HERstory through ART
With words and images, I am telling my story.

Through art, I am remembering HERstory...

I've been blogging daily since 2007.

Follow me on HERE and HERE for daily posts...

S H O P online...original artwork, prints, totes, and more...


original artwork, prints and more...

Updated Daily: January 2007 - February 2020


Sunday, April 30

for the demons with vicious tongues

"The demon that you can swallow gives you its power, and the greater life's pain, the greater life's reply."
- Joseph Campbell

snapshot of the lion-headed goddess, Sekhmet 

Saturday, April 29

something intimate

My 8-year-old's First Birthday was a very simple and soulful celebration and I wanted something similar for my baby daughter's First Birthday.

Something intimate.

My father was traveling to spend quality time with his grandchildren and I wished for him to truly enjoy them in a serene and playful enviornment.

Something intimate.

My husband and I have large families, all of whom were invited for my son's 8th birthday and for the baby's recent baptism. We had just seen a lot of them during the Easter gathering.

For my daughter's First Birthday, I decided to only invite those who remembered the baby's actual birth date and acknowledged her by reaching out to me.

Only a handful remembered - a handful of souls close to my heart (thank you).

From that blessed handful, only two were able to attend, not including grandparents. 

It was perfect.




My father sang and serenaded his grandaughter on the guitar and she was completely captivated.

My mother made delicate little sandwiches.

My mother-in-law brought delicious finger food with a glorious salad.

I sipped mimosas barefoot, dressed in white linen and smiles.

snapshot: baby enjoying her beloved green peas before the cake

Friday, April 28


"Love everybody.

Don't hate.

Don't gossip.

Take care of your own business.

And take care of your body."

- Eddye Williams, who lived to be 112 years young

Thursday, April 27

one year

celebrating twelve blessed months of wildness and wonder...

my fiercely feminine warrior

my little goddess

you have ignited my courage, my strength and my independence

my wild child 

you are a dream come true

you are a miracle

you are your brother's answered prayers 

you are "La Otra" as your paternal grandfather predicted several years ago

excerpts from my journal and breastfeeding selfie 

Wednesday, April 26

new moon rice ritual


in the womb

scattered grains of rice 



blessings on this new moon

Tuesday, April 25

my life of luxury

Some are of the opinion that I live a life of luxury because I am a full-time mother and an artist...

It is true, I do not have a 9 to 5 job Monday through Friday in an office setting with a boss and coworkers.

My "job" is 24 hours a day, every single day of the year: no paid vacations, no holidays, no sick days, no end-of-year bonuses.

I practice my daily yoga and meditation from home and not a gym, spa or retreat center.

I do not dine out in fancy, overpriced restaurants or take spontaneous trips around the globe.

I have the privilege of home schooling my young son.

Some are of the opinion that I do not "work" because I am a full-time mother and an artist...

excerpt from my journals 

"Real luxury is having the time to read endless stories in bed with my children. And I get that all the time. I'm so blessed."

- Kate Winslet

Monday, April 24

I do not want to waste more time

"I no longer have patience for certain things, not because I’ve become arrogant, but simply because I reached a point in my life where I do not want to waste more time with what displeases me or hurts me. 

I have no patience for cynicism, excessive criticism and demands of any nature. 

I lost the will to please those who do not like me, to love those who do not love me and to smile at those who do not want to smile at me.

I no longer spend a single minute on those who lie or want to manipulate. 

I decided not to coexist anymore with pretense, hypocrisy, dishonesty and cheap praise. 

I do not tolerate selective erudition nor academic arrogance. 

I do not adjust either to popular gossiping. 

I hate conflict and comparisons. 

I believe in a world of opposites and that’s why I avoid people with rigid and inflexible personalities. 

In friendship I dislike the lack of loyalty and betrayal. 

I do not get along with those who do not know how to give a compliment or a word of encouragement. 

Exaggerations bore me and I have difficulty accepting those who do not like animals.

And on top of everything I have no patience for anyone who does not deserve my patience.”

 José Micard Teixeira 

snapshot - one of my pieces in a private collection

Sunday, April 23


I have been working on several projects, but my priority is cultivating the divine art of motherhood. 

My daughter is almost a year old and I have been completely dedicated to her.

Why do I feel as if I need to explain this to anyone? 

I homeschool my third grader and he is thriving.

I continue to paint.

I continue to design wearable sculpture. Each piece tells a story and no two are exactly alike (my motto since I began on this journey of creation almost two decades ago).

I continue to write. 

I continue to practice yoga.

I continue to surrender to the sacred dance of life...

snapshot of my daughter playing with some of my bangles 


Saturday, April 22

mother earth

- 2013 mixed media -
“The Earth is our Mother. 

Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons and daughters of the earth. This we know. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected.

Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons and daughters of the earth. We did not weave the web of life, we are merely strands in it. Whatever we do to the web we do to ourselves.” 
- Chief Seattle (1780-1866)

Friday, April 21

it's a shame our friendship had to end

"I never meant to cause you any sorrow

I never meant to cause you any pain

I only wanted to one time

to see you laughing

I only wanted to see you

Laughing in the purple rain

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain

I only wanted to see you

Bathing in the purple rain

I never wanted to be your weekend lover

I only wanted to be some kind of friend

Baby, I could never steal you from another

It's such a shame our friendship had to end

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain

I only wanted to see you

Underneath the purple rain

Honey, I know, I know

I know times are changing

It's time we all reach out

For something new, that means you too

You say you want a leader

But you can't seem to make up your mind

I think you better close it

And let me guide you to the purple rain

Purple rain, purple rain
Purple rain, purple rain...

Purple rain, purple rain
I only want to see you
Only want to see you
In the purple rain..."

- Prince (1958 - 2016)

mixed media on paper, 2013

Thursday, April 20

my mind

"And so it is just like you said it would be
life goes easy on me
most of the time

and so it is the shorter story
no love, no glory
no hero in her sky

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off of you...

and so it is just like you said it should be
we'll both forget the breeze
most of the time

and so it is the colder water
the blower's daughter
the pupil in denial

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off of you...

ooh - did I say that I loathe you?
did I say that I want to leave it all behind?

I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off of you...

my mind...
till I find somebody new."

- Damien Rice

Wednesday, April 19

bailando amor es que se me va el dolor

"Yo te miro, se me corta la respiración
Cuanto tu me miras se me sube el corazón 
me palpita lento el corazón 
Y en silencio tu mirada dice mil palabras 

La noche en la que te suplico que no salga el sol...

Tu cuerpo y el mio llenando el vacío 
Subiendo y bajando...
Ese fuego por dentro me esta enloqueciendo,
Me va saturando

Con tu física y tu química también tu anatomía
La cerveza y el tequila y tu boca con la mía
Ya no puedo mas 
Ya no puedo mas 
Con esta melodía, tu color, tu fantasía
Con tu filosofía mi cabeza esta vacía
Y ya no puedo mas 
Ya no puedo mas 

Yo quiero estar contigo, vivir contigo
Bailar contigo, tener contigo
Una noche loca 
Ay besar tu boca 
Yo quiero estar contigo, vivir contigo
Bailar contigo, 
tener contigo una noche loca con tremenda loca

Tu me miras y me llevas a otra dimensión 
estoy en otra dimensión
Tu latidos aceleran a mi corazón,
Que ironía del destino no poder tocarte
Abrazarte y sentir la magia de tu olor...

Bailando amor, es que se me va el dolor..."
- Enrique Iglesias 

snapshot of my sweaty shoulder after dancing...

Tuesday, April 18

dame de tu boca esa furia loca

"Ay, Rosa, Rosa tan maravillosa 

como blanca diosa, 
como flor hermosa 
tu amor me condena 
a la dulce pena de sufrir... 

Ay, Rosa, Rosa dame de tu boca 

esa furia loca 
que mi amor provoca 
que me causa llanto 
por quererte tanto, 
sólo a ti. 

Ay, Rosa, Rosa eres orgullosa 

y sin contemplarme 
tu fe se destroza 
mientras tanto yo 
agonizo por ti, ay! 

Ay, Rosa dame todos tus sueños 

dueño de tu amor quiero ser 
ay, dame de tu ayer las heridas 
vida, junto a mí has de tener, ay! 

Ay, Rosa, Rosa eres orgullosa 

y sin contemplarme 
tu fe se destroza 
mientras tanto yo 
agonizo por ti, ay! 

Ay, Rosa, Rosa pide lo que quieras 

pero nunca pidas 
que mi amor se muera 
si algo ha de morir, 
moriré yo por ti. 

Ay, Rosa! Ay, Rosa!"


Monday, April 17

nadie se trastornaba como él

“To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.” 


“Le parecía tan bella, tan seductora, tan distinta de la gente común, que no entendía por qué nadie se trastornaba como él con las castañuelas de sus tacones en los adoquines de la calle, ni se le desordenaba el corazón con el aire de los suspiros de sus volantes, ni se volvía loco de amor todo el mundo con los vientos de su trenza, el vuelo de sus manos, el oro de su risa. No había perdido un gesto suyo, ni un indicio de su carácter, pero no se atrevía a acercársele por el temor de malograr el encanto."

- Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1927-2014)

Sunday, April 16

huevos, huevon, huevitos, huevona

Easter Sunday greetings amidst vintage images that intrigue me...

