tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40069211095354836452024-03-19T07:01:26.877-06:00Amy's ArtMY ONLINE GALLERY & SHOPAmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.comBlogger152125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-77497920252645685612024-01-12T10:39:00.002-07:002024-01-12T10:39:27.881-07:00The Tortoise and the Hare<p> It was Christmas time. I was at my uncle's funeral. I already had a very important job I was working on that had a tight deadline. My art director asked me if I would be interested in illustrating the Tortoise and the Hare, due the day after my other big job. </p><p>I couldn't say no!</p><p>This aired on Music and the Spoken Word on January 7, 2024.</p><p>I felt very blessed to have work over Christmas break, even though it meant less time that I could spend playing with my kids. We made it work. And I fit this project in whenever I could. Thanks to my husband for helping me push the backgrounds so they were more exciting!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtSlCuaDMeUj9BQUlHeSrnHISYPp7mL2EP9iGC4JYPDbD3JrcxRnfvQQKpejst6wqn3wWOJOg5Nt7W8RYa8WzWSx2cb_N4D6AA6YpMbHeR7ald_CAX5ptqyrojQiYRwBTP9jydzifCn3h9SvPlLNp66nvFLBvADy0mQnmmVyAbf7AMVkMqN4mZ0UiNthhe/s3801/Wild%20Hare%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3801" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtSlCuaDMeUj9BQUlHeSrnHISYPp7mL2EP9iGC4JYPDbD3JrcxRnfvQQKpejst6wqn3wWOJOg5Nt7W8RYa8WzWSx2cb_N4D6AA6YpMbHeR7ald_CAX5ptqyrojQiYRwBTP9jydzifCn3h9SvPlLNp66nvFLBvADy0mQnmmVyAbf7AMVkMqN4mZ0UiNthhe/w400-h225/Wild%20Hare%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivYL1B26KigRnlpkV0T7T51-OYee73Rh_gKKpDxIH1-hnp6ogKVfKnQ_NTaSVNFch4zUdFLgitZMnCsFUW0nfN9foXKrTxsisiN_OHYr8PLkPF_lpGs9gvr27Vvg3G4Jv0FXIWYbJ_ESHPsi5xCgv34Q0DIGw6rm2-cuo2jMqSKzbpgKVAsZiL4Kc4fTNr/s3801/Wild%20Hare%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3801" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivYL1B26KigRnlpkV0T7T51-OYee73Rh_gKKpDxIH1-hnp6ogKVfKnQ_NTaSVNFch4zUdFLgitZMnCsFUW0nfN9foXKrTxsisiN_OHYr8PLkPF_lpGs9gvr27Vvg3G4Jv0FXIWYbJ_ESHPsi5xCgv34Q0DIGw6rm2-cuo2jMqSKzbpgKVAsZiL4Kc4fTNr/w400-h225/Wild%20Hare%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-67148476110997057812023-09-13T10:49:00.001-06:002024-01-12T10:51:41.815-07:00Washington, D. C. Temple in the Fall<p> My friend Sandy wanted a painting of the temple where she and her husband Paul were sealed, and to remember the event, she wanted it set in the fall. I really like how it turned out.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY30oF0bAvgpP8V4F9uJpkUViq8UrnNBwr3nwCBvuOMM8080wGkHW8FCRxFBv8vq-9JXnxMl0PO8HxSpjh7ZW_xvUAq1hiYDWlI01-ToEy-ImvObO5xvYSKQ1L1F_0sh9l3lvsXEvJlTAcwCG0JSiaiFn7-ynzkjkzH3nrYJonaKBUzBwN09ckpa8UkM6_/s4500/DC%20Temple.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3525" data-original-width="4500" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY30oF0bAvgpP8V4F9uJpkUViq8UrnNBwr3nwCBvuOMM8080wGkHW8FCRxFBv8vq-9JXnxMl0PO8HxSpjh7ZW_xvUAq1hiYDWlI01-ToEy-ImvObO5xvYSKQ1L1F_0sh9l3lvsXEvJlTAcwCG0JSiaiFn7-ynzkjkzH3nrYJonaKBUzBwN09ckpa8UkM6_/w400-h314/DC%20Temple.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-65531507929049020302023-08-01T10:17:00.002-06:002024-01-12T10:46:20.481-07:00Women of Faith<p>These drawings were for a Music and the Spoken Word broadcast on July 23, 2023, for Pioneer Day, recognizing two pioneering women in the world who did great things.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5BAYtXxmWyTjG7hPJoRCELOnxCy0-i-dS9ADTE5YPtulCIIgLam44gplO9V_TO4DbJbVQSUwn9SGPqL4bLBZpwKutQxfh71nP6xNMMzuCZ9_56TxNROANsdMGIVhv2K7d2-rywTsPklRBt-14QK1s8XtKre8UgBfDgLef3rTEhkuykzydto3d2YnbkPIH/s3277/Fe.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3277" data-original-width="2530" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5BAYtXxmWyTjG7hPJoRCELOnxCy0-i-dS9ADTE5YPtulCIIgLam44gplO9V_TO4DbJbVQSUwn9SGPqL4bLBZpwKutQxfh71nP6xNMMzuCZ9_56TxNROANsdMGIVhv2K7d2-rywTsPklRBt-14QK1s8XtKre8UgBfDgLef3rTEhkuykzydto3d2YnbkPIH/w309-h400/Fe.jpg" width="309" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Fe del Mundo</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1R5XppdLrb93BOk07VlItwJcSjH7WZvRWvz2OGS3_8ynVthAltvMEEk8UCf0bnfkzA60yKV3qFVfBNA6lBIWgRJA6QNSW-vqlV1BXM4ZnyPpv33Ypk6rBaNl9JLKFUaLQIi_1MYX98nNsyd_1JD5Q0PiJkPkEe0GFBcQscYTdRbwZ4P42WGkoUU5WU_iF/s3723/Sirimavo%202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="3723" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1R5XppdLrb93BOk07VlItwJcSjH7WZvRWvz2OGS3_8ynVthAltvMEEk8UCf0bnfkzA60yKV3qFVfBNA6lBIWgRJA6QNSW-vqlV1BXM4ZnyPpv33Ypk6rBaNl9JLKFUaLQIi_1MYX98nNsyd_1JD5Q0PiJkPkEe0GFBcQscYTdRbwZ4P42WGkoUU5WU_iF/w400-h241/Sirimavo%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"> Sirimavo Bandaranaike</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-81666734071815975602023-05-06T10:11:00.005-06:002024-01-12T10:16:51.871-07:00The Fable of How the Hippo Lost His Hair<p>This aired on Music and the Spoken Word on April 30, 2023.</p><p> In an old fable, the hippo had long, beautiful hair. He would show it off each night in the light of the fire. Both the lion and the jackal cautioned the hippo about vanity and staying too close to the fire, but the hippo refused to listen to them. One night, the hippo's mane caught on fire, and he had to run to the river and jump in to extinguish the flames. All his hair was burnt off! That is why hippos like to stay in the water, because they are ashamed of missing all of their hair.</p><p>What a fun idea to illustrate! I found old illustrations of woolly rhinos and mammoths to base the idea of a hairy hippo upon. We also played a bit with AI generated images to get some ideas!</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Fw8XClDit-mrH-q5T6dt5mQdkSSLv5xJWWxOi2ik1G7RaYgocl_pB1_49l2_Gv961urd1yeqxE__mkeUSd5KTq48PFHUDJffkiJHvP3l3prVyMcjFucAdwrwqX1i_5znxW7Vo2STjpnwYnVlMXub4QyjbkIJnq9oKXpZb8g_grwTLi8QJ5UH81QKHl_B/s3800/Hippo%20by%20fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Fw8XClDit-mrH-q5T6dt5mQdkSSLv5xJWWxOi2ik1G7RaYgocl_pB1_49l2_Gv961urd1yeqxE__mkeUSd5KTq48PFHUDJffkiJHvP3l3prVyMcjFucAdwrwqX1i_5znxW7Vo2STjpnwYnVlMXub4QyjbkIJnq9oKXpZb8g_grwTLi8QJ5UH81QKHl_B/w400-h225/Hippo%20by%20fire.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif679ObNJpin0d3q2LwB0GvNka6jSndZnNTUDlc2GcbmH_6YlT5iIHKnh7RK4RW2PYScp6yuwxDmXyg8qYOb-Gx1F5rwgtBGTMujz21rAap6CvS_S1ppsSzhi2IghXHMbqJwV043w4U4cw8Aas7hT9H0fGtyHMnCUoDlYTAfngRU7uoZhknnDLS5xqJ9Sf/s3800/Lion%20Lesson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif679ObNJpin0d3q2LwB0GvNka6jSndZnNTUDlc2GcbmH_6YlT5iIHKnh7RK4RW2PYScp6yuwxDmXyg8qYOb-Gx1F5rwgtBGTMujz21rAap6CvS_S1ppsSzhi2IghXHMbqJwV043w4U4cw8Aas7hT9H0fGtyHMnCUoDlYTAfngRU7uoZhknnDLS5xqJ9Sf/w400-h225/Lion%20Lesson.