The Spider Reminded Her.

 

Amazing the way the mother speaks.

Margaret,

I believe the best way to market your art, is to be genuine, and put your heart out there. There is always the risk that someone might see the real you and try to steal it. Though, both of us know that is the risk an artist takes.

I watched this woman’s video and knew you would understand it.

The same way that you understand the slow motion cascade of a leaf as it is held by God’s invisible hand.

It is the swan, the grace of the moment. The way the wind moans, or sings. The way mother-nature reveals herself in the most magical moments.

I found this video created by Jonna Jinton, initially she was showing her cabin in the woods. It was summer, hot and she was in shorts. She had bought a bike to get around. This morning I open my you tube page and am surprised by the snow. She is a cinema videographer. And she blew me away with her magic.

When your father and I lived in Rhode Island ages ago I was captivated by the snow. The way the full moon sparkles and reflects off the snow is a special sort of love for mother nature. It is breath taking. I will never forget the night, my first full moon under her trance as she reflected her light upon the snow. All the silver blue white moonlight sighing her beauty for me.

This woman, Jonna, she is also a sighingly aware artist. She understands the sounds mother nature makes, she understands the crackling of the fire. `Everything has energy. The trees cracks and pop as she speaks about them. The ice responds to her energy of love.  The whole world awaits our “awareness”.

When Jonna was little the forest sang its song and she ran to her grandmom. It sounded like someone shooting a gun. You might recall the moment we removed the neon light from the house in Slidell, a huge clap of thunder erupted. We all looked at one another with wide eyes. And you remarked: “ I guess God wants us to know, he knows we are moving your art.”

Being aware is what makes an artist a true artist. The same soul that watches the full moon following us on a night car trip is the same soul that pushes herself to know every medium of art out there: You.

You are so busy making your art, you have no time to market your art. I get it. I will try and take some of the task. To help you, put you out there. Like I am doing for Jenna now. I am sharing what inspired me to write.

I want you to have 4 million followers. It is time for you to fly, like the swan with its grace and all the lessons that come with believing in yourself and your amazing art.

I have the aurora upon my bucket list. I am not giving up on that beach house. Anyone want to give me a beach house? (Grinning) I hear you mother nature, I see the birds swirling and swooping, `I hear the wind singing, I hear the fire crackling and popping as it warms my soul.

There are all sorts of folks waiting to be inspired. When you watch Jonna’s video- you will be blown away by her art. Margaret, let me make a composition for you. Start sharing your video’s. Place your sculptures upon the snow. Take a LED flashlight out and video your art in that frozen tundra. 

You know I love the bones of you. 

click here to watch Jenna

Here is the link- if you want to share it

 https://youtu.be/nWUOBP_Z0qo

The Irish Sea and Me.

 

Original photo by Anita Boyle.
Played with Photoshop to create composition.

It has been a wanting wish for ages. I have slowly been building up for this inevitable dream come true. It was just a matter of time. I have been teaching swimming 8 hours a day in a very cold pool then working at another pool were we teach during the winter months. I suppose I was training the whole time, preparing myself for the full body wet suit experience.

The day of the event would be the longest dark day of the year, the winter solstice. It was fitting, as 2020 was the darkest year I have lived. I imagine for you too— dear reader, that this has been your darkest year as well. It was time to take the ultimate bath.

I wanted to do this alone. I didn’t want a group of folks hollering and cheering beside me. I wanted a rebirth that was quiet. I wanted to face my sixty year old self alone. The good, or the bad I wanted to rely on me, I wasn’t going to be a victim or a persecutor. I didn’t need rescuing. This wasn’t a drama. 

This was me having a test of courage and a personal baptism. 

I have been preaching to folks my whole life to soar. Spread your wings, rise above the cloud layer. When in reality I should have been preaching for you to swim. As swimming is as close to soaring as you will ever get. There, in the water, in that non-gravitational place of fluid is your sky. You soar.

I stood beside the car, preparing for the swim. I had donned my booties with their thick rubber soles. I had tucked the booties up under the long leg of the wet suit. I pulled the wet suit up and pushed my hands through the neoprene. Then I slid on my San Francisco YMCA swim cap. It says:”I swam around the world.”