Saturday, April 15

la mirada que por fin te merezca

"If I'm to live without you, let it be hard and bloody, cold soup, broken shoes, or in the midst of opulence let the dry branch of a cough jerk through me, barking your twisted name, the foaming vowels, and let the bedsheets stick to my fingers, and nothing give me peace. I won't learn to love you any better this way, but abandoned by happiness I'll know how much you gave me just by sometimes being around. I think I understand this, but I'm kidding myself: there'll need to be frost on the lintel so the one taking shelter in the vestibule feels the light in the dining room, the milky tablecloths, and the smell of bread passing its brown hand through the crack.

As far apart from you as one eye from the other, out of this affliction I've taken on, will be born the gaze that deserves you at last." - Julio Cortázar translated by Stephen Kessler

in the original Spanish version...

"Si he de vivir sin ti, que sea duro y cruento, la sopa fría, los zapatos rotos, o que en mitad de la opulencia se alce la rama seca de la tos, ladrandome tu nombre deformado, las vocales de espuma, y en los dedos se me peguen las sábanas, y nada me de paz. No aprenderé por eso a quererte mejor, pero desalojado de la felicidad sabre cuanto me debas con solamente a veces estar cerca. Esto creo entenderlo, pero me engaño: hará falta la escarcha del dintel para que el guarecido en el portal comprenda la luz del comedor, los manteles de leche, y el aroma del pan que pasa su morena mano por la hendija.

Tan lejos ya de ti como un ojo del otro, de esta asumida adversidad nacerá la mirada que por fin te merezca." - Julio Cortázar 

Friday, April 14

una noche con Garcia Lorca

el me llamó y me contó lo siguiente:

"So I took her to the river.
I thought she wasn't married,
but she had a husband.

It was St. James' eve,
and almost as if agreed.
The streetlights went out,
the crickets went on.
At the far edge of town
I touched her sleeping breasts.
They opened to me suddenly
like fronds of hyacinth.
The starch of her petticoat
made a sound in my ears 
like a piece of silk
being ripped by ten knives.
Silver light gone from their leaves,
the trees have grown bigger,
and a horizon of dogs
barks far from the river.

Out beyond the rambles,
the hawthorns and reeds,
beneath her mane of hair
I made a hollow in the sedge.
I took off my necktie.
She took off her dress.
I, my belt and pistol.
She, four bodices.
No silken shell or spikenard
is finer than her skin,
nor did moons or mirrors
ever glow like this.
Her thighs eluded me
like startled fish,
one half filled with fire,
the other half with cold.
That night the road I ran
was the finest of them all,
without a bridle or stirrup
on a filly made of pearl.
As a man, I won't repeat
the things she said to me.
The light of understanding 
has made me more discreet.

I took her from the river
spiked with kisses and sand.
The sabers of the irises
were stabbing at the breeze.

I behaved as what I am.
A true-born gypsy.
I gave her a sewing basket 
made of straw-gold satin,
and refused to fall in love
because she had a husband,
though she said she wasn't married
when I took her to the river."

- Federico Garcia Lorca

Thursday, April 13

sentir, vivir

snapshot: my tiny waist and (100% natural) Kardashian curves, circa 1990s... 

I was in my early twenties and believed I was "chubby," when in reality my body was simply blossoming into a woman...

Today I am in my forties, with a baby daughter and able to rock my pre-pregnancy jeans. I may still be considered "chubby" by some standards, yet I embrace every divine curve my body offers...

snapshot: a recent selfie...I might get the courage to pose in a bikini one of these days, life is too short not to...

"Sentir, que es un soplo la vida,
que veinte años no es nada,
que febril la mirada,
errante en las sombras,
te busca y te nombra..."
- Estrella Morente

Wednesday, April 12

y que ponte los zapatos de tacón y taconea

- 2007 mixed media on paper -

"Es por culpa de una hembra 
que me estoy volviendo loco.
No puedo vivir sin ella,
pero con ella tampoco.

Y si de este mal de amores -
yo me fuera pa' la tumba,
a mi no me mandeis flores,
que como dice esta rumba:

Quise cortar la flor
mas tierna del rosal,
pensando que de amor
no me podria pinchar,
y mientras me pinchaba
me enseño 
una cosa
que una rosa es una rosa es una rosa...

Y cuando abri la mano
y la deje caer
rompieron a sangrar
las llagas en mi piel
y con sus petalos
me las curo mimosa
que una rosa es una rosa es una rosa...

Pero cuanto mas me cura,
al ratito mas me escuece,
porque amar es el empiece
de la palabra amargura.

Una mentira y un credo
por cada espina del tallo
que injertandose en los dedos
una rosa es un rosario..."

- J.M. Cano

amanecí muy Española...olé...
y que ponte los zapatos de tacón y taconea...

I woke up with this song in my mind...
Spanish dreams perhaps...

