words & art by shé

bookshelf

Tag: female abstract expressionist painter

  • Pura Vida

    Oh, metallic blue paint at the office supply store! Oh, canvases and silver hue! I hold my sunglasses in my teeth, the better to pile art supplies into my arms. Was hard to leave the quality paints behind on Kaua’i. Back aboard Habibi, these treasures now take up three shoeboxes in a cubby and a half. Satisfaction.…

  • Marina Life

    I’ve given up trying to leave Mazatlán for the nonce. Maybe I’ll head south again after hurricane season. I have settled into a writing rhythm, and am working on the memoir. I’ve rigged an uber-long extension cord to the dock post in order to recharge the devices and run the electric kettle. Now to find…

  • Pity Kiss

    He snaked his arm through my open 4Runner window, snagged my shoulder to pull me closer, and kissed me on the cheek. I was too surprised to resist. I had pulled over when I saw him to find out why he suddenly stopped texting in the middle of negotiating a visit to Habibi with his…

  • Habibi

    Beginning at the Berkeley marina, I drive south for days, seeking out sailboats and surfing when I can: Santa Cruz, Morro Bay, Santa Barbara, Oxnard, Long Beach, Newport, Dana Point, Oceanside, San Diego. Cross the border into México and check out San Felipe, Bahía Tortugas, Santa Rosalia. Spend an afternoon and night at Playa El…

  • Grace

    There are moments of grace and beauty. Blowing bubbles with Antonella was one of them. Let me set the scene: a church group sings nearby of peace and love and liberty; the sun is setting big and orange and low; for the first time in México, the tiny house is unhitched and plugged in; and…

  • Stung

    Knee deep in the La Jolla Pacific, I feel a gentle slice on top of the second toe on my left foot. So gentle in fact that I’m surprised to see blood. Hunh. Wading out to get a better look, a half inch cut bleeds copiously. Foot above heart to slow the flow, I rest…

  • Napping Near the Military

    Returning to the States to sign documents, I pulled off the highway to rest, engaging four-wheel-drive. The great thing about México is that you can follow a dirt road as the whim strikes. Many times they lead to interesting places. Sometimes not. I was tired and anxious, and found a spot behind some boulders and…

  • Painting

    “Paint the ocean,” said my dad, but I didn’t dare. His huge 3D map of northern California covered a wall of his house, sans sea, and I was afraid to screw it up. I was fifteen. Back in kindergarten, though, I painted a picture for my mother every day, so she would be alive when…

  • Ya Gotta Tell ’em

    Pakala. Lying on my board on a small day, waiting for set waves. A stand-up paddle boarder startles me, swiftly passing on my immediate left. He’s gone before I can say anything, and I bob in his wake. Another SUPer quickly paddles after him, yelling in pidgin, “No do that! Respect da surfers! Whatchu problem,…