because life doesn’t fit in a file folder

LAST ZOOM SHOWS of 2020

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Dear All, I hope you will mark your calendars and consider shopping small this year. 

Join Me…

Tuesday, November 24 at 7pm EST

ZOOM HOLIDAY SHOPPING with RASJACOBSON #3

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/83008786022?pwd=eENmUTM5T0ZPemNudmV4by80WUdCUT09

Meeting ID: 830 0878 6022

Passcode: 601936

Saturday, December 5 at 9:30pm EST

ZOOM HOLIDAY SHOPPING with RASJACOBSON #4

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/82288358208?pwd=d3JjSVFhTW80TmptQ0RmSFRzejlCZz09

Meeting ID: 822 8835 8208

Passcode: 764507

Wednesday, December 9 at 7-9pm

ZOOM HOLIDAY SHOPPING with RASJACOBSON #5

https://us02web.zoom.us/j/81068054785?pwd=aWpHSFJHYk0wQXJrQ3NvdkN4ZUp2UT09

Meeting ID: 810 6805 4785

Passcode: 809157

Hope to see you online!

Thank you in advance for your support!

In Memory of My Sweetest Childhood Friend

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I first met Mary in Nursery School.

We were outside, standing at wooden easels that were taller than we were.

“Your tree is really good,” I said, pointing at her paper. She’d managed to draw a maple with yellow leaves that actually looked like leaves. There was even a squirrel inside a knotty bough.

Mary came over to consider my canvas. “Your tree doesn’t look real,” she said, “but I like it anyway.”

A lifelong friendship was forged.

Over the years, we performed in school plays together, stayed after school for roller-skating parties, attended carnivals and festivals and fairs. We loved singing in music class with Mr. Metz, and we were in the same reading group all the way through fifth grade. In middle school, we served numerous detentions together and rode the same late bus home; and while our closest friendship circles did not always overlap, we always remained devoted to each other.

Fun fact: Mary was my first kiss.

(And no it wasn’t like that.)

We were practicing for a boy we liked, so we helped each other ‘prepare,’ each of us offering extensive feedback on the other person’s technique.

We trusted each other and were honest with each other about everything.

Mary and I remained in touch long after we graduated from high school. We celebrated the births of each of our children, and when Facebook came around, she and I were among the first to sign on. We loved sharing stories and, later, photographs.

We went through difficult times together. Her divorce. Then mine. Loss. Injuries. Illnesses. We loved each other through it all and remained loyal to each other.

When Mary told me she was moving to North Carolina, I was devastated. Knowing she was just seventy miles down the Thruway was of of great comfort to me and, during her last few years in Syracuse, whenever I was visiting for an extended period of time, we would meet up, even briefly, for coffee and connection.

We would reminisce about the ’70s and ’80s, about how, whenever I stayed overnight at her house, we stayed up late, pressing our noses against the glass of her bedroom window, which overlooked the giant screen at the DeWitt Drive-In.

We had no business watching those movies, but we did. And we made up entire conversations about what we imagined the characters were saying.

To this day, I can’t watch Jaws without hearing Mary’s take on the voice of the shark.

“I’m biting off your leg!” she’d announce. “Chomp chomp chomp!”

Then we’d scream and remind each other that the severed limb drifting to the bottom of the ocean was just a special effect.

“It isn’t real,” she’d say. “It’s not real.”

Today, though, the scary thing is real.

And I hate it.

I don’t have any wise words.

I could rant about how COVID-19 isn’t a hoax.

That it took my friend, the sweetest, most loving and good person I have ever known.

In each of her roles — as wife, mother, sister, daughter, aunt, grandma — Mary was extraordinary. She was straight and she was gay and then she was straight again. She was an artist and a teacher and a friend and a Christian. She was the most inclusive, least judgmental person I have ever known.

Her love was big, and it knew no sexes or shades. She wasn’t about this side or that side.

Mary lived passionately and with great integrity every single day — which isn’t easy in a world where people judge you for being even the tiniest bit weird.

When she and Jerry were cleaning out their house before their move to North Carolina, Mary came to see me at my parents’ house. We laughed about how we used to dress up in matching white nightgowns and sing into our hairbrushes.

“I’m giving you all this crap,” she said, depositing four enormous bags of supplies into the trunk of my car.

“What am I supposed to do with all of this?” I asked her as I sifted through bags of ribbons and buttons and tissue paper.

