May You Live in Interesting Times

The floating city of Venice, Italy is a living museum of found paintings.

A Collection of Walls Found in Venice, Italy, September 2019

I found the walls in Venice to sit proudly in elegant decay, wearing their histories in the patina and faded colors of peeling and chipped paint with poignant adversity.

The resulting textures mark the passage of time and the effects of an incessant number of tourists and the dangerous rising water of the Adriatic Sea’s high tide.

Out of one of the few newspapers I found written in both Italian and English, I read an article, “Venice 2019 Annual Report,” by Gherardo Ortalli, reporting that per one Venetian resident there are 358 tourists, myself included.

Like many other tourists, my reason for visiting was to see the Venice Biennale, aka the Olympics of art. Held biannually in odd numbered years, La Biennale Di Venezia dates back to 1895. Now in 2019, this contemporary art exhibition features a continually growing number of international artists, with more countries installing their own national pavilions.

At the 58th National Art Exhibition (11 May - 24 November 2019), titled, “May You Live in Interesting Times,” I noticed a theme of responses to both climate change and migration.

El Anatsui, is one of six featured artists housed in the Artiglierie section of the Arsenale at the Ghana Pavilion.

Well known for his shapeshifting tapestries of smashed bottle-caps and other recycled detritus, Anatsui’s largest piece featured at the pavilion is a vivid yellow, larger-than-the-wall piece, that references the damage gold panning has wrought on Ghana’s rivers.

Throughout Anatsui’s work there is a clever multi-faceted use of material that simultaneously comments on reclaiming discarded goods out of necessity while referencing both political and historical concerns.

Even his use of cropped text from salvaged aluminum, cites Nigerian liquor companies and alludes to the dark history of Colonialism within the production of rum.

The theme of climate change was addressed directly at the Nordic Pavilion’s exhibition, “Weather Report: Forecasting Future.” Featured above is the work of the artist collective, Nabbteeri, and Ingela Ihrman.

“ It is often difficult for humans to notice life that exists on a scale different from theirs, such as microscopic organisms, the slow workings of toxic agents or durational processes of decaying organic matter. The exhibition attempts to establish a connection with more-than-human agencies by heightening the visitors’ awareness of the materiality, including that of the space and the artworks, and by assimilating their bodies to other life forms.

-Curatorial Statement by Leevi Haapala & Pila Oksanen

Artist, Laure Prouvost featured at the French Pavilion, presented “Deep See Blue Surrounding You / Vois Ce Bleu Profond Te Fondre,” as what I interpreted as a response to the location of Venice as a floating city, surrounded by water.

The exhibition requires you to enter from the basement at the back of the building, leading you up a staircase to a brightly lit room filled with glass imitations of trash imbedded into the sea-like floor. In my book, Prouvost won the award for creating the most encapsulating multi-sensory environment filled with surreal immersions of projected moving images and sounds.

“Written in Water,” by Marco Godinho at the Luxembourg Pavilion also comments on the theme of water and man’s use of the sea to migrate.

Seascapes become mindscapes, metaphors and memories of journeys both traveled and not.

Christoph Büchel’s Barca Nostra at the Venice Biennale

Controversially addressing migration via sea, is Swiss artist, Christoph Büchel’s project “Barca Nostra,” featuring the shipping vessel that sunk in 2015 while carrying hundreds of people fleeing Libya to Italy.

The choice to display the boat as part of the Biennale has been criticized on a spectrum of grossly insensitive to “a sign of signs.” British art critic Matthew Collings explained in the Evening Standard, that the boat’s presence is a symbol of privileged exploits and the continually increasing migrant crisis.

“Venice is replete with visible reminders of militarism, colonialism and looting. The Arsenale is where Venice’s coast guard is based. One of their tasks is to keep migrants out.

Found at the off sight exhibition, “Personal Structures,” Federico Uribe, transforms two entire rooms with his installation, “Plastic Reef.” It’s purpose is obvious, but the sheer amount of tiny bits of plastic texture still manages to surprise you.

The only thing not surprising was encountered this exhibition at the same time as a class of lower school students.

Otobong Nkanga at the Giardini

Otobong Nkanga is one of my favorite finds at the Giardini.

“She describes her drawings as coming from a place of imagination; where realities that are happening in multiple places can intersect. Yet, while her approach may be imaginative, her subjects also reference the very real (and often violent) movement and exchange of minerals, energy, goods and people. They are a reminder that objects and actions do not exist in isolation: there is always a connection, always an impact.”