I smiled as I placed it upon my head. I worked at the best YMCA in the world. Courtney was the BEST aquatics director on the planet. Oh how I loved those folks! I had the swim cap of love upon my head. I had the angels of adventure warm in my heart. It was time to swim in the Irish Sea.

The storms of winter had brought sea weed up over the concrete ramp. It was inches thick and slippery to walk upon. Anita and I held on to one another as we walked toward the sand. The wind was calm, the sea was easy as she rolled her gentle waves upon the shore.

No one was on the beach, summer was out of reach. It was grey like my wet suit. Dull. I gave Anita a hug and she wished me well. She got out her camera and I started walking toward the water. 

My rubber booties protected my feet from the cold, the first hint of icy water was at mid calf height. The water was icy and hot at the same time. The strangest feeling of fire and ice. The liquid seeped into the wet suit up my spine and I smiled at the extreme feelings of being alive.

Fire and ice. Turning my body so the wave would split easier upon my body. Fire and ice. Walking into the water. Chest level now. Fire and ice. Breathe. Now it is deep enough to swim. Breast stroke. Fingertips sliding into the water.

OH MY GOD.

My hands didn’t have protection. Oh Dear Lord. It was like dipping my hands into dry ice. 

You've seen the science experiment where a live rose is dipped into the liquid nitrogen- that flash freezing was happening to my fingers. I instantly decided I needed to swim back to shore. I expected to raise my hands from the ocean and see nubs. No fingers, no blood -just frozen stubs.

As I turned to swim back to shore, I reached down with one foot. Certainly I could reach the bottom. I wasn’t THAT far out. “Dear Lord I am much further out than I thought.” 

As that point the voice that always talks to me, the all knowing me, the smart and intelligent  me said; “Oooooooooh you do want to live.”

I replied back: “Well of course I do.”

The highest me wouldn’t let this idea drop;”Have the tides changes? Have you been pulled out very very far?”

“Where ever I am. I must kick and pull my way back to shore with purpose.”

The highest me asked; “Shall I swim diagonal to the shore?”

“Perhaps.” So I did, the swimming became easier as I swam toward my Love standing on the shore. She couldn’t see my worried face. She didn’t know my fingers were numb. So I kicked and swam hard, the booties were bulky. But, I was so glad for them.

Finally, I reached down with a foot and could touch the sand. Both of me said: “Dear Lord, thank you for this strong body.”

I loved the waves that pushed me forward. They felt like angels. I was grinning from ear-to-ear as I stepped back to dry sand.

Whew. 

I have never felt more glad to be alive. Okay. I said it. There is nothing more gratifying that being glad to be here on this earth.

Somethings I have learned from this adventure.

1) The survivalist voice shows up, maybe it is the guardian angel we all have. That we don’t know we have until our heart beat quickens in near panic mode.

2) My heart is strong. If there were ever a moment when my heart had an opportunity to kick the old bucket, it was when my hands felt like they were in liquid nitrogen.

and 

last. I WANT to be alive. I don’t want to just exist. I want to live fully! I want adventure in my life.

  

Blessed Blossoming

 Hello Sweet Luvs.

(pulling you into my arms for a 60 second swaying hug) If you know me, if you are reading this blog, then you probably know I haven't been around lately. THIS was the year of challenges. The flower of me was cut to the ground.

(sighing) I won't go into the details about the losses. If you know me, then you know what has happened in my life. 

I flew to Ireland to be re-planted. To take the cutting of my rose-self and replant it. The rain is sweet and soft upon my face and shoulders. I have gotten used to the freezing cold water and look forward to swimming in these waters when quarantine is over.

Finding what you are good at, what you want to do every day of your life, is a lovely adventure. Now that I am here, in Ireland, taking photographs, playing with them in photoshop and illustrator I realize the center point. What we spend our time doing, is what we love.

What
we
spend
time doing,
is what 
we
LOVE.

So, think on that for a moment. Let it materialize, walk around what you do in your minds eye. See the activity. Do you take photos, do you write, do you sit on instagrams all day or scroll in facebook all day?
It is okay. No judgement.
Are you making money off of any of this?

(chuckling) Admittedly, I am not making money. That is the trick then, the bridge to a glorious life. 

Orrrrr is it? Do you want to be doing your hobby all the time? Then would it become druggery? 

