Tag Archives: art and healing

Oh, America

Oh, America. What have we done to you?
Was it only a dream of what we might be? Continue reading

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Achilles Heel

If you woke up with a pain in your heel… Continue reading

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Does the World Need More Paintings?

Does the World Need More Paintings? No. But it might need yours…
Continue reading

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Aligning with Enchantment

The man and the bear are drinking Amstel Light, which to me meant, I’m-still-light. I drank in the fact that I was still light. I gave it to the man to share with the bear. Continue reading

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Connections Never Die

Dedicated to the one who once drew me, and I drew back, in my drawings… Continue reading

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Drawing Cured A Stomach Ache

Did you know that drawing can cure stomach aches? Me either! But apparently it does. At first I thought I might have had a case of the New Year Blahs. Except that would have been out of character for me. The other idea that came was too awful – a sudden onset of gluten intolerance. I would hate that. Continue reading

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The Truth About Acting

What I learned as an actor should be shouted from the rooftops by every single one of us who has ever trod the boards – that along with the heartbreak that so often comes with a life in the theater, comes the knowledge that we all have in us the possibility of every human thought that has ever been considered. We don’t have to act on it, but we can act it. Play it. Because we know how to play. We know how to imagine “what if.” Continue reading

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Creative Juice

“Myth is the secret opening… A myth we re-quicken in our minds and our lives, brings creative juice…” Joseph Campbell Continue reading

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The Thing Is To Draw…

Who the figure was doesn’t matter. She was, and is, Ma, Mary, Mater. Mamm and Ama, Muder and Moeder, Mati and Moer, Madre and Mai and Mama. And in Vietnamese, she is called Me. But what’s in a name… The thing is to draw. To paint. To feel. And to paint and draw what you feel. In the moment. Expressing what you cannot say in words… Continue reading

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Brooklyn Rainbow

A poet friend once called me an
“Over-the-Rainbow-Survivor.”
Now, while it was true I had the ring to prove it, I didn’t understand the full meaning of that phrase until later.
Not until today, actually, when I looked again at the pastel painting I did over the weekend of a rainbow intersecting the Brooklyn Bridge, its light shimmering on the water. Continue reading

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