-Curatorial Statement from the Giardini

Not all of these profiled pieces are works that I enjoyed, but after experiencing them at the Biennale, I’m still thinking about them now.

And I hope that today, as people around the world participate in youth led protests against climate change, that you will also think about your part in what you can do to help.

Places Where Two Ends Meet

Corners are a spectrum of dichotomies. They exist in the crossroads and the pull of two places; forming the transitional space where decisions are made.

Kayaking between two countries, counting the bridges that connect them, 2019

As physical markers for navigation, corners represent the end and the beginning. Like chapters with sharp edges, filled with folded creases, bookmarking pivotal passages. Corners have two sides - life achievements and tragic disappointments.

Corners converge in physical and metaphorical space. Manipulated in everyday language, they become nouns, adjectives and verbs that turn phrases into different meanings. Backed into a corner, you can find yourself confronting your worst fears, trapped, with no way out.

But around the corner, you might find a safe space or a secret in the corner of your eye; a quiet nook built with dreams. Turning corners is the possibility of confronting either, while cutting corners are the risks we take to get there.

For me, my studio corner exemplifies the creative struggle, a place where every type of corner is possible.

The Creative Struggle is a Maze of Corners, 2019

Changing Landscapes

We aren’t the same people we were when we first started dating.

The changing landscapes we have experienced together have shaped us into better versions of ourselves.

Double Exposure Porch Portrait, Digital Collage, 2019

Sometimes I wonder if the younger me would even recognize who I am now, but I think a part of me always knew these aspects of myself I needed to see.

My Body, My Home, Digital Collage, 2019

“…Sometimes my own body seems like a home through which successive people have passed like tenants, leaving behind memories, habits, scars, skills and other souvenirs.”

-Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

Looking Within, Digital Collage, 2019

“Home, I said.

 In every language there is a word for it.

 In the body itself, climbing

 those walls of white thunder, past those green

 temples, there is also

 a word for it.

 I said, home.”

- Mary Oliver, “The River”

Searching the Sea for Secrets, Digital Collage, 2019

Its a strange feeling to split your heart and home into multiple places and feel the distance between them.

Yet, its because of that distance that I’ve been forced to grow. Sometimes it is ugly, lonely and depressing. And sometimes it is a gift, like the surreal feeling of being dwarfed by mountains or a never ending sea; to lose count of the gradients of green swatches that run off, winding around a curve.

The Green Places I’ve Lived, Digital Collage, 2019

As I’ve learned the effects of different environments on my psyche, I’ve found its greenery that rejuvenates my soul.

Switzerland’s mountains and lakes reminded me of how much I loved living in the Pacific Northwest, near water and forever chasing a clear view of the iconic Mount Rainier, Washington’s active volcano standing majestically 14,410 feet above sea level.

What places have changed you?

Painting with Words

I’ve always been interested in typography and admire the art of arranging and designing letters.

A combination of three dimensional letters and flat graffiti against a tile grid

It wasn’t until I heard the phrase, “typography is painting with words,” on Netflix’s episode six of the documentary, The Art of Design , that I began to identify why I like to collect found type.

Graphic designer, Paula Scher’s definition of typography is her passion. She is literally a painter of words and in some round about ways, so am I.

Throughout the episode, Scher discusses why she has made a career in “making type talk.” She explains the differences in weights and heights and the power of these measurements to link a letter to a specific time period.

The different impact of letters

She cites the height of the middle bar of the letter “E” as an example. If the middle bar is raised, it is a reference to Art Deco design of the 1930s.

Found upside down type at Naschmarkt, Vienna

Found upside down type at Naschmarkt, Vienna

In my thirty minute introduction to Scher’s work, I came to understand her design to be driven by the challenge of creating letters that are paired with meaning to create an impact in real life.

German type

My challenge with the letters that I find in real life places like Vienna, Paris, Rotterdam or Tel Aviv, is that I cannot read German, Hebrew or Dutch and unfortunately my French comprehension is so minimal, that I am nervous about my final exam.

This means more times than not, I am relying on the quality of design to provide information regardless of my language barrier. Out of necessity, I am studying font for it’s characteristics. I pick up advertisements and stop to take a photograph for the same reason. I respond to which type talks to me in my visual language.

