Present Moment Pup

Being Mindful

 

This morning I would like to say thank you to my dog.

 

I am on empty and my heart is broken.  All around me are reminders of what is lacking, yet to be done, or requiring endurance.

 

Monty is a present moment pup.  To him there is no linear time, only the supper dish, potty walks, and deep tissue swedish massage.  He keeps me mindful, in the moment, a bridge for the fractures.

 

Today is a day of peace, of radical acceptance, letting go of resentments, hoping not for the future but rather for love. And love is in this moment.  A yawn with a curled tongue.  A stretch to let me get at the favorite underarm place.

 

Thank you dog, for this mindful day.

 

 

Kerala Boy

Boy in Kerala helps his mother work the cashew trees

There is a universal boy, connecting the seas, filling the hearts of women who are his mothers, sisters, aunts, cousins, grandmothers.

This is Kerala Boy, and he does what all boys do — try to find a  fun in the working fields and help his mother do her task.

Finding adventure on the water buffalo, he transports baskets of cashew apples to market.  And finds something along the way to make himself laugh.  And the water buffalo indulges his goofiness.

Where there are women in business, women working the fields, there are children hanging around, doing chores and performing helpful tasks and trying to have a little glee.

I too, have a son.  From my heart to yours, my sisters in Kerala, making a small business work, I praise the smiles on that face of that boy on that water buffalo.

–Heidi

I will be painting at Whole Foods Market, Mill Plain, Vancouver USA, this Saturday and Sunday to raise funds for the Whole Planet Foundation. I have adopted a woman business owner in Kerala India, who has a tea shop and raises chickens and goats.  I will paint a free 8″ WPF greeting card for you if you donate 10 dollars or more to WPF. See you there!

But The Day Must Still Make Sense

For The Women of a Kerala Tea Stall

There is life at the end of my brush, when it meets the paper, but a hollow in my palm as it travels across.

Do cultural and political boundaries really affect how women work?

I have adopted a woman tea shop owner in Kerala, India.  She used her microloan from the Whole Planet Foundation to buy a chicken and goat to supplant her income.  She doesn’t know it yet. Someday she will.

I am a woman, a mother, a business owner, a payer of rent and lover of animals.  These issues are universal.  In Vancouver, USA, or Kerala, India.

Here in Vancouver, we tend to gather around the coffee cup to chase away the rainy skies.  In Kerala, they do a “5 foot” tea, in a special gesturing of ingredients.  And people gather around, most likely to talk about the weather, the day, their work, and their children.

I have no gathering in my work, it is isolated and I must depend on my personal fortitude to keep motivated and productive when there is no audience or gab session.

But I have a child, and have always worked for him. I do so now, although it is not so straight forward.

So, no self pitying indulgence into the hollow of working in isolation.  Somewhere there is my son, traversing his day. And somewhere, in Kerala, there is a woman picking cashew and tea leaves who thinks about her own child, traversing the day.

I can’t fix everything that is broken, in poverty nations and in my life with my son, but somehow, even in isolation, the day must still make sense.

I will be at Whole Foods Market this Sat/Sun, painting for the women of Kerala and the Whole Planet Foundation. For those who donate to WPF, there is a hand-painted 8″ greeting card free for your future!

Heidi

(360) 771-3160

traumacoach@gmail.com

Tutus On the Sand

Somewhere out there is a tutu on the sand

 

I grew up on the beach at Lanikai, on the island of Oahu, Hawaii. There were banana patches, pineapple fields, sugar cane patches everywhere. When we got close to the mountains there were guava and lilikoi trees. Local guys and girls who knew their craft scaled coconut trees in bare feet – their toes catching the ridges on the trunk — to retrieve the coconuts at the top.  It was rumored that some people could husk a coconut with their bare teeth, but I have always harbored a doubt about that.

 

So here I am, in Vancouver, USA, land of white people and rainy gray skies and hot mugs of coffee to chase away the overcast mood.

 

Where are my tropics?  Where is the color? Color of both people and plants and foods and laughter and “talk-story?”

 

The painting posted above is a new one for the Whole Planet Foundation of Whole Foods Market.  Because somewhere out there, is a woman full of determination who scales a coconut tree to bring in enough money to buy her son a new pair of sandals.

 

All while that son is being watched, cuddled and adored by the tutu, the grandmother, as mom works.

 

Here in Vancouver, I work at a desk and have the heater turned on and watch lonely seagulls against gray skies.

 

But somewhere out there is a tropical cloth that wraps around the grandma of color who holds the boy who just wants to have some fun while his mother works away, and who later will retreat to their humble home to prepare a supper around which will be “talk-story” time.

 

From my mug of rainy coffee to the hull of a sandy coconut, I wish these women success and prosperity.  Please look into Whole Foods Market for Fair Trade fruits, vegetables, products of all types that come from small groups of women whose children are tended by their tutus while they bring in the goods for sale.

 

I support these women, and my paintings are for sale for them at Whole Foods Market, Vancouver, WA.  20% of my website sales at www.heidiartstudio.com go to Whole Planet Foundation, providing microloans to women business people in poverty nations.