“I don’t know,” she laughed. “But I know you’ll make something beautiful out of it.”

I’ll try, Mare. I’ll try.

But, honestly, I feel like someone just told me they have discontinued phthalo blue — and you know a painting isn’t worth a damn thing without a little phthalo in it.

XOXO

PS: The sky is purple and orange for you tonight.

BENZO CONNECT CALL via ZOOM ON 10/13

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It took many years from me to heal my brain after withdrawing too quickly from clonazepam, a powerful anti-anxiety drug.

How I wished there was someone I could see and talk to who had been through the experience!

I promised that if I ever got to the other side of this injury that I would do something to give back to those who are still struggling.

To that end, I am joining forces with Reverend Heather Elizabeth of Bye Bye Benzos, and the two of us will be co-facilitating a one-hour ZOOM call to talk about our stories as well as information about some of the modalities that helped us — and continue to help us — as we move through complicated trauma.

Participants may join with or without video at 11AM EST, but we must be able to see your real name. (People with “nicknames” will not be allowed into the call.)

Heather and I will join the meeting at 11:11AM EST.

The ZOOM call is 100% free, and there will be an opportunity for Q & A.

If you are interested in joining us, please go to Rasjacobson Art, LIKE my page & click GOING or INTERESTED and you will receive the link & the password on the morning of the event.

In the meantime, you can hear more about my story HERE and HERE & hear Heather’s story here HERE.

MINDING THE GAP

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YOU WILL HAVE YOUR REWARD is a 6×6 multimedia on a chubby canvas featuring acrylic paint & collage. All sides are finished. If you want her, click on her left eye.

Not too long ago, I went on a long walk with a stranger.

He was someone new, and I was excited to get to know him, so I asked a lot of questions.

He told me about his parents. His friends. How he fell off his path. His recovery. He cried, and I hugged him.

For a time we walked in silence and, after a while, I asked him one more question.

“Is there anything you’d like to know about me?”

He looked at me with confusion.  He was so baffled by the question he actually stopped walking.

“Not really,” he said.

That was our first and last walk.

• • •

This interaction was shocking for me because, as most of you know, I’m a connector.

I find other people endlessly fascinating, and I ask a lot of questions when I’m interested in someone or something.

But I like to have an exchange.

And I’m *really* missing the exchange these days.

I hunger for intimate conversation,  and I miss sitting across from and looking into another person’s eyes.

One of the ways that I share myself is by sharing my art, and the lack of festivals this year has been really tough.

Since COVID started, I’ve been making art in isolation.

To show you who I am.

So you can tell me who you are.

So we can have that exchange.

Sometimes the lack of exchange feels a little like when that guy — that stranger — had nothing to ask me.

To me, that response felt a lot like: ‘I don’t care about you.’

I am truly having to dig deep to mind that gap and ignore that stupid, stupid voice.

‘Cuz I *know* folks care about me, whether or not they buy my artwork.

• • •

If you are so inclined, please check out my latest offerings on my website. I’ve got new magnets, and I’m offering gift cards this year, including some cool bundles for the upcoming holidays — and I’m going to make some cute ornaments, too.  So stay tuned!

PS: My ZOOM ART CLASSES are going well, so if you’d like a private class or you’d prefer to work in a group, drop me a line or leave a comment & I’ll send you the details. I’d love to connect with you in this way.

• • •

What are you doing to stay mentally strong during these confusing times?

MASKED MAYHEM: A PANDEMIC FAUX PAS

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Before I enter my local FedEx, I put on my nondescript, surgical-grade hospital mask.

I’ve gotten so used to doing this, I hardly even think about it.

Inside the store, there is a short line and, while I wait, I take in my surroundings.

The blue countertops.

The blue walls.

The copy machines.

The banners.

I also notice that the guy behind the counter is a pretty good-looking dude.

(Y’know, from the eyes up and the shoulders down.)

Dave the FedEx Guy weighs my oversized envelope.

I tell him where specifically my artwork is going overseas and how much it’s valued at.

He tells me how much the shipping will cost. “By the way,” he says, “I like your pants.”

I can tell from the way that his eyes are crinkling up at the corners that he is smiling.

Is he flirting with me? I think.

“We need to sandwich the artwork between some chipboard,” Dave says. “You don’t want your artwork bent or punctured, do you?” He winks and walks away to get whatever it is that he says I need.