Take the company Meubert for example. I am drawn to their retro packaging, yet it gives me no clues as to what the product is.


Most of the time it is a shape or form, sometimes it is color, texture or the latter that catches my attention.

Good design can make me be that weird person that gets stared at for taking a picture of an everyday, seemingly unimportant sign or tearing advertisements off a pole and stuffing them in my bag.

Oddly enough, while I was wondering through Vienna a few months back, already in the midst of collecting found type, I stumbled upon an exhibition at Georg Kargl Fine Arts, focused specifically on typography.

Lutte Poétique by the late Henri Chopin featured a series of abstract works on paper created with type as the primary medium and subject.

Chopin’s typewritten arrangements use letters, characters and numbers formed in a nonsensical system. When linked together within layers of repetition, they create a different kind of language, legible only in a visual sense.

This is a concept, I have recently been exploring in my own work. As a way to help me process the overwhelming feeling of working through language barriers, I have begun to exploit these emotions by working within a set of limitations that mimic a similar impediment.

I start by using selected advertisements to construct a collage. Afterwards, I conceal my work from myself by turning it upside down. While the collage is hidden from my view, I cut and crop shapes that I use to assemble new designs.

By creating a “blind collage,” I am withholding information from myself as a challenge to work within the unknown. One result from this process is a two sided accordion book.

Rather than using identifiable text to create abstract imagery, I am rearranging and assembling letters to create new designs that may or may not reveal their original context. It is the history imbedded in each letter’s gesture that I am interested in keeping.

Side 1 of the accordian book

I may not be a painter of words in the same literal sense that Paula Scher created her typographical map paintings, but I use type as an entry point for creating. My paintings are a different type of site specific map.

Currently, my most recent series, “Remnants Dipped in Bleu,” is on view at Bloom Luxembourg from Avril 13 à Juillet 2.

Visual Storytelling: a collection of drawings in books

One of my favorite prompts for a 1st grade portrait project is, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” That year there were the doctors, the Olympians, a few teachers and singers and one very specific McDonald’s cashier. I also suspect a possible bank robber?

Student work from a first grade lesson I taught at Queen Anne Elementary in Seattle, WA.

Student work from a first grade lesson I taught at Queen Anne Elementary in Seattle, WA.

The young me always had trouble with this prompt. I rushed through several careers, including famous ballerina, before landing on writer. As a shy little girl with awkward feet, writing was my way of having a voice. I was going to be a writer when I grew up.

A page from my sketchbook for the theme “Fill Me With Stories”

Yet, it became too risky after my privacy had been invaded on more than one occasion. It wasn’t a safe space anymore. I was recording details that were being read without my permission.

Obviously to be a writer you need to be able to publish works intended to be read by society. I just wasn’t there yet. The young me privately gave up on my writing career before I gave myself the chance.

A page from my sketchbook for the theme, “Fill Me With Stories”

Fast forward to 2011, when I traveled with my friend, Amber Bounds, founder of Little King Art, to Atlanta to visit the touring Sketchbook Project. The previous year we had submitted our own sketchbooks to be included in their touring library.

I created a sketchbook under the theme, “And then there was none,” dedicated to my best friend’s mom surviving breast cancer. As art majors at the time, this was an intriguing spin on participating in an exhibition.

Amber and I at the Atlanta 2011 Sketchbook Project Tour (photo of me courtesy of Amber Bounds)

The Sketchbook Project was founded in 2006 by Steven Peterman. Over the last thirteen years, this project has produced the largest collection of sketchbooks in the world. The Brooklyn Art Library houses 45,000+ physical sketchbooks created and submitted by artists in 101 different countries; while 20,000 of these sketchbooks are also cataloged in a digital library.

A collection of sketchbook pages from books I checked out at the Sketchbook Project Tour in Atlanta in 2011

There is something incredibly enticing about the ability to check out a stranger’s private sketchbook that they agreed to make public. It is a creative and safe space made available for all people to participate, the makers and the readers.

Atlanta 2011 Sketchbook Tour

Shortly after this trip, my dedication to my own collection of sketchbooks began. The experience of physically holding and poring over page after page of inspiration, from a myriad of people from all over the world, lit a fire in me that even to this day has not extinguished.

Over the last eight years, I have consistently carried a moleskin with me everywhere I go. What began as a practice to broaden my drawing abilities became a new way for me to write my own visual story.

