Here's my idea: I give away five postcards featuring my art and in return you use them to advocate for the end of the horrific child-separation policy.
My heart breaks at the news out of Las Vegas. I am sharing the post I wrote about the aftermath of Orlando and a shooting at a dance club in my home of Fort Myers. The words I wrote then remain true today: I refuse to remain silent. I refuse to stay numb. And I am tired of this madness.
This morning I found myself standing in a strip mall less than a mile away from where I used to live, a dozen roses in my hand and more than two dozen reporters in my face.
I was standing on the site of the latest mass shooting in America.
A reporter asked me was why I was there.
I’d thought about this as I purchased a bouquet of small yellow roses at my local Winn-Dixie this morning. (What types of flowers are suitable to leave at memorials for mass shootings? I wondered. This is now a question we have to ask ourselves in America.)
I thought about gun violence as I made the twenty-three minute drive north from my home, driving past my church that only five short weeks ago hosted a vigil for the Orlando mass shooting victims. I thought about it as I exited the…
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Palm tree, meet Baptist. Baptist, meet fallen palm tree.
Do I want to write about how grateful I am for safe drinking water, cool air and hot food? (Very.) Do I want to write about but there for the grace of God go I?
Are you waiting for Bernie? Hillary? Kamala? Cory? The alt-left? (WHAT IS THIS AND I THINK I AM A PART OF IT MAYBE??) Are you waiting for the mid-terms? Are you waiting for the tax returns? Are you waiting for an anointed leader-of-the-people to magically emerge?
Cuban coffee. puppy dogs. Key west man who said, "you wanna take my picture?" I told him I was taking photos to paint later because I'm an artist. He said he's an artist too--a guitarist who played with Brett Michaels before he joined the marines! Love this place. Next up, reef snorkeling. Husband is… Continue reading Paradise is…
I understand that part of this anger is about my own deep wounds. My own story of harm by a mad man--and the perceived betrayal of the otherwise sane people who knew better than to believe a madman and ultimately align with a mad man. This is also what I know about being wounded: there is no greater pain that not being seen. We don't expect a mad man to see or understand our pain. He's not capable of it. But the ones who we know are capable of empathy and love? We except better.
"On Friday we wept, on Saturday we marched, on Sunday we rested. Today we get to work. What will you do today?" - Valerie Kaur I live in the very, very Southwest corner of Florida. Not near Miami, or Orlando, or Tampa, where you might find some blue dots in our red state. No. I… Continue reading Give light and People will Find the Way.
We were made for these times.
When a male painted bunting feels threatened it sings out a loud, clear, beautiful song from its perch, all the while dazzling in a bold palette of red, blue, green and yellow. You can do this too. When facing darkness and fear, dare to show your bold colors and sing your beautiful song. Sing it into the void. Pierce… Continue reading Be like the Painted Bunting