Well. I have no answers. I suppose I am just stirring the stick in the mud. I do like watching the swirls of mud flow in the crystal clear water. And I do love watching the river clear itself. Pure magical delight.

I do a few things that I make money from. I play with mud and make mud pies with children. I also illustrate and make money off of those creative play things. 

 I am blossoming now. 

Playing, creating, becoming again.

The future looks crystal clear.

Take this season to rejuvenate and rest.

Let the negative go.

Let the hole be healed.

It takes time.

KNOW you are loved.

We are in this together.

The you tube link is from the movie "Fiddler on the roof" I do not claim anything to do with it. I just want to share its "holiness". May the Lord bless you and keep you.

Blessed Prayer Song

Who taught you?

Art created by Judith Parsons Art 2020

There is only one splinter of a memory of my father trying to teach us to dance. He was showing us the dance steps and foot work for the box step. I smile thinking of his attempt. My sisters and brothers waiting for a turn. 

The prevalent memory is my dad dancing with my mom. My mother would straighten her back when she was dancing with dad. She became a different person when she was dancing with dad. She was no longer defeated or exhausted.

 If she didn’t have heels on, she would stand on her tippy toes and dance around. I thought how her feet must hurt- dancing upon her toes. Though, you could tell by the expression upon my mom’s face, that she was in another world when my dad held her.  She was transformed in those moments. She looked into his eyes, and she had this glorious glowing smile. She trusted in his hand in her lower back, he knew exactly how to move her around the room. He is his clunky work shoes and she barefoot. And never once looked down at her feet- never did she worry that he might step upon her toes.

To me, dancing was the ultimate way to show love. You hold one another openly, publicly letting the world see you. A couple moving in unison. One trusting in the other, the energy of love swirling around as you move together.

Why did the men stop dancing? Why did they become so shy? Why didn't I demand early on for my husband to dance with me? Questions for another blog.

But the truth of this writing is reality. It was rare that they danced. The thing my family did was sing. My parents loved to sing. My mother was trained as professional singer in college and was paid by churches to come and sing solo for special occasions. I learned by watching and by attending choir. My dad sang bass and he and mom would occasionally sing in the kitchen. Every now and again my mom would sing in the morning. Did your mom sing in the kitchen as she cooked? Do you?  

The lesson of love came from my grandma. I think my mom was so stressed with five kids- (shaking my head) that love was a blur for her. Though, I think my older siblings remember a kinder and gentler mom.

The fight part, is more like the anger part. I won’t drag the person I learned these emotions from through the mud. It serves no purpose.I will say what we ALL know children learn by watching. Simple. Sad and true. If your household is a crazy screaming- run away environment, then chances are your children are picking up on how to deal with you when they become teens.

The same is true for a nurturing and loving environment. If you are patient and kind, the children will learn by modeling your behavior. Though, all 2 and 3 year olds have meltdowns, their job is to test your limits. Our job as adults is to calmly and respectfully stay grounded in our response. To guide them with controlled measures. Whatever you are doing to cope with your stress, your children will be doing as adults.

As we all are turning the corner toward the harvesting season, with fall approaching, lets keep the main question of who taught us- in the forefront of our mind.
School is starting soon, this is a challenging time, the teachers are asking- is my job worth my life? Parents are asking is my sanity worth my children's life? Who taught you, who is teaching you, all these questions are worth asking.

Much love to you as you look toward your futures path. 
(Judith teaches art at Cedarwood Elementary, Mandeville, LA.)

Woods and rivers- beyond time.

Sand dollar Love.
Original art by Judith Parsons Art. 2020.

The sun is out. Tree branches reach out over the river. The water is crystal clear and you can see the fish swimming below. 

Finally, the river is clear. 

The breeze blows and the branches sway. One leaf falls in slow motion and lands in a spiders web. The leaf dangles from that thread. Swirling a few inches above the water. A spider inspects what she has caught in her web.

The breeze blows the leaf free from the web. It lands upon the water, barely making a ripple. The spider is traveling upon the leaf boat moving away from its web. The river's current taking the leaf boat to the ocean.

I wonder, does the spider scream out to her family;  “I will be back when I can.” Does the mother of the spider sense her  sons departure? Life sort of happens like that.