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzU9FzCrTsA-1jR2UGkdAWt3gN5hyqmLJR7RybhGKeRgLPL0ZvXfJs3MFgyl-UtvSCbPEOrQEN9z8i70E3C5bpCoC5iWQdFrxnRoFm7xkzjB-Tq1kuAyuhuwv7hTN6b4OGHpKNar38AibRifwdijvekEi8uIUbFeMRRr4CKQKa3X7F6hd3paOSLyE1cI2/s3800/Unhappy%20Hippo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzU9FzCrTsA-1jR2UGkdAWt3gN5hyqmLJR7RybhGKeRgLPL0ZvXfJs3MFgyl-UtvSCbPEOrQEN9z8i70E3C5bpCoC5iWQdFrxnRoFm7xkzjB-Tq1kuAyuhuwv7hTN6b4OGHpKNar38AibRifwdijvekEi8uIUbFeMRRr4CKQKa3X7F6hd3paOSLyE1cI2/w400-h225/Unhappy%20Hippo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-31290224999934875622022-11-01T10:05:00.003-06:002024-01-12T10:10:47.512-07:00Why is There a Hole in Your Ceiling?<p> This was for a Music and the Spoken Word broadcast on October 23, 2022.</p><p>A leak was fixed in the family's bathroom, but they eventually came to ignore the remaining hole, until a neighbor friend came to their house and asked, "Why is there a hole in your ceiling?" Similarly, we tend to get used to our own bad habits and forget about them, but we shouldn't get complacent about fixing the holes in our own lives.</p><p>Thanks to Deseret and Clarissa, who let me come take pictures in your bathroom!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXgoM07KWKAkpPJkjTpD87481VxiFiCpD9QKT89Au23D5CAYR_eRnzuJBYuxid7oa_mky-KcRsaQEnJj2g03AGwpYC7F6c2BMYqCo3mKdGD0n_FUrIp8nwpQaBB9LRS_cL9oI2d7W6iXk84R7Mog9QYO8RoGyXfyIv7EQDjx8v4LJwmhORRjuntdxwCJui/s3800/Ceiling%20Hole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXgoM07KWKAkpPJkjTpD87481VxiFiCpD9QKT89Au23D5CAYR_eRnzuJBYuxid7oa_mky-KcRsaQEnJj2g03AGwpYC7F6c2BMYqCo3mKdGD0n_FUrIp8nwpQaBB9LRS_cL9oI2d7W6iXk84R7Mog9QYO8RoGyXfyIv7EQDjx8v4LJwmhORRjuntdxwCJui/w400-h225/Ceiling%20Hole.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-34154875395173206872022-10-01T17:29:00.001-06:002024-01-11T17:33:21.257-07:00The Importance of Work<p> This was a painting for Music and the Spoken Word on Sept 4, 2022.</p><p>It illustrated the importance of hard work. A boy walked along a country road, looking at the corn fields on either side. On one side, the farmer was not working his field, and it looked neglected, stunted, and drying out. On the other side, the corn was tall and healthy, and he could often see the farmer working in the field. </p><p>My son Micah is starting to learn how to work hard, including modeling for me, as I have used him a lot as a model in the past few years.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilgglucUmh12vh3PyIbM0AbDecDnoXfxk25fVU-kur_fBVKnqFSgJYSRfG6oeBT8gnCMgOipJzBOc-XtyOK97RYLVHo8zM3xySQv3Ub-rJrIWbB7KwfrML3vmmqykZnbZGV6fN6i6e1c_rrBz6C1NWRhC-7XvIMVAMnoCSoYBJdJv4m7Gvy9s04rTjLcQ/s3801/Micah%20of%20the%20Corn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3801" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilgglucUmh12vh3PyIbM0AbDecDnoXfxk25fVU-kur_fBVKnqFSgJYSRfG6oeBT8gnCMgOipJzBOc-XtyOK97RYLVHo8zM3xySQv3Ub-rJrIWbB7KwfrML3vmmqykZnbZGV6fN6i6e1c_rrBz6C1NWRhC-7XvIMVAMnoCSoYBJdJv4m7Gvy9s04rTjLcQ/w400-h225/Micah%20of%20the%20Corn.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09083040046530909225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-68359488553377674162022-08-01T17:29:00.000-06:002024-01-11T17:33:49.132-07:00Anna McClelland<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px;">This was a </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">painting for Music and the Spoken Word that aired on Pioneer Day, July 24, 2022. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px;">More than a century ago, two sisters, Lucy and Anna McClelland, lived in a small pioneer settlement in the American Intermountain West. As she grew into young adulthood, Anna, who was two years younger than Lucy, determined to leave home and become a teacher. Her parents reluctantly consented, and Anna started a heavy load of classes at the academy. In her own words, she “didn’t have much fun.”</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px;"> </span></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Meanwhile, Lucy stayed home and worked to help support the family, but her sister was never far from her mind. Specifically, she worried that Anna wasn’t smiling enough—and not just because of her demanding schoolwork. You see, Anna had three front teeth that were badly damaged, and her family had never had enough money for dental work. Lucy wanted her sister to have the confidence to stand in front of a classroom and not cover her mouth when she smiled. So Lucy saved her pennies for a year and sent Anna $17.50 to get her teeth fixed—a small fortune in those days! </p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px;"><br /></p>
<p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Anna wrote: “If [Lucy] could realize how much it did for me and how I appreciate it. … I could now be with people without being so ashamed.” Anna became a teacher in their frontier town, and she never forgot her sister’s selfless gift.</p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">This was a story about Lloyd Newell's own ancestor, Anna McClelland. I was grateful to my friend Rachel for being the model for Anna, and for her beautiful smile, even when she is having a bad day.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcJ9ixyellseZSQoE7Fmqh17mjU_fEfNraRXVMRBg_WPpKL1dQ_rQ7-sfRjNaLu4qhtT8bQ-erYbA8VHfLgoqoXe3gbeZ_rmlARp3Z2lsJpGxuWqIb4i5a2OjtcHGc4tPEDNSK0U4mjpfmH19-Cju6rFnEkI_KBNk5J-luDZXBKJ1pCKFeii8gWvQKRJo/s3800/Anna%20Schoolteacher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcJ9ixyellseZSQoE7Fmqh17mjU_fEfNraRXVMRBg_WPpKL1dQ_rQ7-sfRjNaLu4qhtT8bQ-erYbA8VHfLgoqoXe3gbeZ_rmlARp3Z2lsJpGxuWqIb4i5a2OjtcHGc4tPEDNSK0U4mjpfmH19-Cju6rFnEkI_KBNk5J-luDZXBKJ1pCKFeii8gWvQKRJo/w400-h225/Anna%20Schoolteacher.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><div><br /></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09083040046530909225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-75280445789472819532022-06-01T17:13:00.001-06:002024-01-11T17:18:15.262-07:00French Bread<p> I painted this for Music and the Spoken Word for the Mother's Day broadcast, May 8, 2022.</p><p><br /></p><p>French soldiers met up with a poor mother and her children in the woods. One of the soldiers took pity on them, and handed the mother a loaf of bread. She immediately tore it in half and gave it all to her children. The soldier was confused, because he knew the mother was hungry, and asked why she hadn't kept any for herself? The captain replied, "You do not understand what it is to be a mother."</p><p><br /></p><p>I was so grateful for my friend Melissa and her darling little girls for dressing up and posing for me, and was glad to give them the fresh loaf of bread I'd baked as a thank you. I was also very glad that the Clubbs and Bro. Dastrup were able to quickly find outfits and come help at a moment's notice.