You were born with potential.
You were born with goodness and trust. You were born with ideals and dreams. You were born with greatness.
You were born with wings.
You are not meant for crawling, so don't.
You have wings.
Learn to use them and fly."
— Rumi

Oh, look. An Angel in progress 12x16” oil in panel. Sunday thoughts after a long week as a nurse practitioner** I hate crowds.
In fact, so much so, that when a yoga class is full, and the teacher sees me on the schedule they give me a fair warning before I even enter.
But here’s what I’ve learned.
There are times I don’t mind those crowds. Particularly on bad weeks where I’ve seen how awful people can be to themselves and each other.
Why? Because in that room, I’m reminded every single human has the capacity for grace. And stillness. And patience for themselves and others. 

This is also why I NEVER EVER go into the locker room.
Despite all the signs that say ‘no phones’
In any studio,
Immediately after class, I see people race to their pockets and bags and retrieve their devices feigning after whatever notifications they might have missed.

So I skip it. I roll up my mat in the room, sling that towel around my neck and bring that tender reminder back to my studio.
* (Half the week I work full time as an ARNP, the other half I’ve committed to this artist life and the things that make me happy to be alive, running, yoga, being with my chosen family and studio gremlin who owns me etc)​

I initially wrote this September 28th, 2022;  I wasn't ready to share with all of you at the time.  The ink sketches are from inktober 2020, I inked a full month in rabbit theme. Little did I know how foretelling the imagery of the rabbit with the boots would be for the daily theme "Shoes".
I tell this to any one who looks over my sketchbooks, these are not simple doodles. 
These are blue prints.
​----
“Stop shrinking yourself to make room for other people’s magic.
You are wondrous.
Take up space.”- @inspiredtowrite


When I was a little girl one of my favorite books was illustrations full of mice who wore clothes and lived in a boot. 
I loved that book. Every page was so detailed and the mice were charming as heck in their big family.
I’ve been following the tiny creech who have recently shown up in force in the studio. 
I thought they might be new characters in my story.
But the farther I go the more I realize they are not new at all. They have been here all along. 


 It took me all the way back here. And right now my current work, albeit mostly tiny studies right now, feels like coming home to myself. 
Hang with me — but remember the boot, the home of the tiny mice. 


Fashion is not my thing. 
I’m a minimalist, I have a wardrobe that fits in a drawer. And a metric ton of running sneakers.
I needed an ‘outfit’ to wear to these art show receptions for shows. Something just a bit more ‘formal’-ish than my usual go to of joggers and paint stained Ugg slippers. 


So I saw these vegan Doc Martin boots. They were perfect. They were in the shape of that boot from that book with the tiny mice. 
….But, they were absurdly out of this world more money than I’d ever spend on shoes.
I only would wear them, what, 5-6 times per year?
Meh. I waffled on the purchase. 
I bought a different pair that was far less expensive, but weren’t quite right by anyone’s opinion (thanks fam, good looking out). Sigh. So it goes.


I didn’t show up for that little girl this week- the kid who read books about mice who lived in a boot. 


I bailed on two art receptions recently. I had good excuses: a migraine, or I was working, or those new boots weren’t ‘it.’


I could pretend these reasons justified not showing up and standing in front of my art work in public.
This is still a struggle, it’s uncomfy but I know it’s a necessary part of ‘being an artist’,


When I started this account in 2020, I made a commitment to myself. I want my art work to be seen,  I don’t want to be the artist who hides in their studio, painting her life away.


I forgot to show up for myself. Forgot to show up for the little girl who quit playing piano after her first solo recital. 
Forgot to show up for the girl who hid behind her mom, afraid to be seen. Afraid to wear real pants that weren’t overalls because she was afraid regular paints would fall down. Afraid to spell the last word in the spelling bee properly because then it would be just me and one other kid (I intentionally miss-spelled toothache to get out of this speaking in public situation. ‘tootha-c-k’ actually created far more humiliation for me later on)
Afraid to speak and be heard.
Afraid to embrace being a ‘tomboy’ and not a ‘girly girl’- preferring to spend time with the boys instead of the girls. I got bullied a lot for my alternative fashion choices by these girls later on in grade school, anyway.


Fast forward to present day: 
That girl who is now afraid to share and proudly stand by 33 years of a life spent painting the creatures she adores.


That girl who has dozens of sketchbooks filled cover to cover. That’s the thing about sketch books. They can close. You can hide everything in a sketch book.


