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1. bad blogger lately....



but for a good reason. :)

have been super busy working on a special commission for the family of a little girl i once taught almost ten moons ago. (yikes, feeling old!)

the mom came to me asking for a custom painting based on the gorgeously illustrated book entitled, "motherbridge of love". in a nut shell, it's a sweet book about adoption...east meets west (u.s.a. and china).  well, i couldn't have been happier to put my spin on parts of that beautiful book.

just about wrapping up this painting this week and i'm so looking forward to presenting it to them. such a lovely mother and adorable daughter, they are....:)




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2. so....


i don't usually post full sketches until after my paintings are done, especially commissions....but because this was a request from the wonderful woman/mother who commissioned me in the first place, well i couldn't say no. :)

7/8 years ago i taught a really sweet little girl who was adopted into the arms of a really great lady. she reached out to me wanting a painting based on the illustrations in the beautiful book entitled, Motherbridge of Love...a custom painting (in my style) to represent the merging of cultures, ethnicities and, of course, the unconditional love that will forever envelop that very special little girl (who is not quite so little anymore-6th grade already?!) for a lifetime to come.

it's always a pleasure to take on any commission as i am always humbled and appreciative for the opportunity to have someone trust in my creative visions. to me, there is no greater compliment.

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3. FOODFIC: Please Welcome Christa Polkinhorn, Author of the Family Portrait Series

https://www.goodreads.com/series/113336-family-portrait



One of the readers of my novels pointed out jokingly that my characters love food and wine and drink copious amounts of coffee. She is right! I enjoy reading food descriptions in novels and many of my characters like to eat and drink.

Food, the preparation and enjoyment of it, can be a powerful device in a novel. Eating is a very sensual thing and in our writing, we try to convey sensual experiences with words. We want our readers to be involved with the story and one way to do this is to let them perceive the world through the senses of the characters. Let them smell, hear, see, and taste. It brings the story to life and makes for much more interesting reading.

In addition, the way we eat, what we eat, like any other activity, can say something about the rest of our lives and hence, in a novel, about the lives of the characters we create. Here are a few examples of my novels where food plays a role in the Family Portrait trilogy.

The first book, An Uncommon Family, starts with six-year old Karla, eating an ice cream cone:

        Karla licked the crispy cone, trying to catch the sliding droplets before they hit the ground. The raspberry ice cream was a dark purple, her favorite color. … She turned around and peered through the window of the art shop, where her aunt was picking up two framed pictures. When she looked back at the sidewalk, her breath caught.
“Mama?” she whispered.
She saw the woman only from behind, but the bounce in her step, the long, reddish-blond hair flowing down her back, swaying left and right, the tall, slender figure—it must be her mother. She tossed the rest of the ice cream into the trashcan, got up, and ran after the woman.

The above “ice cream scene” encompasses one of the books main themes: Karla’s longing for her mother. When a young girl tosses her favorite ice cream cone into the trash to run after someone, that someone must be critical to her life. The child’s action startles us and we are eager to know what happens. Seeing a woman who reminds her of her mother turns the peaceful enjoyment of her sweet into a heartbreaking chase after a phantom. As we find out a little later, Karla’s mother is in fact dead and the child hasn’t been able to fully accept her loss yet.

Later in the book, Karla tells her painting teacher and mentor, Jonas, about a dream that scared her and made her sad. Jonas knows just the thing that would bring some relief to Karla: comfort food or drink—a cup of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream—which he lovingly prepares.

        Jonas poured the milk into the mugs, shook the bottle of whipped cream, and squeezed a dollop out of it. “Try it.” He handed a mug to Karla.
 Karla took a sip and licked some of the whipped cream off the top. “Good,” she said.
 They sat on the couch in the living room, sipping hot chocolate. Karla put her mug down on the table and walked over to the wall to look at a photo of Eva. She stood in front of the picture, seemingly absorbed, then turned around. “She’s very pretty.”
 Jonas nodded. “Yes, she was beautiful.”
 Karla came back to the sofa and picked up her mug again. After she took another sip, she gazed at Jonas with her large dark eyes. “Do you dream about her sometimes?”
“Yes, quite often.”