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin00F84zcEwbc6jsClvwm6SncYUE9au0ludWQrt3aZNRo6Xw104jE66q5jK7of30-q1diW6HeLvlAi0HADyTdbOubrR8QAGrzUhqzUJwFXgegWkVjfOLRykp2aWcZttH6zhLfeG3f9viyWXzaE-y0nvis2aYV56NoSnCVMLTxpIfnlbtDW3Vnq5ry4KMk/s3800/French%20Bread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin00F84zcEwbc6jsClvwm6SncYUE9au0ludWQrt3aZNRo6Xw104jE66q5jK7of30-q1diW6HeLvlAi0HADyTdbOubrR8QAGrzUhqzUJwFXgegWkVjfOLRykp2aWcZttH6zhLfeG3f9viyWXzaE-y0nvis2aYV56NoSnCVMLTxpIfnlbtDW3Vnq5ry4KMk/w400-h225/French%20Bread.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09083040046530909225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-83089699845757025642021-11-01T16:47:00.001-06:002024-01-11T17:13:28.811-07:00The Shoe Makers<p> I painted these for a Music and the Spoken Word episode that aired on October 17, 2021. </p><p><br /></p><p>The story went that there were two shoe makers. They set up shop in a far-away country where they normally didn't wear shoes. One shoemaker was miserable--nobody was buying the shoes, and he was having very little business. The other shoemaker was having a great time--he was enjoying showing the people how to use the shoes and loved how their faces lit up! It was all about attitude.</p><p><br /></p><p>Unfortunately, these paintings briefly aired on the first run, but were quickly removed, and now there isn't an episode that exists with them. I think there was an approval process that, at the last minute, didn't like that the two shoe makers had a different ethnicity than the people buying the shoes. My thought process was, the two guys were trying to sell in a far-away country, so the culture and even color of their skin would be very different from what they were used to. I meant no disrespect to either race.</p><p><br /></p><p>Anyway, here are the paintings that you can't see on the broadcast. I loved researching African people's faces and clothing. I think they are so beautiful, and I need much more practice painting them.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXA25Z6eYTdP8HpyRSEDSvEmQ08Sje3-x4gkfWkXqdpNetKO4h68eabV5Ypwhvfx14qhoNhZaOU5c9_JxAWjZGS-S4SZQ3oVJ4L4rGeaCi7c_T6g6TOQuVhNh7vOwpKFHmwpRAk4azvdLVFiKWMq7pr3fN1Q-MNpQbmyUA4NPkjhuhpHiDmKHZWiBQpPw/s3800/Shoe%20Maker%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXA25Z6eYTdP8HpyRSEDSvEmQ08Sje3-x4gkfWkXqdpNetKO4h68eabV5Ypwhvfx14qhoNhZaOU5c9_JxAWjZGS-S4SZQ3oVJ4L4rGeaCi7c_T6g6TOQuVhNh7vOwpKFHmwpRAk4azvdLVFiKWMq7pr3fN1Q-MNpQbmyUA4NPkjhuhpHiDmKHZWiBQpPw/w400-h225/Shoe%20Maker%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJevlh8l286qJXpQ58W6gMJN1Xmmbltv1lV4BTgAEEQxJT9hcnCXrkBVHHO07Wdv95p8e_XhTp4ocerq_2h6gCLr0gtzYZ0DFbnarEA-i9Jzhgh1xGME0NZmOKpxf6xPuQ4FDiOj_dEkYqL-X5tktQCkGbLfhr8FhKteN57CFsjuZkFCd_1lOssmE7Zw8/s3800/Shoe%20Maker%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJevlh8l286qJXpQ58W6gMJN1Xmmbltv1lV4BTgAEEQxJT9hcnCXrkBVHHO07Wdv95p8e_XhTp4ocerq_2h6gCLr0gtzYZ0DFbnarEA-i9Jzhgh1xGME0NZmOKpxf6xPuQ4FDiOj_dEkYqL-X5tktQCkGbLfhr8FhKteN57CFsjuZkFCd_1lOssmE7Zw8/w400-h225/Shoe%20Maker%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09083040046530909225noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-90433243207445429862021-10-01T16:34:00.001-06:002024-01-11T16:45:30.884-07:00The Tree of Life<p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopMlw_29dKC6vNHySts5UedK_CPIyW7SEnJQWeJJAuGG2-gueR4H7S0b0DGf-t0KMg2wdQcupq9zlIurPk86UsbdWjbcaZKgeLTY0PoxwZlTx43OF_Bybdr7AydjKcYKuuhwGx_1JSLbUBwtynWKV0RpgA3v2CrxjV6PcM8o3bDKERBqdTbk7DcN7S91i/s3800/%231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2137" data-original-width="3800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopMlw_29dKC6vNHySts5UedK_CPIyW7SEnJQWeJJAuGG2-gueR4H7S0b0DGf-t0KMg2wdQcupq9zlIurPk86UsbdWjbcaZKgeLTY0PoxwZlTx43OF_Bybdr7AydjKcYKuuhwGx_1JSLbUBwtynWKV0RpgA3v2CrxjV6PcM8o3bDKERBqdTbk7DcN7S91i/w400-h225/%231.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I painted these for a Music and the Spoken Word message. It <br />aired on September 22, 2021. It talked about a girl who grew up<br />with a tree. At the beginning, when they planted the tree, it was<br />about as tall as she was.</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pGGt7I1jzhNk73GSMEiGIumtkDmhy3dwGoo1retatwgnSRIQ2-mxjB_Ho3TUiKio8EKNIZuruQAnKPg4yzyJuKeK-sGtrAd9xxAdO-FPpiKv3xoOJkhy8SyOLmu7HzVRjKsdKXoWD4uOD5AlKNn-T-uQtESbbb_mbRoo8E60aCnBn4ydHiLE-3bdAd1m/s3800/%232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pGGt7I1jzhNk73GSMEiGIumtkDmhy3dwGoo1retatwgnSRIQ2-mxjB_Ho3TUiKio8EKNIZuruQAnKPg4yzyJuKeK-sGtrAd9xxAdO-FPpiKv3xoOJkhy8SyOLmu7HzVRjKsdKXoWD4uOD5AlKNn-T-uQtESbbb_mbRoo8E60aCnBn4ydHiLE-3bdAd1m/w400-h225/%232.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The girl took care of the tree, and as she grew, the tree grew as well.</div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgowrlS9wrnzZr_Gm0OsSixHEbWj5_PZzDgYlIrTM62Fzv89H-9vNTrEQD0uCxvkZmBt6VbjI04llpXg1wJyeMTbW6kfCGMFrQ7zBDB865f_JtLyWYZASgFvbCPsSIiFD1002RprTvTyOcbMsc0rZQrY3dM5zMKgKs1IJpewyQBf0TuSDBoxvmzglhOJVF7/s3800/%233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgowrlS9wrnzZr_Gm0OsSixHEbWj5_PZzDgYlIrTM62Fzv89H-9vNTrEQD0uCxvkZmBt6VbjI04llpXg1wJyeMTbW6kfCGMFrQ7zBDB865f_JtLyWYZASgFvbCPsSIiFD1002RprTvTyOcbMsc0rZQrY3dM5zMKgKs1IJpewyQBf0TuSDBoxvmzglhOJVF7/w400-h225/%233.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The story captures the life of the tree along with the girl, and how<br />they spent time together and were friends.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKDg6n0EmwL_TVO0k3PA6LeC1cGwDd92BXOJYLChoIaOXH3O8oH0X9LDPqYo-RhHL8j9BQnl6wnYdwe4buZO8T8QjlZePl6CcXv7Ycr6P3I5rPrNLMfDBLLSbT3P-HemPxfAhrROaZABjx5uGpHB2EM08NUvfYIMoF1d-de8aOdRr5XBOMrzNd8NZYcwFv/s3800/%234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKDg6n0EmwL_TVO0k3PA6LeC1cGwDd92BXOJYLChoIaOXH3O8oH0X9LDPqYo-RhHL8j9BQnl6wnYdwe4buZO8T8QjlZePl6CcXv7Ycr6P3I5rPrNLMfDBLLSbT3P-HemPxfAhrROaZABjx5uGpHB2EM08NUvfYIMoF1d-de8aOdRr5XBOMrzNd8NZYcwFv/w400-h225/%234.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I enjoyed painting these. I had just finished painting "Katrina and the Madrone Tree,"<br />which was a children's book memoir of a similar girl with a similar relationship to a tree. <br />You can see the illustrations for it in the "Pages" on the side bar.</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-kzLHK9BDvdPozEOATkK66XjULDZ3A1QEyIyvf_3lOdXu4Ejuvt4gly17Z8b1mPodO1ToqwracMWF009-1HFJ0790DHXR5dJq0yqEMzDSU-0yBpTX_ZxrhUkIhvVBJf1B714b3dhYKDQ5utrho27H7qMXncivs_A8pydgfyrxNYibXhzje2Hqlrp-TKIU/s3800/%235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2138" data-original-width="3800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-kzLHK9BDvdPozEOATkK66XjULDZ3A1QEyIyvf_3lOdXu4Ejuvt4gly17Z8b1mPodO1ToqwracMWF009-1HFJ0790DHXR5dJq0yqEMzDSU-0yBpTX_ZxrhUkIhvVBJf1B714b3dhYKDQ5utrho27H7qMXncivs_A8pydgfyrxNYibXhzje2Hqlrp-TKIU/w400-h225/%235.