Sketchbooks are safe.
Paintings in the studio are safe. 
But that’s not where paintings belong.


I’m not here to stay safe.
I’m here to get scared.
To feel the fear
…and understand, it’s okay to be afraid. 


Don’t be afraid of being seen.
Don’t be afraid of being heard.
Make noise.
Take up space.
Stand tall. 
Buy the fucking boots.
Stomp around in em’.






The boots are important. They make me a tall person, well, taller , than I really am. This helps me get into character and step out of the studio. 
I think ‘Aliza and Her Monsters’ is a little girl trying to be very big and brave.
The boots help.


I want to be tall and not afraid to be seen.
I want my voice to be heard.
I don’t want to be scared to make noise.


I bailed on two art shows and this felt like I took a giant step backward on this art journey. 
There was a tiny creech screaming ‘Just get the fucking boots. It’s not about the boots. But the boots are where the little mouses came from.. in that childhood storybook. 


I’m here to get uncomfy. I’m going to wear the boots and tell my story.
…and I hope you find the courage to tell your own.


“My optimism wears heavy boots and is loud.”― Henry Rollins


Get. The. Damn. Boots.

Flight School: Feet First, oil on panel, 24x12"

Bradley_Rautenbach (IG) 's brilliant photo "A Jackal Chasing Vultures." Photo : Bradley Rautenbach Photography ​

Artists find inspiration everywhere. I often find it comes most unexpectedly, sometimes like a storm, sometimes like a slow trickle that builds to a stream, then a river, and before I know it I'm drowning in an ocean and there's swimming polar bears everywhere.
If you know, you know.
Anyway, it was a sunny day in Seattle but believe me, a storm hit.
I have a folder of references called "jackal bois" I've been assembling for weeks now. IG has been doing the most putting out wild life photos in my explore feed lately. Today, I misread a caption on a brilliant photo of a jackal in dire pursuit of a vulture. "A jackal chasing virtues" was certainly a departure from the 'Jackal Chasing Vultures" that Bradley Rautenbach titled it. But , it was too late. By the time I realized my mistake, the lightning already struck. I can't wait to capture this bolt.
What are you chasing?
What are you willing to do? How far? How high? How long will you go in pursuit of it?
And, when you get it, will your journey have been worth your effort?
Or will you arrive,
only to find the goal post moved another 10 feet?
​

“Aliza… you were born in Everett.” My mom said, trying not to laugh while also looking moderately puzzled.
From the age of 6 until I was 12 I remember telling people I was born in California. I have no idea why I thought this was true, but it wasn’t until my mom read over one of my school forms  she discovered my mistaken identity.
I’ve never felt like I belonged to where I was from. I was born and raised on a tiny island you’ve probably never heard of about 40 minutes and 30 years away from the city of Seattle.
A misfit:
Born on an island, yet I can’t swim and I’m terrified of vast open waters.
But I enjoy running in the mountains that are about 2 hours away. Scrambles with exposure bring me to my knees, though.
No matter where I am, there is an element of ever-present fear.
It shows up in my work, in the form of bears and bunnies. Bears, the threat. Bunnies, the fearful, always trying to stay a step ahead of that bear.


It shows up in other ways, too.
I am easily bored by traditional landscapes, florals, portraits. I might be the only painter alive who doesn’t believe in a still life.
I want to capture the aliveness I feel when I’m at the easel. Give me movement, give me motion dazzle.


Yet, here I am, still.
Still life, quick heart.


While I’ve never felt rooted, I remain.
Even though I know I am solar-powered and struggle through every long dark winter here, I remain.
It’s not that I like being miserable.
It’s not that I like the rain or the cold.
I know that when I away from the sea or when I can’t see the mountains I feel unsettled.
And so I stay.


I paint my way through the place in my heart where it is always winter and the night seems like it will last forever.
Because, you’re here.


I have learned that we cannot choose who we love in this world.
I have learned you cannot trade your love for someone to love you back.


I have learned that there is a tiny keyhole in my chest and if you unlock it, paint and canvas and brushes fall out.


I have learned that there is a little girl with a paintbrush in my heart, and she has painted thousands of foxes about you and only you.


Be where your feet are.