At the back of the store, Dave has a brief exchange with two of his coworkers. When he gestures in my direction, both of his coworkers look at me.

Now I’m sure of it.

Dave The FedEx Guy is totally talking about me.

Now I am actually nervous thinking that maybe this Dave guy might ask me out.

I had no idea how to date prior to March of 2020, and I definitely have no idea how to date during a pandemic.

Luckily, I don’t have to think about this for very long.

After packing up my art very professionally, Dave sets my envelope off to the side. “You’re all set,” he says. “Have a nice day!”

As I walk toward the door, I see one of Dave’s coworkers standing behind the tall, blue counter, motioning for me to come toward her.

Oooooh, I think. Dave probably asked her to get my phone number. 

I’m smiling behind my mask ‘cuz I know what’s coming.

Erica’s name-tag is on crooked. “So this is kinda awkward…,” she says.

I’m hardly listening to her because, mentally, I’m scanning the contents my purse.

I know where my business cards are.

I can give her one of those to give to him.

“Your mask is on inside out,” she says, pointing at my face. “And with the lipstick stains, it looks like you have a used maxi-pad on your face.”

Y’all… having a compete stranger tell you that you have what appears to be a USED sanitary napkin on your face is much worse than having toilet paper stuck on the bottom of your shoe.

Much worse than having something stuck between your teeth.

Much worse than having visible panty lines.

“I thought you might want to know,” Erica says.

In my car, I clobber myself with self-criticism.

(Here I am thinking some young, hot dude might be interested in me when — in reality — I’m just a silly old lady who put her mask on wrong.)

Back at home, before removing my mask, I snapped this picture.

For your enjoyment.

And now that particular piece of PPE can be found in my garage. . .

. . . in a bag

. . . at the bottom of my garbage can.

Oh, and I can never go back to that FedEx again.

At least not in those pants.

What masked mayhem have you witnessed? And what embarrassing stuff have YOU done since this pandemic started?

QUARANTINE WATERCOLOR ART

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FLY GIRL is an original 9×12 multimedia on 160-pound, cold-press watercolor paper, and she is looking for her forever home. Click on her left eye for information on how to make her yours.

Friends!

I’ve finally uploaded a whole bunch of new artwork to my website.

If you click on my new category, WATERCOLOR ART, you’ll see pieces I’ve created since March 6, 2020.

Since we’ve all been physically-distanced from each other.

For those of you who have been with me since 2014, you know I’ve moved through different stages with this art stuff.

First there were hearts.

Then monsters.

The the critters showed up.

Then the girlies were born.

And now my artwork is changing again.

There is an emphasis on lines and movement and connection.

Because I am sooooo missing connection!

As always, if you are looking for a special gift, please check out my website because now — in addition to magnets & prints & masonite tiles & original acrylic work — I am also offering affordable original watercolors.

And when you click over, you’ll notice that I have included the story of how each piece was created!

So that’s new, too!

I hope you are all safe and well.

And I hope to see you all very soon.

xoxoRASJ

GO HARD or GO GNOME

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A friend from college contacts me to tell me that my gnome paintings resonate with her. “I want one,” she tells me via Instagram.

I tell her I am flattered – and that there are several incarnations of my “punny” gnomes, each with its own saying.

You know.

Things like:

There’s GNOME place like home.

Make yourself at GNOME.

Take me GNOME, country road.

Oh, give me GNOME where the buffalo roam.

For the Buffalo Bills fan…who also likes gnomes.

The chickens have come GNOME to roost.

Boldly go where GNOME one has gone before.

For the Trekkie…who also likes gnomes.

(I could go on for hours, but you get the idea.)

Anyhoo, we go back and forth for a while – and while I’m waiting for her to respond to me, I sell three of the paintings.

Concerned that she won’t get the one she wants, I decide to send Lizzie a quick text.

‘People are snatching up all my gnomes. Which one do you want?’

I include several photos, including these.

and

An hour later, I receive a response.

‘You’ve got the wrong person, but those gnomes are cute. How much are they?’

Long story short, my friend got a new phone number last year.

(She forgot to tell me.)

But that wrong number text?

It turned into a sale to a complete stranger down in North Carolina.

How cool is THAT?

So while I doubt texting random wrong numbers will always result in sales, today’s ooooops moment was definitely something that deceased artist, Bob Ross, would have called a ‘happy accident.’