 Unexpected journeys. Changes in the wind.

Lately, life has had it challenges. The virus shutting everything down and police brutality coming to a horrible tragic death. Which is awakening the world.

It is good to be awoke. Now comes the time for transformation and change. 

The trees next to the river help support the banks of the river. The river nourishes the trees. The repeating pattern of the branch is a Y shape. It makes a lovely arch when duplicated. The curvy watery pattern of the river is like a female hour glass shape. 

We are all born. We all come from a mother. And somewhere there is a momma spider calling for her son spider. Wondering where the river has taken him.

Call your momma and check in. Moms love hearing from their babies. And some babies never come home. It is beyond time to make changes. 

Don't discard me.

Cut away pieces wanting to be made.
By Judith Parsons Art 2020

The cut away, forgotten pieces of clay want to be made into something. No one wants to be discarded.

As I cut away the arch shape, there is a triangle piece of clay that sits upon the edge of my plastic covered board. They sit watching me, as I cut them away from the mother piece of clay, they see me shaping and forming another part of themselves. They wonder what they they will become.

The longer I allow them to watch the making of their sister into a form, they take on the energy of knowing what it is to be made into something.

Blankly they stare wanting to be born.

I know the trick now. If I allow them to watch the forming of their previous self, their energy builds and calls me to them.

Then they have energy which speaks loudly.

However, if I cut the clay away and discard it quickly- not giving them the chance to “know” the making of formlessness into themselves- they have no time to find their voice.

No time to find your voice. Hm. That sounds like another blog to write. I could go on for days about voice and swallowing down your words. But alas, that is not for today. (smiling sigh) Back to the clay.

I can see you now, your head cocked a little to the side, as my crazy artist thoughts seep into you. The clay speaking its wanting to be born language. Admittedly, I do not always have the time to give the clay energy it deserves and I quickly discard it.

Arch/Boat/Glass sculpture.
By Judith Parsons Art 2020

I plop it into the watery grey muck where it sinks despondently into foggy cloudy muddy silt. Its voice drowns. Its own muddy heart beating in its ears.

The top right photo is small gargoyles (as my daughter named them- waving at Margaret) thank you Dear. The larger center face can be turned around and has two faces in one. Hmmmm. Interesting.

How many faces do I have?

As my fingers start shaping the clay- as much as I try my darnest to repeat a shape- the clay speaks its own mind. It knows before I know- and viola it becomes its own shape.

It just happens.

The bottom left photo are boat arches, that will eventually hold glass as well. O have pierced the sides and bottoms so the light can shine through. What is the point of have colorful glass inside something- if the light can not shine through it?

Right? Nodding head. Right.

Keep creating sweet Luvs. Some twin steeples need some attention. Time to get on that.

A dark night in a city...

Original art created by Judith Parsons Art 2020.

If you are an NPR nerd, then there are chances you grew up listening to Garrison Keillor and his radio program. It came on Saturday night and again on Sunday morning. It was a regular thing my family did on Saturday evenings. We planned our dinner and grilling around that hour. 

I miss the ketchup advisory, “Barb, what you need is a little ketchup.” I can’t help but grin and chuckle at that line, it seemed to calm Barb down and my whole family. We laughed together. If we were traveling, the children would listen along, and they too grew up with Garrison and the fabulous characters the show brought to life. The cowboys and the famous Guy Noir. 

“A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but one man is still trying…”

Garrison is still out there sweet Luvs. He is on instagram with the writers almanac. Today he read poetry about being a little outside the box. Life was askew. And as much as the man in the poem tried to step aside to adjust his perspective, he found himself spinning and dizzy.

Life is sort of like that these days. A little dizzying. That spiral brings us to my favorite shape. The cho-ka-ray symbol of centering energy and drawing it into focus. Bring the spinning to the eye of the storm, to the quiet space place that makes life nice. That makes me smile.

Yep, -in my mind's eye- I am sitting with my feet up on my back huge porch, I am smiling at my family- and all of it is a memory. A secret room I visit where the old banjo man is grilling some ribs and the radio plays. And he smiles and says: “It looks like you need a little ketchup.”

7th Grade Blue Dog

Jacque Rodrigue reading from his father's book, wearing art created by Judith Parsons.
Photos by Chopper photography 2020.

