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5 September 2014, Port Clyde, Maine

7 November 2006
Words. It all begins with words.

31 August 2014
Sitting on a front porch in Maine on a Sunday afternoon talking with an esteemed psychologist, I’m writing and drawing as we talk. Suddenly, a flash of insight makes me realize why I write and draw abut everything. Why I withdraw and become silent when vital words are needed from my lips. The ones I want to say the most turn into a kaleidoscope of pictures. Words make pictures. I need time to process.

I’ve never been good with spoken words. I circle around, repeating the same ones when I talk, and in listening, I lose most of the important ones in pictures in my head. In the early 1960’s, sitting in school in my small seaside town in Florida, I would lose track of what the teacher was saying and start daydreaming. The room had tobacco brown pine floors and high windows that faced the sea. Air conditioning was rare in those days, the windows were often open and the salty sea air wafted in and wove exotic pictures around the teacher’s words. People have been telling me words all my life and I’ve never understood a thing they were saying.

But I loved to read and inhaled books like I do the sea air. I made notes as I read, and I drew pictures. In those day’s Florida didn’t set high standards on its education system. Reading made me smart enough to marginally pass tests and I graduated at sixteen. I’ve been reading, writing and making pictures ever since. It’s the only way I know how to communicate. It’s only in the past few years of my life that I’ve begun to show what I write. First in painted letters from my heart, torn from my sketchbook, than reflections here on my blog.

Like the words and painting in this post Morning Coffee two years ago that allude to my old life, and the radiant heart that was beside me in my new one. A rocking heart full of grace, adventure, courage, kindness, imagination and intelligence. A lioness with exquisite taste.

It wasn’t until I traveled to Maine, painting and drifting around boats, that I remembered the dreams of my radiant heart in the beginning.  She should be here. We, boldly living; traveling, laughing with friends new and old, a life of exploration and adventure, beauty and treasure hunts. Well, it was a nice dream. Still, it’s fun to dream, isn’t it? It keeps us young and our eyes on a bright future.

Hold my hands—see the cottage—the porches, flowers, outdoor patio, an organic garden, and at the end of the garden, a small studio. Come inside the screen door, see a fireplace surrounded by a collection of beautiful natural things and books. Divine aromas arise from the kitchen from the healthy meals we share. The walls are adorned with paintings I paint just for you, paintings of all the places we’ve been, a visual history of our life. A rose compass inlay on the entry floor reminds us to stay on course together. There is time for adventure, time for reflection, time to create, time laughing with friends and time to nurture and grow our identities separately and as an “us”. Most of all there is time for love in this safe haven called home.

Words. Every word a picture from beginning to end. It’s the ones in the middle that make me smile.

5 September 2014
Standing on that magnificent Maine coast, painting the sunrise, I kept thinking, and I just wanted you to know…

You have always been in the center of my pictures.

I painted you in the sunrise.

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