Drawing accompanied me on travels to faraway places both physically and mentally. It helped me cope in hospital waiting rooms.

It became a replacement for the words, I was afraid to admit to paper. My drawings and the occasional collage, depicted my experiences and surroundings through line and color blocking. They traced the airports that I had to sleep in when a flight was canceled and became placeholders for rejected scraps found on my classroom floor.

I found drawing meditative, especially for meetings. Free figure drawing sessions coupled with improving my ability to concentrate. It was my respectful way of releasing negativity or uncomfortable emotions rather than saying them out loud at an inappropriate time.

When I felt unbelievably busy, barely able to keep my head above water, I used any and all “awkward-in-between-times,” to draw. Its the time where most people lose themselves to their phone: waiting rooms, airports, trains, ferries, waiting on someone to finish a race, picnics (after all the food is eaten), etc.

Although I’ll admit, I have missed my husband’s 30k race win because I was drawing the lake with my back to the finish line. There was also the time I was drawing by the campfire and failed to realize my dog was simultaneously eating his way out of his collar.

Drawing can allow you to escape being present, for better or worse.

Yet, its a great memory marker of experiences. Its my way of forever poking fun of my sister’s ugly shoes (sorry but not sorry if you are into camouflage crocs). It is a way of recording details that you most likely wouldn’t take a camera out to document; like the special sauce at the restaurant in LA, or the smallest airport that I’ve ever seen (or had to see because my car broke down on a long road trip) coincidentally on April fools day.

Drawing is what I relied on when everything else in my life felt in flux. The year I sold my house, left my job and moved to a new country was simultaneously the year I drew the most.

Drawing makes me feel better, when I don’t have any answers. It helps me feel less awkward when eating a meal alone or sitting nude in a Viennese spa for the first time.

Most importantly, it’s helped me start writing again.

Dutch Tile Tales

When I travel to a new city, I like to be surprised by what catches my eye. If it holds my attention long enough, I investigate why. My first day in Amsterdam, I was greeted with intricately patterned tiles lining the entryway of our Airbnb.


It was the first thing I noticed between the gorgeous blooming wisteria hanging off the crooked canal houses and the impressive bike piles lining the narrow cobbled road.

Most likely when you picture Dutch tile design, you imagine Delftware or Delft Blue; a type of tin-glazed earthenware. The truth is this iconic blue and white pottery originated in China. It gained popularity with the Dutch in the 16th century due to Chinese imports.

Chinese porcelain was a coveted commodity and a status symbol of wealth. So naturally, the Dutch wanted to create their own version. Although there are currently less tile factories in Holland than there once were during the thriving Golden Age of the 17th century; Dutch tiles are still manufactured and collected today.

Kramer Kunst & Antiek, (pictured above) is a large antique tile store with abundant collections available for purchase.

If you take the (free) ferry to Amsterdam Noord, you will walk through Cuyperspassage; the 110 meter tunnel made of approximately 80,000 Delft Blue Dutch tiles. Designed by graphic designer, Irma Boom, these tiles depict naval history and inspiration from Rotterdam tile painter, Cornelius Boumeester’s original tile design of the Warship Rotterdam.

The making of the tile tableau took Royal Tichelaar Makkum, a cermaic company, five years to manufacture. Which makes sense when you realize that the traditional size of a Dutch ceramic tile is only 13 x 13 cm.

Examples of Delftware found in the neighborhoods of Amsterdam & the Rijksmuseum’s collection

Despite many attempts, The Dutch were not able to recreate the same composition of Chinese porcelain. One reason was due to differences in the type of clay. Chinese blue and white pottery is made from a white clay called kaolin, which when baked at high temperatures, creates their famous porcelain. The Dutch “porcelain” is a low-fire earthenware, made from a yellow or brownish clay that is coated with a tin glaze after it is fired.

Examples of different types of Dutch tile imagery

Examples of different types of Dutch tile imagery

Imagery depicted on Dutch tiles ranges from florals (specifically tulips), pastoral scenes, seascapes, Jugendstil or Art Nouveau motifs, as well as animals, mythological scenes, warriors and knights to name a few.

The use of shapes such as circles or diamonds as central frames are popular reoccurring tile designs. Corner ornaments also have specific names for their motifs, from the iconic fleur-de-lis to lesser known names such as the sinister sounding “spider nine-dot.”