 

Heidi

To inquire about art or text you see on this blog, call (360) 771-3160 or email at traumacoach@gmail.com or visit www.heidiartstudio.com. Thanks!

 

Lullaby Dragon c2012

 

Empowering girls through literacy.

 

I think of all the young girls in China, New Guinea, Calcutta, who will never get the chance to tell their stories because they do not know how to read or write words. We read to find out who others are, we write to find out who we are.

Inclusion and identity.  A relationship with books that is transforming.  This is the story of Lullaby Dragon.  Here are a few excerpts from this book, written and illustrated by me, cognizant of how much sex trafficking, poverty and abuse could be solved by giving girls the means to have voice.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Text and illustration by Heidi D. Hansen, copyright 1989-2012.

To inquire about a custom print order for this book, write traumacoach@gmail.com , visit www.heidiartstudio.com, or call (360) 771-3160. Thank you!

 

Sisters Without Borders

Vancouver, city of friends

 

A shout out from me in Vancouver to the women South America, Inda, Nepal, Africa, Brooklyn and beyond!

 

To the business women of South America and beyond

 

I am so happy to paint for you!

 

I hope I can send you my friendship by creating paintings that bring in funds for your microloans. Microloans to stock the shelves of your village store, to buy a goat or some chickens, to enlarge your acre of vegetable and fruits!

We are sisters.  I am a business woman too, an entrepreneur like you, with a child, using my resources to the best of my ability to provide and prosper.

From Vancouver, to small business women of poverty nations, I extend my kinship through the palette and brush.

Go to my new website at www.heidiartgallery.com and click on the Partners page to see what this is about.  It’s about supporting the Whole Planet Foundation, through Whole Foods Market.

I support and recommend this organization, and this company, who builds community from the pacific northwest of USA to many shores arrayed globally, but from which all sounds of working women singing are the same.

Heidi

To inquire about commissions or art purchases, email traumacoach@gmail.com, visit www.heidiartstudio.com, or call (360) 771-3160. Thank you!

 

Putting On An Art Show

If an artist paints in a forest, and no one was around to see, would it be a work of art?

Part of taking care of myself as an artist is to, every once in a while, putting on a public face.  It won’t do to keep painting stacks of canvases if nobody enjoys them.

Much of artistry is done in isolation, and needs be so, to listen to the inner voice with purity of sound, uncluttered and unfettered by daily grinds of people locking gears with situations.

But art, overall, is  a way to gain intimacy with others.  Without this bond between artist, the art piece, and the viewer, the product will have no life value.

In short, artists need their customers.  What the viewers and buyers experience in the art piece, what they make of it and the perceptions they put on it and how those evolve with time and history making, is what makes an art piece art.

A dog adopted from the pound has a chance to go beyond that doorway into a new set of rooms where he or she can grow, change and adapt their personalities and become an individual.

So, too, with paintings.  At an art show, they are adopted from the pound.

And like any good dog handler, the artist provides a warm fire and cheese and good conversation around the art.  To give it a chance to embark on a life all its own.

On Wed., Feb. 22, 2012, I will be hosting an art show open house for my new collection, “Winter Into Light,” and you are all invited.  For those who are online, there will be a Facebook event for this on that day.

I hope you can attend, and perhaps take home a stray painting that needs a new leash on life.

Heidi

To inquire, email traumacoach@gmail.com, or call (360) 771-3160.

more Woman Triumphant

In the hour of our greatest despair, we can choose to act out our pain or do something extraordinary.

 

In the hour of our greatest despair, we can choose to act out our pain or do something extraordinary.

 

Some injustices are inconvenient, some are a burden, and some are life-altering.

 

My former husband, Aaron Heusser of Portland, Oregon, tried to strangle me and threatened to kill me when I found evidence of a marital affair with his old girlfriend.  He became insanely jealous of our toddler son and the attention I was giving him.  He wanted me — one of his possessions —  all to himself.  He isolated me and alienated my friends and manipulated me into giving up my career and financial independance so that he could feel like a potent Mormon male.

 

His greatest complaint in our custody battle was that I did not show “respect” for him.

 

And now he is at it again.  Manipulating, lying, cheating to get “what is his due.” (his words.)

 

That means our son, 15.

 

Three years ago he fineggled, manipulated and conned his way intto custody of our son, then 12.  I have not seen or spoken to him since.

 

He has estranged what was for years a blossoming, full and joyful relationship with our son. I raised him by myself, because at the time, the ex was too busy with his squeeze to have visits with our son. It broke our son’s heart, but Aaron turned away.

 

Now he is back to control tactics. Maybe the squeeze got bored.

 

Well, other women are in the same boat as I am in.  And I say, take back the power.  Make men accountable. For every lie, every manipulation, every scar upon our psyches and souls. And most importantly, for doing it to our kids.

 

And don’t allow the kids to pick up the bill.