Edited Blue Dog press release:

Cedarwood School’s 7th Grade students had their first experience with sculpting masks this past February. Their focus was George Rodrigue’s Blue Dog. They each had the opportunity to recreate the Blue Dog in their own unique vision of it, mirroring Rodrigue’s versatile use of his main icon. The children interpreted the masks into various themes: stained glass geometric, alligator, and the American Flag to name a few. Their abstract discoveries were shared with George’s son, Jacques Rodrigue. He visited the school and even tried on a mask. He spoke with the students about The George Rodrigue Art Foundation, which supports young artists in achieving their artistic dreams. 

Attentive students at Cedarwood school.
Photo by Chopper Photography 2020.

Now- the rest of the story:

Finally, I have the seed of the story, the whole Jack-in-the bean stalk story. Art is about family. The legendary George Rodrigue lives on with his son. Jacque allowed us into the storybook memories that brought the Blue Dog alive.

The real dog that inspired his famous paintings was seriously protective of George, and used to nip and bite at visitors that came into the studio. The son smiled as he reflected upon the hours his dad spent painting the Cajun history we all have come to know and love.

I have students who have artist as parents and grandparents. They proudly tell me about their granddad who sculpts and another dad who paints. Then, there are mother’s who come into the school to help decorate the hall ways for our international parade. I am blown away by their creations. They have created hanging plum tree art and waves with surf boards. All that art waits for us to come back. To replant the seeds of creativity. To plant anew again.

The time of coronavirus is a strange place of mask and protective gear. The mask art you see here isn’t trying to protect anyone from anything. Maybe it is time to make art again that celebrates the New Orleans we all know and love, to create masks of playful wonder. 

This blog is written with my seventh grade students in mind. I miss y’all! This year you rose to the challenge. You rolled up your sleeves and you stepped up and made amazing art! My first year at Cedarwood was amazing- because of y’all!

Brilliant creative masks by incredible students! Thank you 7th grade!

Cat. Begin again.

5 cats. Original one-of-a-kind art.
Created by Judith Parsons Art.
(Do not use without permission)

There is a place I go. Much like this song, when I close my eyes I see all the watery memories of us. 

Our toes at the edge of the ocean. If you have shared fluid moments beside me, then close your eyes…SEE the real me.

See?  Remember her?

Imagine me- grinning from ear-to-ear. We are grinning with the sun bright, I can see your sparkling eyes. Your grin is so amazing.

There are a handful of you, who have been night swimming with me. Also sailing with me. Glorious times. Scary and thrilling. There is nothing like it.

Then there are the wind splashed memories, water coming over the bow, the boat speeding along at hull speed. Yep. A few of you have experienced flying upon the water with me.

I leave you with the link to the song I have been playing over and over again. 

Edge of the ocean.

Now, I have become a cat. I see this little independent lioness sitting at the edge of the ocean. She is content, looking outward at the horizon.

This time away from the world, except for my little neighbor (waving at D) I have been doing some introspective connecting the watery drops. 

Money, it isn’t what I thought it was. My old sand castle dreams have washed away. So I sit looking outward, aware- ever so aware of this body that carries me — not even sure what to wish for anymore.

Those last 8 words. 

(sighing)

What is our purpose? What? What is the point of beginning again? 

My twin brother called this morning (waving). I cried after I hung up the phone. I wept for the miracle that happened. It is a long story- for another blog- for another time.

Let us start over.

Over and over. The lioness of me- in my silver fur- sits at the edge of the ocean- looking out. Wondering what in the world life is about. 

No sure anymore of anything.

Enjoy the song. Think of our watery moments together. I will think of your smile. AND that is enough for now.

My cat art, creating using Adobe Illustrator. Sit beside the cat of me. And let's begin again.

Sharing and sparing during quarantine.

Art for the times! Art by Judith Parsons Art 2020.

This blog is about sharing and the way energy becomes art.

A few weeks ago National Public Radio had a segment on about kindness.

National Public Radio had a segment on about kindness. During that segment a uber driver was talking about how in between his money paying pickups he would assist his neighbors who needed help.

He would offer them a ride and pick up groceries for them. 

He said these words: 

“If you can spare it-share it. That needs to be the words we chant through these difficult times. "

The segment aired a few weeks ago. The energy of his words stayed with me, for 3 weeks now.