Everytime I mention I sit on my tall kitchen garbage can with a pillow on top to cushion my finely sculpted posterior, my dad is somewhere in this world shaking his head.
It was time. I've been having a lot of joint pains lately - mostly not related to painted but certainly not alleviated by hours on my current throne fit for Oscar the Grouch.
I said I'd only upgrade if my perfect criteria were met, price didn't matter. If it didn't hit every single mark, it wasn't coming in this studio:
-Wheels
-Easily adjustable height
-Locking wheels, because, safety
-No arms
-Cushion af
-Attachment for sh*t I need to grab all the time (okay, didn't even know this was a thing until it was presented as an option)

My dad sent me about 4 links but was firm on the Vyper. And that's where I learned about all the extra add ons. And wow did I ever add onto this sucker. We took bets on how long he'd take to assemble this. I forgot to warn him I got the tray and side kick and locking castors.... he got started at 5, let's just say the garbage stool got another 2.5 hours of life while he was busy putting this baby together. 
It's perfect.
I never bring anything into the studio that will need replacing soon, so the investment? Totally worth it. My only misgiving was that I didn't customize the logo. I'll come up with something clever for that V I happily sit on now. 
If anyone needs a trash can.......
hmu. 

Tito, oil on canvas 20x16" . A special commission in progress.

I start with the eyes. That always makes them come to life and then I feel like they're monitoring the process start to finish. Speaking of starting things, during this piece I started listening to Ocean Vuong's "On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous" and it struck me for a few reasons: 1. Perhaps a dog's only fault is their short life spans. 2. immediately this book launches into the complicated life of monarch butterflies and our personal monsters and.. the narrator is nicknamed Little Dog... who happened to be the subject of my studio attentions for the duration of the book.
I felt like I was entering the twilight zone wielding my paintbrush. 
There are few things artists find more challenging than rendering hands, ears and... black animals. 
My advice? From someone who never went to art school, take it from me. A black dog is really not a black dog. If you look at the palette  I posted on my instagram story, black was actually completely absent. Ultramarine and Burnt umber will take you far enough into the darkness.

There are certainly pet portrait artists concerned with picking out every whisker but I leave that business to the laser jets. 

​If you want a painting?
There is always room on this easel for dog portrait commissions. 
Now that my solo show 'Pink Lions Paper Crowns' is up at Cole Gallery, I'm looking forward to getting back to personal projects.
I have several loose ends to revisit and then onto some really weird new adventures I've been dreaming about for far too long.

 

Runaway Foxes, VI: With Ghost
24x18" oil on panel, available at Cole Gallery as part of my August 2022 solo show Pink Lions Paper Crowns

There will be days you cannot run away.
There will be days you are more ghost than girl.
….


“Worthiness is not earned, it is claimed.” It finally clicked. A quote from a yoga teacher rocketed me back in time.
I packed this piece two days ago to go to Cole Gallery for my solo show, after painting it almost a year ago.
When the first 5 in the Runaway Fox series left my studio, for the Vulpine Tap Room, my walls were missing them, but not as much as I was I was.
So I painted No. 6.
And it wasn’t working.


What do we do when a painting isn’t working?
I say it all the time:
We kill our darlings.
We paint over the parts that we loved because maybe that tiny corner isn’t serving the whole composition.
I did a lousy job painting over it.


Whatever. Onward. I’d fix it later.
Then, two foxes came racing, one after the other, bounding across the studio shouldering the ghost fox on the panel.
They boldly took their final poses. One flying high, the other, crash landing. Up. Down. And they didn’t frighten at the sight of the ghost who came before.


I learned many hard lessons from this year of incredible injury: a broken shoulder in the summer, a severe contusion to my sternum/clavicle that made breathing painful for months this winter, and most recently, a wildly painful ankle injury I have no explanation for.


As a marathoner, you see it all the time: people tied up in their PRs, FKTs, Ultrasignup ranks, defining themselves by their ability to run far and fast.
I was that way too, except I was using running to escape and numb what was too hard to confront in the moment. To outrun what I’ve spoken about as ‘bear days’.
I’ve learned over this year of doubt and pain that injury never took running away from me: I had mistakenly tied up self worth and identity in this activity.


You are so much more than what you can do, or used to be able to do.


There will be days you cannot run away.
There will be days you are more ghost than girl.


And now I understand what I was painting was about so long ago.

Little Wonders III: A Song to Sing in the Dark
16x12”
SOLD, before the piece is even finished 🔴
Hey @horijefe
I wrote this song about you.


I’ve spoken about Jeff before, he’s a musician & owner of @hiddenhandtattoo. He’s not just any tat artist. I call him the “grand daddy of the Seattle tattoo scene” - Find anyone who would disagree, I’ll wait.
To cut a long story short, as fate would have it, years ago I found myself under the needle of Jeff who brought the tiger on my leg to life I needed to see. Every. Day.
He even threw in some cherry blossoms, free hand. You wanna talk about trust??


