Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

Filed Under All Posts, Christie Healey, Group Posts, Parenting | 2 Comments

John Fred Bogert, John B Design

I knew Fred would be an artist when he was four years old. He started to create a complex color drawing: 24 inches long and 20 inches wide. The drawing started with a boat, then an iceberg was added followed by sharks and other underwater creatures. The drawing would be worked on for weeks at a time and then put away for months before being taken out again. He completed the piece just before his sixth birthday. As complex as the final artwork became, it was not cluttered. Plenty of white space to rest the eye, create flow and add dimension. Read more

On Men

Filed Under All Posts, Connie Stetson, Family, Group Posts | 9 Comments

“On Men.” Quite a title, yes? I’ve spent way too much psychic energy “on men”, literally and figuratively. The darlings.

My father and mother divorced when I was six, my sister was four. When he left us, he promised he was just leaving mom, not us. He lied. He was so handsome, funny and charming; a musician, and we loved him wildly. I learned from him, that part of love was expecting a broken heart. He disappointed me one time too many and I didn’t speak to him for 15 years. Read more

Daddy’s Girl

Filed Under All Posts, Cathy Fischer, Family, Group Posts | 5 Comments

I don’t’ really see myself as a “daddy’s girl” but I sure do love my dad, and yes, he spoils me.

In some ways he’s typical of his generation, distant but close. Born in Poland in 1922, he lived through the horrors of WWII, lost his entire family and amazingly rebuilt a life in France, then the U.S. Both he and my mother worked in garment factories in New Jersey, then their own lumber and hardware store in South Central, L.A.; immigrants dedicated to giving their children everything they didn’t have. Read more

On Being Hormonal

Filed Under All Posts, Carine Fabius, Humor, Relationships | 10 Comments

Photo by Pascal Giacomini

Bonjour, I’m hormonal. So, I’m wearing my motorcycle crash helmet around the house. No, I do not ride a motorcycle. The helmet is so that if I give in to temptation and bang my head against the wall, I will not hurt myself. And the pull to do it on an evening such as this one is so strong that I can easily be confused with a crackhead on withdrawal.

It is 11:00 p.m., and I have been in my studio working on jewelry for hours. I am bleary-eyed. When I walk into the kitchen, this is what I see: Read more