Diagram found in “Tile Tales, All you need to know about Dutch Tiles,” by Frans Klein

A great way to get a closer look at Dutch tiles without awkwardly standing in a stranger’s entryway and having to try to explain your suspicious appearance (this almost happened to me on more than once occasion) is to visit the Rijksmuseum. Currently on display, along with stunning works by Rembrandt, is the exhibition, “Treasures from Storage Tiles.”

“Tiles both protect and decorate. Their glazed surface makes them durable and easy to clean. In the 17th and 18th centuries tiles were therefore used chiefly on plinths, in kitchens and around the hearth.

Motifs were often repeated, giving rise to larger patterns and sometimes even depictions spread over multiple tiles. While tiles are frequently associated with Delft, the leading centers of production were actually in Rotterdam, Utrecht, and the province of Friesland.”

- excerpt from Treasures From Storage

A portion of Rijksmuseum’s Dutch Tile Collection

A portion of Rijksmuseum’s Dutch Tile Collection

You can even find evidence of tiles used in domestic settings in the famous painting, “The Milkmaid,” (created in 1657-58) by Dutch painter, Johannes Vermeer, also on view at the Rijksmuseum.

I simultaneously found Delftware references emerging within the contemporary works of (new to me artists) Lawrence James Bailey and Cosima Von Bonin.

Lawrence James Bailey, “Black Holes in the Dutch Countryside” (2019), glazed ceramic tiles (each 13x13x.08cm)

Bailey’s Dutch tiles are currently on view as part of a two person exhibition centered on the theme of landscapes. The show titled Around The Corner at Galerie Bart, is also coincidentally how I happened to discover this work. It was my happenstance of picking the right corner to turn around.

Playing with the history of landscape imagery within Delftware, Bailey describes this space, in his own words:

“The border area where the city and the surrounding landscape meet. A kind of no man’s land where hardly anybody goes and where criminal activities take place…You won’t get eaten up by a wolf, but it can be dangerous there just the same and end up in confrontations.” - Lawrence James Bailey

Cosima Von Bonin, “Markus and Blinky,” (2000), lead, cotton, cloth, adhesive tape

On the other hand, I specifically sought out the exhibition, Hybrid Sculpture, on view at the Stedelijk Museum, and unexpectedly found Von Bonin’s textile work.

Cosima Von Bonin detail

Von Bonin’s references to Delftware iconography are present regardless of the absence of any ceramic medium. The piece, “Markus and Blinky,” (2000) is labeled by the Stedelijk Museum for working within a “complex network of appropriated forms and cultural codes.” Von Bonin uses the line of fine blue thread against a soft white cotton to illustrate the quintessential Dutch stereotype.



My search for tiles and the tales they tell followed me even when I wasn’t looking for it. They told me stories of cultural heritage, architecture, art history and an even deeper love of blue and white.

The Faces in the Walls

For the past week I’ve been an international dog-sitter to a cute little guy named Ferdinand. On our daily walks through Vienna, I started to notice all the faces in the walls.

Ferdinand, the opposite of my dog. He likes to sleep in, bark loudly at other dogs and stop frequently on walks, but cuddles lovingly.

Ferdinand, the opposite of my dog. He likes to sleep in, bark loudly at other dogs and stop frequently on walks, but cuddles lovingly.

It might sound crazy, but do you ever have that feeling that you are being watched? In Vienna, you always are.

Dramatic faces built into the walls above entryways, windows and adorned to arches or rooftops are known as mascarons. Initially, they were designed to prevent evil spirits from entering the premises, hence some of the frightening expressions.

At times I felt like I was walking amidst a collection of life sized dollhouses. You don’t have to walk far to notice that Vienna’s architecture is a rich range of new and old dichotomies; from Baroque-era designed architecture to minimalist 20th century designs.

Architect, Adolf Loos’s smooth and clear surfaced building designs are a stark contrast to the elaborately ornamented and “well dressed” buildings surrounding them; earning the nickname “houses without eyebrows.”

A collection of dramatic faces

According to Jackie Craven’s guide to architecture in Vienna, “wealthy aristocratic families like the Liechtensteins may have first brought the ornate Baroque style of architecture (1600-1830) to Vienna.”