Years later, I had visions for a sleeve telling the story of my life, with all the totems and important people who have become part of the 30+ year long chapters.


I wouldn’t trust anyone other than Jeff with this task:


A fox at my wrist gazing up at the moon, following a blaze of giant monarch butterflies, leading the way up to the mountains, into the crescent moon light on my shoulder… encountering a forest, marigolds and yes, even a unicorn on their journey toward the star-lit sky.


In my work, monarchs are fluttering beacons of hope in this sometimes dark world. Hope flutters in the dark.
That’s also where it begins.


When I heard Jeff has to battle stage 4 cancer, seeing my leg, my sleeve, he has been top of mind every day since. I learned a lot from Jeff, he is one of the only people outside my immediate family to see this journey of sharing my art from the onset. Always supportive and encouraging. Celebrating all the moments along the way.


I painted this piece as a tribute- half of the sale is being directly donated to his gofundme which you can find in his bio @horijefe .
Prints will be available in a few weeks with every sale above cost to print & ship being donated directly as well.


I’ll speak more on it when this is final. I wanted to share today as the original has just sold and I finally got to share it with Jeff.

Story time :
A coworker mentioned showing up an hour early on accident forgetting it wasnt Monday hours yesterday.


I told them I had once taken a day off in advance and accidentally showed up to work, they were like “clearly you didn’t have anything big planned.”


I don’t think parents understand me and my need to have a random day off without an agenda or obligation.
I suspect creatives might understand this.
Or maybe it’s just one of my quirks.


This morning it came to my attention that *I* don’t understand parents of human children. Check this out.
I was listening to the radio-  1 06.1FM,Jubil was taking advice on the confession line which I don’t normally pay any attention to but for some reason this caught mine because I was jamming out to  the song they were playing right before the talk segment. Anyway, this dad is on the line with a confession and a hack about how to take your child’s sass away here’s what he did. She was 9 years old and a serious Minecraft player , I’m no gamer. I played N64, we had mariokart growing up. Just mariokart. Anyway, while messing with his daughters phone, he accidentally deleted  3 worlds from her game. She was devastated. Instead of apologizing and taking responsibility for doing this himself- he takes the opportunity to tell his daughter, who has a bit of an attitude, that ‘sassy girls often have glitches in their computers …and that’s probably why it happened.’
The dad remarked this move worked  well: her behavior was swiftly checked for a few days.
I cannot with this!
My take? However you feel right now, you gotta know,
is an appropriate response to this world.


😂 It reminded me of my Royal Foxes shining those Savage Crowns.


“👑🦊 You’re like a little wild thing that was never sent to school. -M O


He’s a little moody. I think all of us has a little bit of the Royal in them… some are just a little better medicated, that’s all 😆.”




Mood and monsters, FOREVER!!!!✊






Tl;dr :However you’re feeling, right now is an appropriate response to this world. Don’t fall for toxic positivity. Everyone will always tell you to be happy. Part of my purpose in sharing my work and thoughts is advocating to normalize  the emotional spectrum. You’re a human. You’re entitled to the full range. It’s a package deal.

All I Need X 24x18” oil on panel

There are a hundred paths through the world that are easier than loving. 
But, who wants easier?
Mary Oliver

Part of my show next month @colegallery . Can’t wait to tell these stories.
You can pre purchase a few of these directly from colegallery.net 
Pink Lions Paper Crowns, August 2022❤️
​

New Tricks. Oil on panel 12x9”. 
SOLD 🔴 before the paint even dries
to a wonderful collector
🦊
I have learned that we cannot choose who we love in this world. 
I have learned you cannot trade your love for someone to love you back.

I have learned that there is a tiny keyhole in my chest and if you unlock it, paint and canvas and brushes fall out.

I have learned that there is a little girl with a paintbrush in my heart, and she has painted thousands of foxes about you.

I tried to tell you how much you mean to me
But all that came out was this painting.

And I hope you know,
It’s the lyrics to all your favorite songs.
And the words to all your favorite poems.
This is how I can tell you everything I don’t know how to say.

Learned some new tricks (and a whole new palette) in a workshop by @jen_art at @whidbeyislandfas last weekend finally got to finishing it! 
If you ever get the chance to learn from her you better jump on it. Worth every 💵!
​