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I also loved that I got to use my daughters in the different age views<br />of the girl and the tree. I painted these during the pandemic, so it was <br />great to take the whole family on a walk, and just enjoy playing in and being around trees.</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-75857795478839429842020-10-12T13:22:00.002-06:002020-10-12T13:22:31.574-06:00The Man from Snowy River<p> I was again given the opportunity to illustrate paintings for the BYU Devotional. This was to be on February 11, 2020, and given by Elder Terrence Vinson, who is from Australia.</p><p>He told the story of the Man from Snowy River, who would stay in his saddle despite the steep cliff and rocks. He trusted his horse. We were also encouraged to stay in the saddle, and to trust and be led by God through the trials of this life.</p><p>Here is a link to Elder Vinson's talk: https://speeches.byu.edu/talks/terence-m-vinson/meekly-placing-our-total-trust-in-god/</p><p>I was delighted that he asked for copies of the paintings! I was able to have them printed and delivered to him on his birthday.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBIblvpSOpd6aNwIS07MKlV6cvjPbrgO-iTKUwIadpVU55KPpzqOuWsLX6DLZG-pSf6tnBEVkoYRGURGtUls06dxoHymEvqahLqaw5yOBk-krDR7ZsfQ9YXsZInj-BacpFT6wKJwOClAo/s2048/4.Cliff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBIblvpSOpd6aNwIS07MKlV6cvjPbrgO-iTKUwIadpVU55KPpzqOuWsLX6DLZG-pSf6tnBEVkoYRGURGtUls06dxoHymEvqahLqaw5yOBk-krDR7ZsfQ9YXsZInj-BacpFT6wKJwOClAo/w400-h225/4.Cliff.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGuHK7Qg78AwzktoLnKzY3NP-Qffp0fGiMFKdN-_eArEZ02mE4-ZHAP2GXkpUUYhCW_3tmpdHGnj4Y3cuTWYSO4zf_LndHBxSqqAKnibJyzRiohuK8OSNxIXydvBM9vcPRvmgT71LVP7H/s2048/3.Chase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGuHK7Qg78AwzktoLnKzY3NP-Qffp0fGiMFKdN-_eArEZ02mE4-ZHAP2GXkpUUYhCW_3tmpdHGnj4Y3cuTWYSO4zf_LndHBxSqqAKnibJyzRiohuK8OSNxIXydvBM9vcPRvmgT71LVP7H/w400-h225/3.Chase.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji0iSiAgpF1sVn0JppXYY3zNKMwOYMaSiiHGyldXrxVPWMJEl1pOx0bHWZmaxObonNPcOlrM05-8xfZlnjLbv4OgVEo3mOnh20ehd1kvN6HLV8KpxXWNb0MLaSbxypwIkqFokdtvQpFXjU/s2048/2.MountainHorse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji0iSiAgpF1sVn0JppXYY3zNKMwOYMaSiiHGyldXrxVPWMJEl1pOx0bHWZmaxObonNPcOlrM05-8xfZlnjLbv4OgVEo3mOnh20ehd1kvN6HLV8KpxXWNb0MLaSbxypwIkqFokdtvQpFXjU/w400-h225/2.MountainHorse.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjvRMGev6OTsrU9UA9_HkGSeJ3BIv_p-iH06mrARMS7KeYEMcJa0R53T4fMqeQVILzTUXPUa4WzS_PmF6o-d5kF03TrP8rD9Pdw3rtbqAY9fjSBdZYFdrSYzSN9YeIUbxYxUkSkqQ6WUMD/s2048/1.Gather.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjvRMGev6OTsrU9UA9_HkGSeJ3BIv_p-iH06mrARMS7KeYEMcJa0R53T4fMqeQVILzTUXPUa4WzS_PmF6o-d5kF03TrP8rD9Pdw3rtbqAY9fjSBdZYFdrSYzSN9YeIUbxYxUkSkqQ6WUMD/w400-h225/1.Gather.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-47556030569494286242020-10-12T13:12:00.006-06:002020-10-12T13:12:50.352-06:00Can You Sleep When the Wind Blows?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I had a special opportunity to illustrate a story told by Elder Shayne M. Bowen of the Seventy, at a BYU Devotional on November 13, 2018. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He told a story about a farmer who was looking for help. I painted my husband, who doesn't normally have white hair or a beard, and my son.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The boy told the farmer he could work for him, and when the farmer asked for his qualifications, the boy said confidently, "I can sleep when the wind blows."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The farmer did not understand this response, but was curious and took the boy on as a stable hand. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCkvA115fkB_Amv3J2sMqDB2XQCnOrlr686pQrlcqQIMiJikwRg9e4WYR7hSVagHzwrquhVCIUFBllBspphGsKgTFRWOSbS5U6aj0Q37FO7D5BudG-zQOvNDzO8B1amRwrxVTUju569KK/s2048/1+Greeting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCkvA115fkB_Amv3J2sMqDB2XQCnOrlr686pQrlcqQIMiJikwRg9e4WYR7hSVagHzwrquhVCIUFBllBspphGsKgTFRWOSbS5U6aj0Q37FO7D5BudG-zQOvNDzO8B1amRwrxVTUju569KK/w640-h360/1+Greeting.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>One night, a giant storm came sweeping towards the farm house. The farmer, in panic, tried to wake his farm hand, but he was fast asleep. So he ran out to secure the barn and the animals himself.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1yL7N1bXreO6xfQwk2c5WBSiTfjy5GNLXUOaeA7FWWw2mgM7epH2a4i7I-7j2r1sOgu0xvgi0AU868LAwBrZISnlYIgOjp2B69wJuDhehfk4XO-aHrRPjTyRU9yJd2cU9QothaypbhB-d/s2048/2+Window.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1yL7N1bXreO6xfQwk2c5WBSiTfjy5GNLXUOaeA7FWWw2mgM7epH2a4i7I-7j2r1sOgu0xvgi0AU868LAwBrZISnlYIgOjp2B69wJuDhehfk4XO-aHrRPjTyRU9yJd2cU9QothaypbhB-d/w640-h360/2+Window.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKapWml6cLhBT091sLe0nQgVno5F_kj6z1Dmw_Ejj2I_VdJWer0jrGTEWmHuM2RwsRb-6HsMmi31xmkoQdx26amEoDfcrIaEf-zsrFgEZ5_nBb23zGfWw-LAXFVN4vMpY99LjU60qvey-m/s2048/3+Asleep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKapWml6cLhBT091sLe0nQgVno5F_kj6z1Dmw_Ejj2I_VdJWer0jrGTEWmHuM2RwsRb-6HsMmi31xmkoQdx26amEoDfcrIaEf-zsrFgEZ5_nBb23zGfWw-LAXFVN4vMpY99LjU60qvey-m/w640-h360/3+Asleep.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>What he found was that all the chinks were filled in the walls, all the doors were locked and barred, and all the animals were safe in their barn. Now he understood the statement, "I can sleep when the wind blows."<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiksRB3H-pj-8-Xq-ZkjQVwzQgKigEQMFCiEAeXW3HIzge-dDqWclvOBLvLXHFg4xaJDTrUB-4ge_QXOPfdmFfP_8GZcMhspr2_e-JdpbgTO6OMDRazr5Cfnc7IqXurCX8L7qTFpXwNCZM5/s2048/4+Cows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiksRB3H-pj-8-Xq-ZkjQVwzQgKigEQMFCiEAeXW3HIzge-dDqWclvOBLvLXHFg4xaJDTrUB-4ge_QXOPfdmFfP_8GZcMhspr2_e-JdpbgTO6OMDRazr5Cfnc7IqXurCX8L7qTFpXwNCZM5/w640-h360/4+Cows.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">"And now, returning to our unassuming farm boy, I pray that whatever storms come into your life—and I promise they will come—that you can be a person of character, honor, and integrity. And most of all, I pray that you can sleep when the wind blows." --Elder Bowen</span></p></div><br /><p><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-90808041673731763802020-10-12T12:55:00.002-06:002020-10-12T12:55:28.240-06:00Christmas Devotional 2019<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I feel so blessed that I was given the opportunity to create these illustrations. It was amazing to be asked to illustrate a story that would be told by an apostle of the Lord, President Dallin H. Oaks! My first thought for a model was my dear friend Tricia French, with her sweet daughter and her awesome husband. Tricia came through with costumes and an amazing hairstyle, and her mother-in-law provided beautiful period furniture!