Of course there is a wide variety of architectural influences that creates the aesthetic of walking amongst “pastel painted dollhouses.” There are the Neoclassical, Jugendstil (Art Nouveau), Romanesque and Gothic architectural influences; as well as the notable works by Austrian architect, Otto Wagner.

A collection on entryways

The presence of mascarons exist throughout many of these architectural styles with depictions of beautiful women, gods and goddesses to grotesque demons and animals, usually lions. From symbolism to pure decoration, these dramatic expressions to emotionless, mask like faces are around every corner.


When visiting the Belvedere Palace, examples of Baroque architecture can be found inside and out. The faces in the walls are seen in grandiose theatrics of tricky mirror walls, altered perspectives and illuminated surfaces with dramatic sense of light or chiaroscuro techniques.

Then of course there are the faces on the wall, added by graffiti artists. Before visiting the city, I knew of the famous artistic geniuses linked to the iconic Vienna Secession, like painters, Gustav Klimt and his protégé, Egon Schiele. And of course the musical classics like Beethoven and Mozart. What I didn’t expect to find was the street art.

Even the exhibition, “Vienna 1900, The Birth of Modernism,” at the Leopold Museum alludes to the history of Vienna’s street art or the “art gallery for the poor man.” I was surprised to find that Vienna’s street art dates back to the Vienna Secession posters. In fact art critic, Ludwig Hevesi coined the slogan, “Kunst auf der Straße” (Art in the Streets) with his article about walking through the streets of Vienna published in 1899. This saying can also be found transcribed on the facade of the Secession building.

“Posters had been established as an advertising tool since the 1880s, but they became an interesting form of an artistic point of view with Henri de Toulouse Lautrec’s color lithograph. Access to art was no longer reserved to an elite interested in culture, which made posters a potential means of an aesthetic education.”

- excerpt from Vienna 1900 Birth of Modernism exhibition

History lessons provided by adventures with Ferdinand in the city. Turns out dog walking can be quite educational if you want it to be.

Neighborhood Finds

On November 6th, 2018, I moved from Seattle, Washington to Gonderange, Luxembourg. Even after six months that statement still feels strange to me. Maybe it’s the differences in living in a village in a country with a population less than the city of Seattle or maybe it just the fact that it takes time to feel like you live somewhere.

The life I had in Seattle feels like it was years ago.


It all happened quickly. We sold our house on a Saturday, packed everything else we didn’t sell on a Monday and left the country the very next day. I never thought I would live in either Seattle or Gonderange. I certainly never imagined myself in a village in Central Europe with a barn behind my house. Life is funny that way.

I’ve found that most of the villages here in Luxembourg are all centered around a church. Mine is orange.

I’ve found that most of the villages here in Luxembourg are all centered around a church. Mine is orange.

Gonderange (Gonnereng in Luxembourgish) is a small village in the commune of Junglinster. When I tell people, where I live (this also includes some locals), I usually have to say Junglinster in order for people to recognize the area. Which makes sense, because the population of my village is less than 2k.

Ok so I made this house super yellow even though in reality it is not. I promise there are houses that are this yellow, I just liked this building more.

Ok so I made this house super yellow even though in reality it is not. I promise there are houses that are this yellow, I just liked this building more.

Strangely enough, living in the countryside of Luxembourg makes me think of my hometown in certain ways. I grew up in a suburban neighborhood in the south of Charlotte, North Carolina. Similarly, everything is clean, too clean, suspiciously clean.

green corner.jpg

Like other suburbs I have encountered, there are your standard big houses, fancy cars, and well tended bike paths. I have found all of those things here; the details are just different - the shape of the windows, the patterns of the rooftops, the sculptures in the yard. Similar, yet different.


What I love most about walking through my neighborhood, are the bold colors of people’s houses. Blinding reds to juicy oranges (especially midday, shining in the sun). Then there are the plethora of the pale faded pinks - the whole spectrum is there. All the colors I always thought you weren’t supposed to paint a house are there and I’m glad that they are.

barn edit.jpg

There is so much history here. In the old buildings, the renovated barns with tracings of past lives. To give you some context, the commune of Junglinster was first recorded in 867, during the construction of Bourglinster Castle.

More creative license with color…

More creative license with color…

I’m fascinated by all those things that aren’t quite right or slightly askew, just as much as I am fascinated with circular cobblestone patterns that form a seamless design.