Art that wants to be created will whisper to you everyday, until you give it attention.

It stays with you. I created the art above- thinking I would join vista print and make t-shirt art. I will keep you posted on this.

My neighbor and I share meals, if I need an onion she shared one.

Do you know your next door neighbor? 

Is there anything you can spare?ss. During that segment a uber driver was talking about how in between his money paying pickups he would assist his neighbors who needed help.

He would offer them a ride and pick up groceries. 

He said these words: “If you can spare it-share it.”

The segment aired a few weeks ago. The energy of his words stayed with me, for 3 weeks now.

My neighbor and I share meals, if I need an onion she shared one.

Do you know your next door neighbor? 

Is there anything you can spare?

Sparing-sharing and caring!! Keep shining sweet Luvs!! 

Moving art and starting over. (Yet again)

Original one-of-a-kind art by Judith Parsons Art 2019

Hey Sweet Luvs!

It is been awhile. I am writing from my original location. For 6 years I lived in San Francisco, securing my Masters In Fine Art.

I packed up and discovered Amtrack will ship luggage and boxes of books across America. It CAN BE DONE.

( I swear I will write about Amtrack and what I learned in another blog.) Thank you Mark and Lisa and Sara. (hugging you all in a huge group hug) I hope you all connected and made the art switch off.

The photographs to the left are my art. I work with digital laser acrylic, glass, clay and graphic design composition.

   Swimming is keeping me fit and happy! I adore the children, especially when they have their "Awww-Ha!" floating holy moly moment. That is what I live for right now. I believe God gives me a feather for my angel wing every time a child learns to float. I believe I am saving a life.
I work at PAC in Mandeville. The club is posh and glorious!! They have a jacuzzi and steam room too.  Come visit and give me a hug!

I am working with Jeanette Murray (waving) creating clay sculptural pieces which I will be slumping glass into soon. SO watch for some new art coming soon.

I am applying all over the place, for an art teaching job in the fall.


I love you guys! (hugging you tight) It is good to be home.

Family Beliefs

Original art by Judith Parsons Art 2019
The hexagon and the fish were cut using digital laser technology.
The hexagon is wood and the fish is leather.

There were many magical moments this past week with my children. I am blessed to be closer to them. Admittedly, I flew to San Francisco to do me. To "own me." To get another degree under my belt, for a million reasons. But this blog isn't about that.

This blog is about the mother children connect. And how incredible life is being around my children.

This week I hugged my son and his girlfriend! Then we all clinked and cheered glasses as we raised our eyebrows in grinning delight for the future yet to come!

A glorious weekend seeing and being with my flesh and blood. I can't help but grin at the sparkling eyes that looked across the table at me.

As my first week closed and it was time to head back to Covington, Margaret and I did what we love to do, we shared out favorite songs. We were driving across the Lake Ponchatrain Causeway. The sun was reflecting like diamonds on the water and we were grinning like idiots at one another.

She played her favorite song about being real. She explained she loved it so much because she was trying to live her MOST REAL life, in the way she created her art and the way she teaches her children in elementary school. It was a fabulous song as I felt she was trying to explain to me her process for living in the moment. To be as honest as she could be. I love that facet of Marg. She does herself 100%.

Then I played my song, which was most appropriate after the "Womb Room" art opening the night before.

Melissa Etheridge: “Slowly we row.” It is a mother daughter song. One of the lines is; “Tell me what I should believe.” In my imagination that line swirls in the middle of the water. 

The reflection of me, my daughter and my mother and even my grandmother. Look back at me. The mirror of my women. My grandma with her white hair- much like mine- her hand upon my shoulder. My mother’s face on the opposite shoulder, and my daughter and son's face under my chin.

I reach up in my minds eye and caress my mother’s face and grandmother’s face. They can see the tears dripping from my chin, the tears leaking. That family relationship is precious. 

Try and use your voice with your mother. I never did. I thought of her as a pain in the rear for most of my life. I felt she wanted to clip my wings. I don’t want my children thinking the same thing about me. I want to help fling my eagle children into the sunlight and watch them soar.

I believe in the mirror reflecting the mirror. Change and transformation is inevitable. I believe in learning how to ground myself so that I can plant the seed of new beginnings. I believe in Love. 