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The story is about a girl who was sad that she didn't receive the doll she wanted for Christmas. After her mom tried consoling her, her father called her in to sit on his lap and read from the scriptures about the greatest gift we have ever been given--Christ's atonement and resurrection. The child slept contentedly that night, grateful that she had been given that gift.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5UPVAuL1C4K2NgvDcBQlEyd0oaycWPJ785MkvG0e0ypA-McrKZwfsal7ogWDyuunpx6dh3qhlJw8KeMZQ7tNJDwnOhPw1lNlhKg4nPcf-WQkT5hBzFbzjRYkwaL43AaCpag902a-lG96/s2048/Oaks1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1146" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5UPVAuL1C4K2NgvDcBQlEyd0oaycWPJ785MkvG0e0ypA-McrKZwfsal7ogWDyuunpx6dh3qhlJw8KeMZQ7tNJDwnOhPw1lNlhKg4nPcf-WQkT5hBzFbzjRYkwaL43AaCpag902a-lG96/w400-h224/Oaks1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYQC0M1zEjECDzp28OM4V5JBp6xdxOWvFRFawtmjaPexTL0yqk4NJdM2TE2bPSZU368_2UKzK1kmOkdz-27IwawzvP00NXl8560Otmva2gJPVJJgs2SB7l6JO949vOtUCzPJXZwt-pTLT/s2048/Oaks2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1143" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYQC0M1zEjECDzp28OM4V5JBp6xdxOWvFRFawtmjaPexTL0yqk4NJdM2TE2bPSZU368_2UKzK1kmOkdz-27IwawzvP00NXl8560Otmva2gJPVJJgs2SB7l6JO949vOtUCzPJXZwt-pTLT/w400-h224/Oaks2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKoKkWHyyNvqF7zlKR1elDW1Ydn8-Chpgb_XYF7Hm-0NX0usyXVOYAR-pRgmV2qcoFaS8btuGYFodzlxXOi9gE6WWGk_tI3EhJJPTaMRf-9CYJuiKkTzckatWKblGcbBxh8JXMmsCjfN7n/s2048/Oaks3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1146" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKoKkWHyyNvqF7zlKR1elDW1Ydn8-Chpgb_XYF7Hm-0NX0usyXVOYAR-pRgmV2qcoFaS8btuGYFodzlxXOi9gE6WWGk_tI3EhJJPTaMRf-9CYJuiKkTzckatWKblGcbBxh8JXMmsCjfN7n/w400-h224/Oaks3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WBX9pD0ryNnEsfB-AnhCLZLUYjJeCDzKrFbEa0cL1kC3sLNu_vaxwEqhStnPjcISfX6uNE8jEKGhQoLo-u8P2cOogfub7QYMn1zafmBt9l-iN8l89bVPu5CPZNZ0NzNZvsse7wLPQwLF/s2048/Oaks4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WBX9pD0ryNnEsfB-AnhCLZLUYjJeCDzKrFbEa0cL1kC3sLNu_vaxwEqhStnPjcISfX6uNE8jEKGhQoLo-u8P2cOogfub7QYMn1zafmBt9l-iN8l89bVPu5CPZNZ0NzNZvsse7wLPQwLF/w400-h224/Oaks4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9VHuDl7JyTaPmWFMU86RqEVlbxlXKsrBqJDYD3EchH8aoGN8T1m4hfMOYO4-ERLlfLQ6erURIdGGEsVAkI0poh_w3Ge2ay9DX5aCwVAQgm9e4omTnyU1ui-9pqW3tNU-UFmeZxIIt58Ig/s2048/Oaks5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1145" data-original-width="2048" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9VHuDl7JyTaPmWFMU86RqEVlbxlXKsrBqJDYD3EchH8aoGN8T1m4hfMOYO4-ERLlfLQ6erURIdGGEsVAkI0poh_w3Ge2ay9DX5aCwVAQgm9e4omTnyU1ui-9pqW3tNU-UFmeZxIIt58Ig/w400-h224/Oaks5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Six months after these illustrations aired on the LDS First Presidency Christmas Devotional, my dear friend Tricia died in a tragic bike crash. We have all felt our world turn upside down. I am so grateful that I took the opportunity to draw and paint her and her husband and daughter when I had the chance. We miss her so much. These pictures are so much more meaningful now, and the story means so much more to us now. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Even though our Father in Heaven knew {terrible things} were in store for His beloved Son, He, in His infinite love and wisdom, gave Him to the world. And the second part of this wondrous gift is that Christ, the Son, knowing, too, all this, gave Himself willingly <i>that we might have eternal life</i>."--Janice Jensen Barton, "The Christmas I Remember Best," Deseret News, December 24, 1988.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-3209448430603967902020-10-12T12:41:00.005-06:002020-10-12T12:42:04.375-06:00George Among the Trees<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHi8rV7qpdIss1LVf5vW8X_fcmDkn9eOcxDH_4OQ7NBU1cZNwy6YveMMgEMWAGZBODhyVpJamSdZujeS79coK78egPjUzVqbnb92Thnk6jxrQVz6l9vONFOutHjtm7ydXAupowbjSJBq_/s2048/George+Amid+the+Trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHi8rV7qpdIss1LVf5vW8X_fcmDkn9eOcxDH_4OQ7NBU1cZNwy6YveMMgEMWAGZBODhyVpJamSdZujeS79coK78egPjUzVqbnb92Thnk6jxrQVz6l9vONFOutHjtm7ydXAupowbjSJBq_/w640-h360/George+Amid+the+Trees.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;">According to popular legend, an officer in the Revolutionary War once directed his men to fell some trees and construct a much-needed bridge. As the soldiers struggled mightily with the task, an imposing-looking man rode up and, observing their work, said to the officer, “You don’t have enough men for the job, do you?”</span></div></div></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">“No,” the officer replied. “We need some help.”</span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The man, looking down from his saddle, asked, “Why don’t you help your men?”</span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Me?” the officer responded in a huff. “Why, I am a corporal!”</span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The man got down from his horse and worked with the soldiers until the bridge was completed. Then, mounting his horse, he said to the officer, “Corporal, the next time you have a job to put through and too few men to do it you had better send for the Commander-in-Chief, and I will come again.”</span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The man, so the legend goes, was General George Washington." --Heidi Swinton</span></p><br /></div><br /><br /></div><p><br /> </p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-52944641707546989312020-10-12T12:35:00.000-06:002020-10-12T12:35:12.913-06:00Set Free<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh6FZnyarbtPzGYcW_M8o-7kN83vZ7FnThSIy1i85JFmPI5Kuvgr6EcJbWsJrGp3pFITyv17wWpyjCmr3ek5oPvqpGPR2eUcy_rR7EI2rjuke3E4WMlHdvJjiPNUIhS24GARzSUOhMiIf9/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh6FZnyarbtPzGYcW_M8o-7kN83vZ7FnThSIy1i85JFmPI5Kuvgr6EcJbWsJrGp3pFITyv17wWpyjCmr3ek5oPvqpGPR2eUcy_rR7EI2rjuke3E4WMlHdvJjiPNUIhS24GARzSUOhMiIf9/w640-h360/BirdinHouse.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPKJ-qAK7WTsDf4mLciMpeeeGDr6bITqUzgmw_YNlL9k2-OHWCQP9E9ULraPh4kyhQlXkgjbg33gQJyT5zkyEDoArKgNuudM09OgY9aZ3JTqFRE0RHK3X7zqUMPqMDs0QCzsw81XQNrsst/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPKJ-qAK7WTsDf4mLciMpeeeGDr6bITqUzgmw_YNlL9k2-OHWCQP9E9ULraPh4kyhQlXkgjbg33gQJyT5zkyEDoArKgNuudM09OgY9aZ3JTqFRE0RHK3X7zqUMPqMDs0QCzsw81XQNrsst/w640-h360/Bird-Door.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A bird flew into a house one day, and as much as the family tried coaxing it out, it just kept retreating into the house further and further. Finally, their son had an idea. He turned off all the lights in the house, opened the front door, and turned on the porch light. The bird found its way out! </div><p></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">"Have you ever felt like that bird? Have you ever felt trapped in your circumstances—as though you had exhausted all your options and there was no way out? Then the message of Easter is for you. Easter is a celebration of the Light of the World, who shines in the darkness to show the way to freedom. He sets the captives free. He gives hope to the disheartened and peace to the weary. He provides a way for us to live more abundantly now and everlastingly hereafter. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left; text-indent: 36px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">The message of Easter is a message of freedom: victory over death, freedom from doubt and despair, and the bright light of hope—hope that good will ultimately conquer evil, that all wrongs will be righted, and that we will be set free to live again."--Lloyd Newell</span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"> </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px;"><span style="font-family: -webkit-standard; font-size: medium;">I was very grateful to my friends the </span></span>Minson for posing for this photo shoot, and that I was able to use my own son in the picture! They had plenty of children to use, but I needed a boy to fit the story, and the Minson family was made up of seven daughters!</p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></p></div><p><br /><br /></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-88578271285796321472020-10-12T12:28:00.005-06:002020-10-12T12:28:57.322-06:00Grow Together<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiArxmtRBzNJ_Mu6H231QKXtkI9hGI_fMmJLiLKTSGq72cEb7eJp9t58YgEsV_Lgx9RqnssmogY0iqIa8RHU4Og8sybjnI7o9yVNZE2I9xgz5ygLB5KQGsAxZTUa9knUQmHnQ679TA7uYu/s2048/Loggers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiArxmtRBzNJ_Mu6H231QKXtkI9hGI_fMmJLiLKTSGq72cEb7eJp9t58YgEsV_Lgx9RqnssmogY0iqIa8RHU4Og8sybjnI7o9yVNZE2I9xgz5ygLB5KQGsAxZTUa9knUQmHnQ679TA7uYu/w640-h360/Loggers.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is a story of a logger and his nephew, chopping wood for lumber. The nephew noticed a tall tree standing by itself and said they should chop it down for good lumber. His uncle explained that, when a tree grows all by itself, it has too many branches that cause too many knots, and it is not useful for lumber. Similarly, we need to "grow together" to become our best selves.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I asked a father and his son to pose for me for this painting. Since then, I have come to know and love them--I have taught the son in cub scouts, and the father has become part of our bishopric. I am grateful to them for letting me use them as models.</div><br /><p></p>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-42765517914034599962016-07-30T12:57:00.002-06:002020-10-12T12:35:59.699-06:00Willie Handcart StormI have been able to paint most of the pioneer messages for the choir broadcast over the last nine years. This year, the story was about the Willie handcart company. They endured terrible hardships as they traveled across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley.<br />
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According to the story from Betsey Smith Goodwin's journal, <span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; -webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I will not dwell upon the hardships we endured, nor the hunger and cold, but I like to tell of the goodness of God unto us.” She recounts one day that especially stood out in her memory. The wind blew fiercely. The dark clouds were ominous and threatening. The approaching storm was so violent, the thunder and lightning so frightening, that even the ox teams refused to take another step. The group’s captain stood in the middle of the road, took off his hat, and bowed his head. Soon other members of the company joined him in bowing their heads and removing their hats, until 100 carts had gathered around the captain, who said, “Let us pray.” Betsey remembers that as he poured his heart out in prayer, heaven felt close. The clouds then parted, and the company pressed forward with faith until they reached camp and pitched their tents—just before the storm clouds finally burst open with torrents of rain.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0PJ7B4kaEOyfLORCCl2TgRuhYd0wN_4rksMijQNEz16L_HiJAKMQQ3ruLhVUxl8OtN2e3NALEU4Rti74UM5PckOL_ljsghxnNWqxV1gF7Ph0aJ9HStSelemEwQVUVq4WKXFIhshvMm1Sb/s1600/Willie+Handcart+8x10.jpg"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0PJ7B4kaEOyfLORCCl2TgRuhYd0wN_4rksMijQNEz16L_HiJAKMQQ3ruLhVUxl8OtN2e3NALEU4Rti74UM5PckOL_ljsghxnNWqxV1gF7Ph0aJ9HStSelemEwQVUVq4WKXFIhshvMm1Sb/w640-h512/Willie+Handcart+8x10.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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I had to finish this painting early in order to go on a family vacation, and the scope of the painting was pretty daunting--100 handcarts and all their families!? With my husband's help, I decided on this rocky landscape, and to zoom in to about 30 people. I happened to learn that a friend of ours had a handcart, which we borrowed and set up in several different positions, and had my sister's family and a neighbor family who were heading off to trek soon as models. Thank you, Ericksons and Gillmans! The finishing of this painting was a blessing and result of a lot of prayer.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-50924408278471074202016-07-30T12:50:00.002-06:002016-07-30T12:50:26.217-06:00Somebody's MotherI got to do another Mother's Day painting in 2016. Even though it was early May, and quite warm, my models were kind enough to dress in heavy coats, gloves and scarves, and make it look like winter, while posing on the street corner. Thanks David and RaeMi! David also had to show up to model right after being in a car accident! I have the sweetest models ever!<br />