 

Women Triumphant is my advocacy organization, available to all women who need to raise a voice in family affairs that have to do with their children, their ex – partners, and mental, physical, and sexual abuse.

 

This extends to court process that may discriminate against women who take psychiatric medication, who are low-income/homeless,  or who are of a certain sexual orientation.

 

Get a voice. If you had it once, but lost it to an abusive partner, get it back.

 

I will help you. Email traumacoach@gmail.com or call (360) 771-3160.

My website is going to be up soon, www.heidiartstudio.com, which will feature a link to this free service.  Use it! Network! And get your kids, and your life, back!

Night Heron

 

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

From, “Invictus,” by William Ernest Henley

It is 6:47 a.m. and the morning clouds are rimmed in a brilliant salmon pink as seagulls arch their way across the sky.

It was just a few hours ago I was in agony, trapped in a sleepy fugue of demonic nightmares.  Satan, the afterlife in hell, being tested by evil spirits and my ex-husband were all wrapped up into a series of three nightmares that led me to wake up screaming, my dog hovering over me whimpering at the sound.

Nighttime has its perils.  For persons who suffer from PTSD, nighttime is the vulnerable space where we have little control over how memories and doubts of the day dance a wicked duet.

Out beyond the walls of our bedrooms, the walls of our homes, there is a world alive and bounding with life during the dark hours.  While we sleep, there are bandit eyes not of a thief, but of a heron or a racoon or an owl looking for a meal.

There is a garden of the dark.  The world is still in its prism, the planet still revolves, animals build their nests and eat their breakfasts and somewhere there is a universe that also looks out for us while we sleep.

Inner torments that keep us angry, fearful, edgy and controlling during the day have an open mike during our sleep. And they sometimes play it for all its worth. No boundaries, no regulations, no overseer conscious that puts boundaries on how the imagery and plot infringe on our rights and sensibilities.

But there is courage in a heron.  The breeze still breathes through the vine maple branches, and water still foams up against the rocks in the stream.  These are the eyes that look out for us in the night.  There may not be beauty in these hours, but there is, upon awakening, courage.

Heidi

For inquiries about art purchases on this blog, go to traumacoach@gmail.com or call (360) 771 -3160.

Taking Care of Myself As An Artist, again..

Rise Above

 

Art depletes me.  Every painting is a bit of giving myself away, so that when I return to myself no one is home.

 

How can I replenish the freshness, the energy, the inspiration, the new imagery of creation?

 

Art is not making tuna fish sandwiches — doling out the bread and slathering on the same mayonnaise you have had since childhood with cheap fish stuffed into a can.

 

Each piece of work has a life of its own, and as a life has an entitlement to dignity and value and nurturing and the actualization of its potential. Therefore, no assembly line of sandwiches eaten robotically and promptly forgotten, but rather, a personality born into its own new and unique state.  A state which will morph with time and experience.

 

So the artist is responsible for the delivery on this. Ethics. Motivation. Integrity of product as well as production.

 

But how does one keep this energy flowing new and fresh?  The more one gives it away, the less of it there is to draw upon for the next round.

 

And there are competing factors.  Resentments, righteous anger, fears, the need to exert control, all rise to the surface so quickly and demand my mind space and heart space I don’t know in which direction to shuttle my passion. Anger and fear and control will gobble up passion and creativity faster than a hot fire eats up cardboard.

 

My answer: Rise Above.  Instead of trying to fix everything, just take a lesson from the hawk outside my work window and rise above.

 

I spend time with my hawk.  I spend time making a big pot of soup that will nourish me through the weekend, and I sit and sip the broth and watch the hawk. Gliding forever on just a puff of his wingspan.

 

He doesn’t seem to tire, he just makes use of his aerodynamics and circles and glides weightless in a seamless ballet against the backdrop of an old growth pine.

 

With his rising I send away my resentments and controls.  What a burden relieved!

 

And so I don’t get too carried away, soup has grounding power.  The pepper in the hot buttery broth with crispy vegetables and a surge of garlic.

 

And no, I am not micromanaging fat content, calorie count or portions.  I am creating the soup to have a life of its own and allowing it to keep my body and mind company as I recharge the creative process, and rise above that which would stall me in mid-air.

 

Here is the soup recipe I am making today:

1. A big pot, half filled with bottled spring water (no metallic taste).

2. Bring to boil and add one half cube butter, a small brick of grated Monterey Jack Cheese, and a package of cream cheese.

3. Stir until all ingredients are melted. Add a significant dollop of milk.

4.  Chop one clump of green onion and add.

5.  Add pepper and garlic to taste.

6. Slice and add white mushrooms, Portobello mushrooms, and one or two shiitake mushrooms.

7. Add a half a red pepper, in thick slices, and

8. one small can of water chestnuts.

9. Let sit for half a day and then stir and enjoy, one bowl at a time, directly from the pot in the fridge.

 

Sit and watch the birds fly.  Rise above the feelings that make you smaller.  Invite creative thought to take its place.

 

Heidi

To inquire about the art on this blog, email at traumacoach@gmail.com or call (360) 771-3160.