Truthfully, I like having access to the quiet beauty of the countryside and it’s endless rolling green fields. The city is a short distance away by bus or car. Not to mention Germany, Belgium and France are close by when Luxembourg begins to feel too small.

For now i’m pretty content taking in my new surroundings in places like the balcony overlooking the Alzette river at Liquid Café in the Grund neighborhood of Luxembourg City. A cold beverage and new friends like designer, Irina Moons (check out her work) are also a plus!

A neighborhood is a collection of dwellings

A neighborhood is a collection of dwellings

Since I have lived here, I have also become aware that even if the beach isn’t nearby, Junglinster has surfing and salt cave options for you. If you want to workout by practicing surfing skills in someone’s garage, Challenge Your Balance is an option. Or if you want to sit in a man-made salt cave for self care, curiosity or other healing processes, Salzgrotte promotes itself as a treatment center that “feels like a day at the ocean.” So who wants to go with me?

What kinds of things have you found in your neighborhood?

Sad Truths

A series of illustrated self-care attempts; a list of imperfect coping strategies inspired by the book, “More Misery,” by Suzanne Heller.

Suzanne Heller calls out humor in childhood miseries, but let’s be honest adults forget about their chocolate too.

Before moving abroad, I wrote down a list of goals to refer back to when I was having a bad day or felt too overwhelmed.

Washed Underwear.jpg

Goal: Write down one positive thing a day.

Reality: I washed my underwear, that’s positive right?

Go Outside.jpg

Goal: Go outside once a day

Reality: I opened the door and thought about it.

can't cook still.jpg

Goal: Learn to cook

Reality: Why can’t I cook rice properly?

To do list.jpg

Goal: Write a to do list for the next day

Reality: I am less productive than I think I am


Goal: Read more

Reality: Reading on the bus makes me feel nauseous

Sir poop a lot.jpg

Goal: Exercise

Reality: Running with Sir-Poop-A-Lot means more stopping than starting


Goal: Socialize at least once a week.

Reality: I spoke with the cashier.

never ending.jpg

Goal: Clean the house

Reality: Muddy footprints always appear right after I sweep and mop.

Elliott Smith.jpg

Goal: Listen to music

Reality: Wallow in sadness while listening to sad songs

Truthfully, everyone suffers with different types of sadness for a variety of reasons. For me, this list of goals, albeit trial and error, sometimes helps. When my expectations are not my reality, laughing at myself helps too.

Let’s Talk About Mental Health also shares honest stories from around the world in an effort to alter stigmas associated with mental health issues.

What do you do to feel better?

Red Rooftops

A series of red rooftops, a dwelling place’s top most height.

Chapeau ou Toit, 2019

“The roof gives mankind shelter from the rain and sun he fears…in every country, the slope of the roofs is one of the surest indications of climate. We “understand” the slant of the roof. Even a dreamer dreams rationally; for him, a pointed roof averts rain clouds. Up near the roof all of our thoughts are clear.”

- Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space

Sheltering Dreams, 2019

Working his way from roof to corner, Bachelard, author of “Poetics of Space,” examines the value and representation of dwellings. “For our house is our corner of the world. It is our first universe, a real cosmos in every sense of the word. If we look at it intimately, the humblest dwelling has beauty.”

Interior vs Exterior, 2018-19

“Human beings and objects are indeed bound together in a collusion in which objects take on a certain density, an emotional value - what might be called a ‘presence.’ What gives the houses of our childhood such depth and resonance in memory is clearly this complex structure of interiority, and the objects within it serve for us as boundary markers of the symbolic configuration known as home.”

-Jean Baudrillard, The System of Objects

House of Our Childhood, 2015

Baudrillard & Bachelard, both French philosophers, have published similar sentiments about the relationship of dreams and dwellings. Bachelard proclaims dwellings can metamorphosize into the shape and size of dreams. Said in his own words, “the space we love is unwilling to remain permanently enclosed. It deploys and appears to move elsewhere without difficulty; into other times, and on different planes of dream and memory.”

Windows into different times, 2019

He continues to say, “The house, as I see it, is a sort of airy structure that moves about on the breath of time. It really is open to the wind of another time. It seems as though it could greet us every day of our lives in order to give us confidence in life. “

The Successive Homes in Which We’ve Lived, 2019

Like a nod in agreement, Baudrillard, author of “The System of Objects,” confers, adding emphasis on the symbolism of the objects we select to inhabit our homes. He uses our belongings to link dwellings to dreaming. “The environment of private objects and their possession is a dimension of our life which, though imaginary, is absolutely essential. Just as essential as dreams.”