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<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">The woman was old and ragged and gray</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">And bent with the chill of the Winter’s day. . . .</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">She stood at the crossing and waited long,</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Alone, uncared for, amid the throng</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Of human beings who passed her by</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUa68IsyzQqK9_M3AwUUh64VyrUAn-dgGGB9FYwEJXCZo_6kJ_QHyj4szs9SzU-PrWS-ZnkZKQNNdI9ENXazS6JmkJQNzBhtpf8SdpnKw9oz2TQUM7AC68_cjawyueq4LJXKhU7fE6q0Gq/s1600/8x10+Mother+%25231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUa68IsyzQqK9_M3AwUUh64VyrUAn-dgGGB9FYwEJXCZo_6kJ_QHyj4szs9SzU-PrWS-ZnkZKQNNdI9ENXazS6JmkJQNzBhtpf8SdpnKw9oz2TQUM7AC68_cjawyueq4LJXKhU7fE6q0Gq/s640/8x10+Mother+%25231.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Down the street, with laughter and shout,</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Glad in the freedom of “school let out,”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Came the boys like a flock of sheep,</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Hailing the snow piled white and deep. . . .</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">[One] paused beside her and whispered low,</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“I’ll help you cross, if you wish to go. . . .</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqE1fhjB0XKt65ta331tqA4QwvpUmsAwYxPMzvB4vWdVOHRRsK5s84cwWyOK6VDY0WxHGMhq6T7qyO2bAtZwmmMNRg1MP08iJHB5eUNfta7fCEBZfAsnXiBE_9Eo9ceM0EKq10S601SFQL/s1600/8x10+Mother+%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqE1fhjB0XKt65ta331tqA4QwvpUmsAwYxPMzvB4vWdVOHRRsK5s84cwWyOK6VDY0WxHGMhq6T7qyO2bAtZwmmMNRg1MP08iJHB5eUNfta7fCEBZfAsnXiBE_9Eo9ceM0EKq10S601SFQL/s640/8x10+Mother+%25232.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">For all she’s aged and poor and slow.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">“And I hope some fellow will lend a hand</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">To help my mother, you understand,</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">“If ever she’s poor and old and gray,</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">When her own dear boy is far away.”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">And “somebody’s mother” bowed low her head</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">In her home that night, and the prayer she said</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">Was, “God be kind to the noble boy,</span></div>
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<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Who is somebody’s son, and pride and joy!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-13484475572874246172016-07-30T12:42:00.001-06:002016-07-30T12:42:48.475-06:00Handel's MessiahGeorge Frideric Handel had a hard life. He was down on himself and wanting to give up when his friend, Charles Jennens, gave him a text he had prepared from Isaiah verses in the Bible about the Messiah. Handel set it to music and made one of the best, well-known musical pieces ever.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMlzC8rAL50xtRcMj3n2iPq9PWOoOD6hP4k2JCom2WCi3XEKDDJdOXfUVWdtttcyGOnX3drrNdukIqnnFKqVET14JJlaIFkuyaKmm1x2VGXasbfMJZj6kH0TX_RNge-74re1ZfubaRw5rJ/s1600/8x10+Handel.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMlzC8rAL50xtRcMj3n2iPq9PWOoOD6hP4k2JCom2WCi3XEKDDJdOXfUVWdtttcyGOnX3drrNdukIqnnFKqVET14JJlaIFkuyaKmm1x2VGXasbfMJZj6kH0TX_RNge-74re1ZfubaRw5rJ/s640/8x10+Handel.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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My brother-in-law Ryan and his son Cole were so kind to get all dressed up fancy and model for me on this job, and it was fun to learn that Cole's sister Natalie had just written a research paper on Handel, so she taught me a lot about this story as well.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-9191470306063413742016-07-30T12:40:00.000-06:002016-07-30T12:51:12.673-06:00Viktor Frankl's Search for Meaning<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Before Viktor Frankl became a renowned psychologist; before he survived a Nazi concentration camp; and before he wrote <i>Man’s Search for Meaning</i>, a bestselling book about his experiences; he was a high school student who thought deeply about life—more deeply than perhaps most teenagers do. One day his science teacher declared to the class, “Life is nothing more than a combustion process, a process of oxidation.” Young Viktor leaped from his chair and countered, “Sir, if this is so, then what can be the meaning of life?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiR4SwzKdBbCzaZpmHlMbut3H_aLyyve0OU-qHbqOj5ayEvZ6YvIC5XLo4vAJLTlI9q9Al_byJlTbKPENOTKNOat0DTkg0uagRQShftqXwhK1F5nXqWhfFVEVefaRMR90PUZx8PaEUCbY4/s1600/8x10+Frankl+Classroom.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiR4SwzKdBbCzaZpmHlMbut3H_aLyyve0OU-qHbqOj5ayEvZ6YvIC5XLo4vAJLTlI9q9Al_byJlTbKPENOTKNOat0DTkg0uagRQShftqXwhK1F5nXqWhfFVEVefaRMR90PUZx8PaEUCbY4/s640/8x10+Frankl+Classroom.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 8px; line-height: normal;"><sup><br /></sup></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; line-height: normal;"><sup>At the last minute, one of my models couldn't make it, and our location also fell through, so I was able to use my husband as the professor instead, and shot this in our kitchen. He's a great model, but I've used him a lot--you can look through the old paintings and see if you recognize him. Thanks to him, and to Brock for spending a few hours following me around while I tried working out new plans.</sup></span></div>
Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-64987666593140660422016-07-30T12:38:00.000-06:002016-07-30T12:38:30.924-06:00John Akhwari: Finish the RaceI was asked with just 24 turnaround time to sketch John Akhwari in the 1968 olympics. He was pushed and fell while running the marathon, injuring his shoulder and dislocating his knee, and had to use part of his shirt to bandage up his knee. He finished the race slowly, limping, and well over an hour after the winner. Most of the spectators had left. However, those who remained stood and applauded his finish in the dark. <br />
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When asked why he didn't just quit, he said, "My country did not send me 10,000 miles just to start the race. They sent me to finish the race."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKVZ_vbAVwreJsse8ua8Vq3tZjgftyL-XeU2rqYoQZ1MSLBvFg4soUG33L5bxdqsK14PaQLqPa8eBcMBhKF_MAz7fDIw5U7XU5XX7pARW_vD7al80f6TQnJt3Pug0qHIps1F60klLqB8aY/s1600/8x10+Akhwari.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKVZ_vbAVwreJsse8ua8Vq3tZjgftyL-XeU2rqYoQZ1MSLBvFg4soUG33L5bxdqsK14PaQLqPa8eBcMBhKF_MAz7fDIw5U7XU5XX7pARW_vD7al80f6TQnJt3Pug0qHIps1F60klLqB8aY/s640/8x10+Akhwari.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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I love the research these paintings require me to do. For this one, I had to watch old recordings of Akhwari and the news report. His story is so amazing and inspiring. It helps me to try harder to go on in tough situations.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-52902838410515287042016-07-30T12:21:00.001-06:002016-07-30T12:21:19.963-06:00The Grasshopper and the AntI'm sure you've heard the fable about the grasshopper and the ant. The ant is industrious all summer, storing up food for the winter, while the grasshopper spends his time playing, relaxing, and playing music. However, when the winter comes, the grasshopper is cold and starving, and asks for the mercy of the ant colony to feed and shelter him. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpWoreJSuksiEhH4ZduFVmglqUfWozHSgvqWRcTuKo7X-QoWOQ3oV7uiY2IzhrxjOYZnfRsVp1OtlP1G9DKbBz927rwyK3q5BRvvkcl-F7mtIfmUWR__5teiGgeK5FzXsjkr6Y4xO2FX9/s1600/8x10+Grasshopper+and+Ant.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpWoreJSuksiEhH4ZduFVmglqUfWozHSgvqWRcTuKo7X-QoWOQ3oV7uiY2IzhrxjOYZnfRsVp1OtlP1G9DKbBz927rwyK3q5BRvvkcl-F7mtIfmUWR__5teiGgeK5FzXsjkr6Y4xO2FX9/s640/8x10+Grasshopper+and+Ant.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
