets, or whatever. It has already come in handy! The bathroom will be a toilet/shower combo. More on that soon.

All along we though we would hire a professional to build the cabinets, but considering the time and the money, we decided to give it a shot ourselves. It involved a few re-cuts, and some tricky maneuvering to install the slides, but they came out pretty great.

The nights are coming on early now, and we’re working in the cold. We will be installing a furnace in the van this weekend, and we may even get to the front end bench seating (which will pull out into an extra bed for my friends). This has been quite the learning experience, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I’m really lucky that my sweet husband is so handy, and that he loves me like he does. I’m very grateful, and excited to be making this long time dream a reality. Check out this super cool fabric that I’ll turn into bench seat cushions!!

After working in the cold for a while, we installed a furnace that runs on propane with a 12 volt igniter. It keeps the van toasty warm. The thermostat is right by the bed so I can flick it on in the morning with my toe if I want to warm up the cabin a little before emerging from the my comfy bed. I don’t plan to do a whole lot of cold weather camping, but it sure nice on those chilly mountainous mornings.

Up next – the bathroom/shower, the floor, the folding counter top, the swivel passenger seat, more solar, and perhaps an AC unit.

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