Expat Living

Let me just start by stating the obvious, living in a country with three main languages, none of which you speak, means that you are predictably going to make many mistakes. I frequently have to remind myself that failure is the best way to learn. In an effort to make the most of my circumstances, I have illustrated a collection of humiliating expat experiences for you to visualize and share in my laughter.

My neighbor (who primarily speaks Luxembourgish) was very concerned that I was using the bushes that divide our backyards as a backdrop. Let’s just say, I have very attentive neighbors.

*Disclosure: Not all of these are my own experiences & for the benefit of others they will remain anonymous. Also, don’t drink any liquids and read these.

Visiting the Eye Doctor

From my recent experience of visiting doctor’s offices (from general practitioner’s, to medical clinic’s or veterinarian’s offices), the doors aren’t always labeled and it’s not always clear where you need to go. I’ll admit, I’ve sat in the wrong room or opened the wrong door. However, I’ve never gone to the wrong building or entered someone else’s private residence.

Although, I think it’s safe to say if you are going to see an ophthalmologist, you most likely don’t have the best eye sight. So it might be a common mistake to walk into and up the stairs of the poor stranger’s home that is inconveniently located next to the eye doctor’s office. Well, that’s what happened to a person I’m going to call Stuart. Let’s just say doors were locked after Stuart left.

Mange une pomme

I recently signed up to take a French class. People have asked me how do you decide which of the three main languages to learn. To me, it makes the most sense to begin with French, because it is used most frequently in official documents and in restaurants and grocery stores. One of the requirements to register for a class at the Institut National Des Langues is to take a test and make an appointment.

I took the test online, which proved I am a beginner. It didn’t occur to me that the appointment would also require me to speak French. When I was asked to describe myself, I froze. I get nervous and embarrassed attempting to pronounce French in public or to a fluent speaker. All that came to mind was, “Je mange une pomme,” (I eat an apple).

I’ll explain. While I have been waiting to enroll in a class, I’ve been trying to teach myself French with a free language app called Duolingo. The first few lessons on the app only talk about f@#*ing apples and oranges. I guess it works, because in a panic - it was apples that came to my mind.

Paying Bills

Getting my mail makes me anxious. I get nervous when I see envelopes that are addressed from Le Government Du Grand-Duché de Luxembourg. Trying to decipher my bills from French to English is my least favorite.

I also have to pay more attention to dates. When you initially make the mistake of reading 2/1/19 as February 1st instead of January 2nd then you have to translate more documents that begin with "rappel de paiement."

Mystery Meat

By the way, majority of these stories have to deal with food. I thought that if I went to Ikea, a familiar place, I would be able to order and receive the food I actually wanted.

Well, think again. What I thought were the standard Swedish meat balls were in fact, fish balls.

Do you have any idea what you want?

In another attempt at ordering food, this time at the the local butcher, I worked up the courage to memorize a phrase in French. I had just received some of my old recipe books and wanted to make a stew.

When I got up to the counter, I asked, “Une coupe de lampe s'il vous plait.” She looked at me strangely and repeated what I said in a surprised voice. I looked up to see what she was pointing to and realized, I had misspelled lamb as lamp in my google translate app.

Un chapeau s'il vous plaît

Then there are times when you just have to get creative. You realize ahead of time that “a top” is “un haut” in French. You know that you are incapable of producing the correct sounds to audibly pronounce the word you need, so you try something different.

For example, you try “ un chapeau pour mon café s'il vous plait.” Tops are really just hats for coffees, right? In hindsight maybe trying to translate the word “lid,” might have been another good solution.

What is the French version of Campbell’s Soup?

Trying to cook the same meals I used to make in the USA can be challenging. You can’t find ground turkey. You also cannot find cream of chicken.

I didn’t expect to find Campbell’s Soup at the grocery store, but I thought I might find a substitute. Google translate told me to ask for “créme de poulet.”

I don’t think I will ever be able to get the sound of the man’s voice out of my head…"créme de poulet?” “Tu veux de la crème de poulet, crème de POULET??”

The first attempt at making my own version of cream of chicken for my husband’s favorite casserole, went horribly. I am going to attempt to try it again for Valentine’s Day. This can only go one of two ways.