The scene shows us something about Jonas’s kindness and love of his student, and it introduces us to his own heartbreak.

Other food scenes in the book provide information about the environment and the seasons in Switzerland. The scent of roasted chestnuts in the old town of Zurich, a restaurant that serves fondue in winter, or, in summer, the refreshing taste of ice-cold gazosaor lemonade.

In the second book, Love of a Stonemason, Karla invites Andreas, her new boyfriend, a stonemason and sculptor, for dinner. It is raining and Andreas builds a fire in the fireplace. The scent of burning wood and the smell of cooking mingle, creating a sensuous atmosphere which leads to their first lovemaking. In the morning, they wake up hungry and Karla prepares a rich breakfast of eggs, bacon, bread, butter, and jam.

        Andreas scraped up the leftover egg with a piece of bread and licked his fingers. “This is excellent, by the way.” He pointed at his plate. “I could get used to this.”
       “I’m glad you like it.” Karla was amused by his appetite.

Here we get a glimpse of Andreas’ character. He is a sensuous man, somewhat unpolished but compassionate. He enjoys food and Karla, who is a talented painter and an excellent cook, knows the saying, “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” and prepares some outstanding meals. Another dinner scene gives us some insight into the characters of Andreas’ family, when Karla meets his mother, his aunt and uncle for the first time.

        It was only now that Karla noticed a third person in the room, a thin, quiet, unassuming woman, probably in her fifties. Andreas introduced her as his mother. She greeted Karla with a shy smile. After saying hello, she seemed to disappear among the other people. Karla was amazed how little mother and son resembled each other.
        Aunt Maria had prepared a typical dish of the area for lunch—coniglioand polenta, rabbit stew with slices of corn mush fried in olive oil and topped with parmesan cheese—as well as vegetables and salad. It was a very tasty meal, but Karla, who by nature wasn’t a big eater, constantly had to stop Maria from putting more food on her plate.
Cara, you’re much too thin, you have to eat.” Uncle Alois tried to put another piece of meat on Karla’s plate.
“Leave her alone, for god’s sake,” Andreas finally intervened. “You know, Alois, not everybody can eat as much as you do. You could actually do with a little less yourself. You must be twice as fat as when I saw you last time.”
“Don’t be fresh, young man.” Uncle Alois grinned. “Here, have some more wine.”

In the above scene, we get to know the family by the way they behave at the table. We see Andreas’ unassuming mother, we witness his kindly aunt and boisterous uncle showing their old-fashioned hospitality and we experience the playful bantering between Andreas and his uncle and we realize that Karla despite her cooking skills is a slender woman and modest eater.

In Emilia, the third book of the trilogy, a meal at a grotto in the south of Switzerland (grotto is a special kind of country restaurant), Andreas and his children eat out, since Karla, the mother, was visiting her ailing father in Peru. The youngest child, Emilia, wants to eat her spaghetti the same way her older sister does, rolling the strands on her fork.

       He (Andreas) scrunched his forehead and glared at Emilia. “What are you doing? Stop playing with your food.”
 Emilia, who had been trying to roll spaghetti on her fork, which kept sliding off, looked at him with big eyes, which quickly filled with tears. She was obviously shocked at her father’s unusually harsh tone. So was Laura.

An otherwise loving father, Andreas also has a temper and the tension that has been building between him and his wife brings out his angry side. The conflict in the family is made even more obvious during a meal, which is normally a time of sharing and relaxation.

In all these examples food is used both as a way to enrich and enliven a story as well as showingunderlying themes and giving us insight into the characters. 


Thank you for stopping by to share your food for thought, Christa!