I’m often quick to focus on all the ways it seems the Universe is out to get me, but today I recognize that sometimes my mistakes work out to my benefit. Probably more than I realize.

Soooo what’s going right for you these days?

PS: If you’d like a gnome of your own, original paintings are $40 shipped anywhere in the continental USA.

The gnomes above currently reside in Florida, North Carolina, New York & Pennsylvania.

 

ZOOM ART CLASSES DURING COVID-19

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As you probably know, all festivals in New York State have been cancelled thru the end of July due to COVID-19, and I assume more cancellations will follow.

One thing I knew before COVID-19 that has become even more obvious during this weird time is that I really miss having daily contact with people in real life.

To cope with the isolation, I started painting LIVE on Facebook.

Having people watch & comment while I paint has been a lifeline for me, and so many people started following along with my lessons that I decided to offer individual & group online painting classes via ZOOM, which have been surprisingly enjoyable!

I’ve developed an eight session curriculum which includes:

BASIC COLOR STUDY (1 session)

BASIC FACES (1 session)

WHIMSICAL CRITTER (1 session)

WHIMSICAL HUMAN (2 sessions)

SQUIGGLE PAINTING (2 sessions)

COMBINING PAINTING WITH LETTERING (1 session)

And, once we get thru those lessons, we can continue to create together or you can go off-roading yourself!

Soooooooo if you are interested in:

• gifting a class to someone

• scheduling a class for yourself

• scheduling a ZOOM party/group gathering

 — all you have to do is respond to this post and we’ll figure something out.

(And, no, you don’t have to commit to all eight sessions. You can just try one and decide from there.)

Most classes are 1-hour, but I also offer ZOOM parties!

Email me for pricing & a recommended supply list.

This masterpiece was created by 6-year, Gavin, from Houston, Texas. PS: Those gray things are anteaters. Duh!

Finally, my WEBSITE is stocked, so click over to see if there’s anything you’d like to purchase.

And for free intermittent lessons FOLLOW ME on FACEBOOK.

Thank you so much for your continued support!

I’m so very grateful to each and every one of you!

xoxoRASJ

MY RECENT COVID-19 DYSTOPIAN DREAM

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COVID DREAM
While I don’t usually share my darker paintings, I have many. This one was painted after my most recent bad dream. It’s not for sale. If you’re interested in transforming your dreams into art, email me and we can talk about doing a ZOOM art class together.

From the moment lifestyle restrictions were deemed necessary in an attempt to “flatten” the infection curve associated with the COVID-19 virus, many people began reporting experiencing dystopian dreams.

I have suffered from nightmares for decades, and it is not unusual for me to awake in the middle of the night terrified.

I’m sharing a most recent dystopian nightmare here to maintain a record of what I’ve been dreaming about, and also as a way to encourage others to share their own scary dreams so that we can process them together.

In my dream:

I’m on the way to the Home Depot, to pick up a few small items — some wood trim and a big box of air filters for my furnace.

The parking lot is completely full, so I follow a red truck all the way to the back where there is one empty spot adjacent to a big, open field.

I mean to park alongside the field on the pavement, but I accidentally hit the gas and end up rolling onto the field.

But the field isn’t a field.

It’s a muddy bog — and my car immediately begins to sink.

In a moment, cold, heavy mud pours in from atop my open sunroof, burying me.

It’s dark and I can’t move or breathe.

I think of my parents and my son — and realize no one will even find me, lost in the bottom of this muddy bog.

 • • •

I wake, gasping for air, and unintentionally call out the name of someone who used to hold me when I had nightmares.

But he’s not here.

Where I used to turn to a partner for emotional support, now that I alive alone, I’ve had to learn strategies to calm myself after a night terror.

So I wrap my arms around myself and allow myself to feel the feelings: the fear, the sadness, the surrender, and finally the gratitude.

I am alive.

I am safe.

I’m doing the best I can do.

While many people believe dreams are meaningless, I know dreams are powerful medicine, evidence of the night mind trying to make sense of what the conscious mind cannot understand during the waking hours.

There is so much confusion right now.

So much change and so few answers.

So many conspiracy theories and so much cognitive dissonance

We’re being told this is our “new normal” and learning how to get comfortable being uncomfortable.

What kinds of weird dreams are YOU having during this pandemic?