I absolutely loved painting this. It was great fun to use bright colors and forced perspective, as well as having the opportunity to use my cartoon-style pen and watercolor. I even broke out the Dr. Martin dyes to boost the colors. I have this hanging on my bedroom wall right now.<br />
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<br />Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-91000186869220591582016-07-30T12:16:00.001-06:002016-07-30T12:16:33.253-06:00Colemans in the 1970sI painted this based on a story about the announcer, Lloyd Newell, from the 1970s. I took the opportunity to paint my own family. I was born in 1977, so this would have been about 1978. I am the baby sitting in my mom's lap. All the furnishings, wall coverings, and decorations are based on my home at that time, and I found pictures of each of my siblings and parents from then as well, then fit them together into this picture. My dad painted the two-paneled picture and made the pot. Apparently the father from the story had a bunch of scriptures and quotes written on a big piece of cardboard, and they would read them together for family nights. While that is not what we did, we had regular family home evening, and I'm sure there was a time when my dad would bring out a poster or a drawing, since he was an art teacher.<br />
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Unfortunately, this painting never aired--we never learned why.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlRMXq3GVRID9S5GzfCjXT6vPR8mZF5oHP5RsxSIOb3arss377C1_eb3iENJl1yMmNCF2IW5QdVuWA_tShTopqoDLFwk19ILXAFN2zZrmnbQcAfV0kKlWiOoOjkmjX7ixs6wOuG-U0Q4L/s1600/8x10+70s+Colemans.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlRMXq3GVRID9S5GzfCjXT6vPR8mZF5oHP5RsxSIOb3arss377C1_eb3iENJl1yMmNCF2IW5QdVuWA_tShTopqoDLFwk19ILXAFN2zZrmnbQcAfV0kKlWiOoOjkmjX7ixs6wOuG-U0Q4L/s640/8x10+70s+Colemans.jpg" width="640" /></a>Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-56097348309923935752016-07-30T12:00:00.000-06:002016-07-30T12:00:08.438-06:00Dancing PioneersFor the 2015 Pioneer Day message, I had the privilege of painting this illustration. Margaret Judd, who was 17 when she trekked across the plains as a pioneer in the 1800s, said, "Our journey was like all such journeys--it had its pleasant side, and its unpleasant side. When the sun was shining and the roads were good, we trotted along feeling that we would soon be at our destination, but when the rain poured down and the roads were so bad that we could not travel--then that was the other side." However, they found ways to lift their spirits. Catherine Adams, who turned 12 during her pioneer trek, described it this way: "It was terribly tiring and tedious in the hot and rainy weather. . . We had many good times, though. In the evenings after the horses were tethered the men would light a big bonfire, clear off a level piece of ground, dampen it down to pack it a bit, and have a dance. There were some fine musicians along who played the fiddle, [harmonica], and accordion, and we used to e enjoy sitting around the fire listening to them or having a sing-song."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjm5l5VQsLVTm6dUjxImq5TbS_pU0Vr9NKE8e1aor8PNvUCj6A33eJtcItBT0pzl9FfG1fBZKziBTr9K4HW3cpPZiqzMwL8VirsJWI7akmzFEcY1znrQWmNzsesjEM3zP4phpEX06LwG_a/s1600/8x10+Dancing+Pioneers.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjm5l5VQsLVTm6dUjxImq5TbS_pU0Vr9NKE8e1aor8PNvUCj6A33eJtcItBT0pzl9FfG1fBZKziBTr9K4HW3cpPZiqzMwL8VirsJWI7akmzFEcY1znrQWmNzsesjEM3zP4phpEX06LwG_a/s640/8x10+Dancing+Pioneers.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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I used several pictures of modern-day teenagers on trek for this one. It was a trick to get the lighting right, with several pictures with different lighting to start, but I think it turned out OK in the end. I really wanted a dramatic bonfire, and some nice glowing contrast to the pioneers. I enjoyed painting the flickering lights along the water-soaked ground.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4006921109535483645.post-31354837751668828572016-07-30T10:43:00.002-06:002019-11-18T11:51:16.445-07:00World War I Nurse<br />
This happened to be a Mother's Day painting I did for the tabernacle choir broadcast. Right after World War I ended, a soldier who made it through the entire war without injury, but died of pneumonia. The American Red Cross nurse at the hospital sent a letter to the soldier's mother, wanting to share more about her son than just a cold record of his death.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWzCWhqciMigCg0yzHNpPvrjgNMbkpqXbZYPUikslinGDEmUHGRXqbLX1WrML7VZZWCAKFVArIh1nF1CZgQ4hOJtMJ6DL21i0v3wUOKdjXEGbqkRWUoQdnYNpZYZRdQzOdxe7cUz_UyRhz/s1600/4x5+Nurse1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1500" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWzCWhqciMigCg0yzHNpPvrjgNMbkpqXbZYPUikslinGDEmUHGRXqbLX1WrML7VZZWCAKFVArIh1nF1CZgQ4hOJtMJ6DL21i0v3wUOKdjXEGbqkRWUoQdnYNpZYZRdQzOdxe7cUz_UyRhz/s640/4x5+Nurse1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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"He was brave and cheerful, and made a good fight with the disease," until he was too weak to go on. Now he "sleeps under a simple white wooden cross among his comrades who, like him, have died for their country. I enclose a few leaves from the grass that grows near in a pretty meadow."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIYDkiywPbl7x2SVFz4KhVnSEyRUxDPfey5BVVzrnVqWDkT1JdQPaEestdEufjiI6Djrcdy9POkz-hm9KHdcFjI_cpSRmhmjjnGR-Cb0p1cZVD528YzyR_L_O1JEjwKvt6w5B6N-Q3H0s/s1600/4x5+Nurse2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1500" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIYDkiywPbl7x2SVFz4KhVnSEyRUxDPfey5BVVzrnVqWDkT1JdQPaEestdEufjiI6Djrcdy9POkz-hm9KHdcFjI_cpSRmhmjjnGR-Cb0p1cZVD528YzyR_L_O1JEjwKvt6w5B6N-Q3H0s/s640/4x5+Nurse2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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My high school friend Heather was so willing and excited to pose for me and be the nurse, even putting on the costume including the Krispy Kreme hat after teaching zumba one day. I was glad the two paintings came together.Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15569905771795193030noreply@blogger.com0