Tuesday, April 11

full moon

mother moon in all her fullness...

what dreams will you bring?

who will visit?

2017 mixed media

Monday, April 10

repressing it will not work

Wisdom found me this morning during sunrise meditation and yoga:

"Under the tutelage of Wild Woman we reclaim the ancient, the intuitive, and the passionate. When our lives reflect hers, we act cohesively. We carry through, or learn to if we don't already know how. We take the steps to make our ideas manifest in the world. We regain focus when we lose it, attend to personal rhythms, draw closer to friends and mates who are in accord with wildish and integral rhythms. We choose relationships that nurture our creative and instinctive lives. We reach our to nurture others. And we are willing to teach receptive mates about wildish rhythms if need be.

But there is another aspect to mastery, and that is dealing with what can only be called women's rage. The release of that rage is required. Once women remember the origins of their rage, they feel they may never stop grinding their teeth. Ironically, we also feel very anxious to disperse our rage, for it feels distressing and noxious. We wish to hurry up and do away with it.

But repressing it will not work. It is like trying to put fire into a burlap bag. Neither is it good to scald ourselves or someone else with it. So there we are holding a powerful emotion that we feel came upon us unbidden. It is a little like toxic waste; there it is, no one wants it, but there are few disposal areas for it. One has to travel far in order to find a burial ground...

...All emotion, even rage, carries knowledge, insight, what some call enlightenment. Our rage can, for a time, become teacher...a thing not to be rid of so fast, but rather something to climb the mountain for, something to personify via various images in order to learn from, deal with internally, then shape into something useful in the world as a result, or else let it go back down to dust. In a cohesive life, rage is not a stand-alone item. It is a substance waiting for our transformative efforts. The cycle of rage is like any other cycle; it rises, falls, dies and is released as new energy. Attention to the matter of rage begins the process of transformation.

Allowing oneself to be taught by one's rage, thereby transforming it, disperses it. One's energy returns to use in other areas, especially the area of creativity. Although some people claim they can create out of their chronic rage, the problem is that rage confines access to the collective unconscious - that infinite reservoir of imaginal images and thoughts - so that a person creating out of rage tends to create the same thing over and over again, with nothing new coming through. Untransformed rage can become a constant mantra about how oppressed, hurt and tortured we were...
...Rage corrodes our trust that anything good can occur. Something has happened to hope. And behind the loss of hope is usually anger; behind anger, pain; behind pain, usually torture of one sort or another, sometimes recent, but more often from long ago.

In physical post-trauma work, we know that the sooner injury is dealt with, the less its effect spread or worsen. Also the more quickly a trauma is contained and dealt with, the faster the recovery time. This is true for psychological trauma as well. What condition would we be in if we'd broken a leg as a child, and thirty years later it still had not been properly set?

...There is a life beyond thoughtless takes a conscious practice to contain and heal such. But we can do it. It truly takes only climbing through one step at a time.

So rather than trying to "behave" and not feel our rage or rather than using it to burn down every living thing in a hundred-mile radius, it is better to first ask rage to take a seat with us, have some tea, talk a while so we can find out what summoned this visitor. At first doesn't want to talk, it doesn't want to eat, just wants to sit there and stare, or rail, or be left alone. It is this critical point that we call the healer, our wisest self, our best resources for seeing beyond ego irritation and aggravation. The healer is always the "far-seer." She is the one who can tell us what good can come from exploring this emotive surge."

- Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D

Sunday, April 9

the children they mark...they know

"There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends."

- Shel Silverstein 

snapshot of my son 

Saturday, April 8

at her breast

"What she made. 

What she did. 

What we were to each other. 

What she taught me. 

What I learned at her breast. 

That she made things. 

That she made words. 

That she fed me. 

Suckled me. 

Clothed me. 

Cradled me. 

Washed me. 

We remember her labor..."

- Susan Griffin

wearable sculpture in a private collection modeled on my grandfather's bronze Venus 

Friday, April 7

el sabor de mis puntos cardinales

"Yo tuve un amor atlántico -

y me converti en sirena -

y en mi carne morena -

sentí el calor -

silbando fuerte a mi alrededor -

y tuve un amor lunatico -

y me converti en planeta -

y estuvimos dando vueltas -

en un baile silencioso -

las estrellas calladas -

como nosotros -

y ahora tengo un amor -

que es un calor -

que navega su aire en el viento -

que conoce mis buenos momentos -

mis males -

y el sabor de mis puntos cardinales -

yo tuve un amor antártico -

y la nieve me esperaba -

noche y dia fría, helada -

pero a mi no me importaba -

porque el hielo conservaba nuestro ardor 

y ahora tengo un amor -

que es un calor -

que navega su aire en el viento -

que conoce mis buenos momentos, mis males -

y el sabor de mis puntos cardinales..."

- Ana Torroja