 You can find Christa and her books here:




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4. Lil’ Duckies are So Much Fun

 

Another fun family portrait commissioned by a beautiful family. I loved that they had a vision for this portrait. This scene is inspired by their beautiful 2 year old daughters love for duckies. I love duckies too! Which made this such a fun project to work on.

This baby’s ready to be shipped off to its permanent home in Ohio!

Hope you like your new print Tobias Family!

Hugs & Kisses, Nina

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5. One Happy Family


Last month, I was given the opportunity to create a family portrait for an expecting mommy and her expanding family. This was one of the most enjoyable commissions I’ve received thus far. She was such a joy to work with and this is just about the most laid back family I’ve ever met.

The thing(s) I enjoy most about private commissions, is that there’s a bit more freedom in terms of what I add to each piece, whether it be playing around with new textures or brushes or a new technique etc. Private commissions allow me to grow which is just about the most rewarding experiences one can receive as an artist.

Yayers. Hope the family enjoys this as much as I do!

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6. A Father Takes Care

I take care of my father's house when he is away—check in on it after storms, water the plants in the myriad picture windows, pull in the errant delivery or paper. Today, in the wake of yesterday's weather, I went early. All was well.

My mother's plants flourish in my father's house—orchids I'd given her years ago are still blooming, as is my nephew Daniel's lemon tree, sprung from a seed in a paper cup, as are the fringe-y things that I once thought only she knew how to grow. The glass figurines are spotless. The books are all in place. There are no cobwebs draping from the ceiling. The sink is polished, the pantry engineered and neat. My father takes immaculate care of the house my mother furnished. He lives there as she would have him live.

Today, checking on the basement following the rain, I encountered the boxes and boxes of gifts that my mother never got a chance to give. Four new, brightly wrapped umbrellas. Ceramic flower pots. Books for babies. Books for adults. In the basement, neatly arranged by my father's hands, are my mother's never-used wrapping paper, her long cords of colored string, her bows and frills. The gifts were her intentions. They still speak. So that she's still there, and still and still, my father takes such care.

I took this photograph of my parents years ago, on my brother's wedding day. It was the beginning of my becoming the unofficial photographer at every family event. But this, I think, is my favorite family photo. My mother in the most beautiful dress she ever owned, and my father, proud.

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7. Mom, Dad and the Kits


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8. Thankful Thursday

It's still Thursday so I still have time to post a thankful thought. 

I am very thankful for some good news my son received today - he found out today that he was accepted into the impacted major of his choice at UCSC (Santa Cruz.).

I am quite sure that college acceptances are something all parents cheer about but I'm cheering especially loud. Until recently, my 28-year-old son never had any intention of going to college. But a few years ago, when he was diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy, he had to give up a job he loved as a mechanic at a car dealership. His body was no long able to keep up the pace.

So he is starting over. 

It isn't easy for him but he knows he has to learn a new skill in order to support himself and continue to be self-sufficient. And he needs to do it right now before his body begins to give out even more.

Like any parent who is hit with the news that something is wrong with their child, I wanted to fix it for him. I wanted to make it better or make it go away. But I can't fight Muscular Dystrophy for him. He has to fight that battle on his own.

I cut my writing teeth on articles for the regional parenting publications. They were a new industry. I was a new writer. We grew up together. I had young kids and I often wrote about them. Tonight I was reminded of the first parenting article I ever sold. It was about Ryan and how determined he was fight his own battles in his own way.

WHOSE DREAM IS IT?

"Mom, I want to quit karate."

With those few words, Ryan, my thirteen-year-old son, declared war.

For two solid years, four times a week, I had willingly driven thirty miles to the nearest karate dojo. In that short amount of time, Ryan exhibited a natural ability that quickly moved him up the ranks. He had earned the first black stripe on his Brown Belt. Only two more tests until he would have his Black Belt. And now, he wanted to quit.