Lots of incredible connections are happening. Loads of love abound. Let us continue to dance, (smiling) lets play our tunes for one another and shake our hips and be ALIVE with love. (Hugging you all- thank you for stopping by.)

A little different

Illustration and design by Judith Parsons Art 2019
San Francisco

I am writing on the fly. What you see is what you get. I will read over once and try to catch any typo's, however, chances are there will be some small something I miss.

The art is a whim. Plain and simple.

I usually sketch in a pad, then create the sketch in the Adobe Illustrator software. I then take it into photoshop to continue playing.

One white dot at the center of the swirl, two larger white dots with swishes coming off of them. Then little triangle shapes off the main shape.

The swirl is a constant in my art.  I like to think it is because of the shrimp I love to eat. Some of my best eating involved large quantities of cajun spiced hot to the touch shrimp. Usually my work is centered. This is off kilter. Right now at this particular moment my bedroom looks like hurricane Katrina blew through. It is a jumbled mess.

I have a sculpture that is in limbo land. I think Mark Cohen would love to have this magnificent piece of art in his home. It is a strange and complicated piece of art. I do hate to part with it. However, it was born in CA and needs to reside here, in "her" home state.
(Waving at Mark!! Call me!)

Today was my last weekend of teaching at the YMCA in Chinatown. I cried a couple of times, saying goodbye to children that I will not forget. I invested my heart and soul into these wee minnows. A few I have watched blossom into the pre-swim team. I see families on the bus and they call out: "Hey Teacher!" I can't help but smile. It is nice to be loved and hugged.

I will tell you a secret. After every class I make them say: "I am strong." and after today's last class I made them add: " I am a great swimmer and I will never forget Miss Judy." So there you have it! I am not ashamed to admit this. AND all of them grinned from ear-to-ear when they said it! With a great high-five palm slap.

So. I bow out Chinatown. I will miss you crazy intense lovely families! I love the way the community pushes its children to stay healthy and fit. Life is pretty darn amazing with fabulous friends like these!! Keep singing, shining and swimming!!

Creatively heal with an Art Church.

Technology today allows for the creative mind to flow non stop. However, we need chill time. Time to float upon the surface of nothing and just listen to our heart beat.

When I am swimming I become one with the bubble. I stretch out my spine, I give it some much needed rest. I elongate the disc that constantly have weight upon them.

The art created starts from this fluidity. The composition lower down is something I have been experimenting with the abstract LOTUS .

Every single day I create and create. Taking favorite shapes combining them, playing with their rotation, distorting them, transforming them endlessly.

I love doing it for a few hours every single morning.
Maybe you have thought about the lotus flower. Maybe you have deconstructed it and constructed it many times. Each peddle is its own boat.  I love the leaf shape. It sits elegantly upon the surface, twilling swirling spinning about happily on its own.
We can be apart of something larger and magnificent or we can be the single leaf alone.

I would like for all of us to join together. Create ART in a spiritual realm. Let us make a huge mosaic and build an art studio chapel and decorate the wall of our church with our own creations.

Yesterday, Oprah had a video clip about deciding what is is we want. Make the decision, say it clearly out loud, declare it and own it. I suppose I am doing that now. I would like your support universe to help me create a magical magnificent spirit art place upon which we can create art.

Step one declaring our desires. Done.

We shall develop together, growing and becoming a healing place for art.

Mission MOVE!

Art by Judith Parsons Art 2019 San Francisco

Good morning Love.

I have 9 packages that will be moved.  3 small square boxes, one flat-ish box, 4 large suit cases and one very cumbersome large box. Nine compartmentalized containers.

3 to the third power.

The ultimate Trinity. Don’t get hung up on the word Helen. (Waving)  It is okay. We all have attachments to words, to what something means. As I wrote that I could see a shard of mirrored glass stuck into the ground. Perhaps stuck in a rut, where a wheelbarrow rolls over.

If you have experience with wheelbarrows and/or ruts, then you are my sort of soul. Wheelbarrows were designed to carry a heavy load. Maybe that is my totem icon, the wheelbarrow. (I am laughing at that idea.)