The lessons had been Ryan's idea, not mine. To me, karate implied violence. To Ryan, they represented power.

"Mom, I'm a wimp. I'm tired of all the bullies picking on me. I need to learn how to defend myself."

I resisted. My excuses ranged from, "I don't want you to get hurt. You'll never practice." And that parental favorite, "We can't afford it."

I didn't give in until the day he came home with a bloody nose because of a bully who made him kiss the pavement, nose first.

Karate lessons began the very next day.

From the beginning, I sensed something special about the school. His Sensi, (teacher) did more than just teach the kids how to defend themselves against an enemy. He taught survival skills for life.

"Keep your eyes open," Sensi told them. "Be aware of what's going on around you. Set goals. Learn the skills needed to meet your goals."

Once Sensi asked a class of thirty-five kids, "How many of you consider yourselves average?" To his dismay, almost every hand went up.

"Put your hands down," he yelled. "Never, ever admit that you are average. You have within you the ability to be anything you want, as long as you're willing to work at it."

Even sitting on the sidelines, his words touched me, infusing me with a hidden strength. He made me feel like I could do anything. And as adamantly as I'd been against karate in the first place, I suddenly became its biggest advocate.

Ryan never missed a class or a test. With the rest of the students, he performed monthly demonstrations in parades, shopping malls and fairs. When special seminars came around, I always made sure he attended. I bought him books and videos, then quizzed him on the material. In my mind, the more opportunities he took advantage of, the quicker he would advance to that all-important Black Belt.

But along the way, I forgot to ask Ryan what he wanted. So I felt shocked and disappointed when he told me earning a Black Belt no longer mattered to him.

"I'm going to quit," he said. "It's no fun anymore. Baseball season starts soon and I'd rather practice baseball than karate."

"But you're so close to becoming a Black Belt," I insisted. "Why give up before you reach your goal? Haven't you listened to anything Sensi has tried to teach you?"

"Yes, Mom, I have. Sensi said anything is possible if you're not afraid of hard work. I want to play in the Major Leagues someday. That means I have to devote my time to improving my baseball skills. I'd like to try out for the High School team, and maybe play winter ball, but I need to practice hard if I hope to make the cuts."

"Couldn't you stay with karate for just one more year," I begged, still clinging to the vision of  his Black Belt.

Ryan stood his ground and shook his head. "I learned what I wanted to from karate. I know how to defend myself, even against people bigger than me. I'm not afraid of bullies or a gang with knife, because I know what to do and how to get away."

His only other comment was, "If getting a Black Belt is so important to you, Mom, maybe you're the one who should be taking karate instead of me."

His words shocked me, much like a bucket of cold water jolts your system awake. That's when I stepped back and took a good look at my son. There had been no whining. He hadn't raised his voice or lost his temper. He had come to a decision based on the goals he had set for himself. Then he presented the facts to me in a calm and grown-up manner.

No longer my little baby, but not quite a young man, Ryan had taken the first step toward adulthood by taking control of his own life. Which, I think, was exactly what Sensi wanted to teach him all along.  

Nothing's changed much in the 15 years since I wrote that. Ryan is still fighting his own battles in his own way. And I couldn't be more proud.
 
Way to go, Ryan.

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9. yes, I speak 2.0…

Ryan Deschamps has an interesting and thoughful post about his impressions of people’s tendency to shift “from a rational criticism of the so-called Library 2.0 movement/manifesto follow[ed by] an irrational trashing of anything having to do with Web 2.0 services and user-centered library services” The dilemma, simply stated, is when you see someone who has a critique of something you care about and are knowledgeable about — could be Library 2.0, could be tech support, could be apple pies — how do you inform or correct their misunderstandings without seeming like a prostyletizer or part of the Apple Pie Bandwagon? Or should you? Anyhow, the original posts that spawned Ryan’s post was over at the Annoyed Librarian. I left a comment.

, ,

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