I am not certain if today’s children even know what a wheelbarrow is. I grew up in the country, my dad had gardens and it inspired me at an early age to dig up my mother’s daffodils and run inside showing her my harvest of onions. I do not think she was pleased at all.

Sorry. This is the truest me. All over the place. Sarah (waving- calls it squirreling ) That would be me. Twenty thoughts all at once trying to jump upon the screen. 

Words have this competition, they are animated and alive, they vie for attention. Like pitiful hungry toddlers all wanting to get to the first of the cake line. 

Smiling. 

Back to the move.

I abhor moving. Perhaps the saddest part of moving is evaluating what one is made of. It is all right there -- in your face. Clothing that never has been particularly stylish. More garden fashion than anything. My art, THERE- that would be the real me…my art is heavenly. So I am carefully moving bits and pieces of myself. Determined to throw away anything that doesn’t bring tears to my eyes.

I have sketch pads galore that are going in the trash. 5 years of pads of drawing and books of drawings that were whims of a thought. I have fleeting thoughts of wall papering a wall with the collage of the past 5 years of drawings. Geometry, trinity man, book of Kells lions, swirls upon swirls of lines designed with nothing better than releasing the drawing from my mind, so my mind might calm down before bed.

There you have it Love. My mind is very complicated, dyslexic for sure, up-side down and backwards definitely!! 

Though, academia saved me. For all of you instructors out there who do not believe in giving “A’s”…stop that shite. In a world where there is no validation that is real. Academia should be that place- where work put in- from day one of class- to work put in at end of semester shows improvement. In a world where you put in the work- you should get the grade- is important- GIVE the A.

I grew up in a dysfunctional family, where we called one another names. In the time I grew up- there was no "PC politeness". School was where I got validation. I worked my ass off in any class I ever took. Oh- and art school is NOT easy. It is physically demanding. One must do ALL of art these days, sculpt it and then photograph it and then market it with your own press releases.

Margaret Keelan, and DJ (hugging you around the neck) YOU understood how crucial that A was to me. Thank you from the jumbled up bottom of my heart. I adore you both.

You might think art is difficult to grade. It isn’t. You know who the work horses are. You know who is staying at school until the security people push them out the door. YOU know who is striving and thriving on the process and making of art. Does it fit the gallery standards? Ha! What the hell is that anyway?

Oh- this was supposed to be about moving. I suppose it is. I am leaving San Francisco. I came to this magnificent town because Lawrence, who was associated with Lucas films and Star Wars was the director at Academy of the Art University. I was intrigued by “the force”. I desired my Master of Fine Art and secured it! I know the ways with the digital laser and intend to create brilliant art.

There you have it- my silly reason for moving across the country. Silly!

I am leaving with the force securing tucked into my belt. I have it, like a pair of super energized magical power gloves. When I decide to slide them on- watch out- there are lightning bolts of art being created.

I have HUGE design of art to be made in New Orleans! I have glass blowing and metal art to create, and mosaics…ooooooh the new art that will be made!

I need a studio, I need a fabulous place to create. I would also love a gallery upon which you can come visit and peruse my new art which will be made.

Wish me luck sweet Loves!! New Orleans lets make great art together!! Wooohoooooo!!!

It is the overlapping connections.

"Overlapping connections" by Judith Parsons Art 2019 

Here goes. Rambling about over lapping connections.

The dots in each oval shape are from the connections of a very detailed piece of art. (see yesterdays art in Instagram: JudithParsonsArt55555)

Each square where 2 lines cross create an energy.

The awakened aware self feels, senses, and "knows" when a connection is REAL.

Yesterday as I was leaving the pool, a woman was swimming and our eyes connected and I smiled at her and we both said hello. It was such a genuine smile that I commented: "Such a lovely smile."
She replied: "Because it is real."

I laughed and did a little "Wooohoooooo!" and smiled the rest of the evening. It was a simple connect, yet a lovely lightning bolt of realness.

There you have it. A small blog about connections. The art is what I love. Five womb shape rings, rotated and rotated and duplicated. Playing with connections, learning to be aware. Being aware of love for the sake of love. Connecting because we all share lovely energy!

Keep shining! And remember to sing. And resist being a bitch- just coz you can. No one wants that drama. Keep it to yourself...examine and be aware and smile...just coz you can.

Love you all. Keep being REAL!