no keyboards were smashed in the writing of this post…

the ART life

Every time too much time passes between posts, I wonder if I even remember how to log in.
I remembered.
And then when I get to this part of the post…I feel like I’m done. I just needed to get that off my chest. See, world! It was a while, but I still knew it. It happened with (some of) my times tables too. I still know what 9×9=
I’m just not going to tell you. Right now. But I will in a minute.
And, now that I have fearlessly gotten the first witty remark off my agenda, the dog starts to whine. She has to pee. And it’s been a while…so…naturally I wonder if I remember how to do this…

In a eyebrow-furrowing cross between guilt and love, I have just spent the last 30 seconds of my life outside. While I was out there, I decided to celebrate my little accomplishments. So I took a deep breath, and thought of all the things I still remember how to do. Remarkable.

I have been writing. Still remember how to do hand writing. On paper.
I have been painting, too. Just not daily. But still painting. Just not telling the world about it. Not necessarily because I want to, but mostly because it’s easier. Not to.

With new glorious involvements in my life, such as the ART life, my creative being has become so rich and full, that I have forgotten to remember that I can type words on my blog. So here is one to appease the giants.

Motivation? I met with a couple other writers tonight and thoroughly enjoyed the clashing of swords playing with each other, and I am feeling optimistic and hopeful. And was reminded that I had a blog. That I like.

(It equals 81.)

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“the SOUND of healing”


[Will be available at the Crystal Gala silent auction fundraiser for breast cancer research, October 18, 2014.]

I actually didn’t know I had this in me…but when it came out, there was a sense of relief and joy so full it only made sense that it had actually been there all along. You see, my mom had breast cancer. Twice. And now that she is on the mend again, there is a different side of cancer journey that I am experiencing alongside her: it is the sound of healing.

I have done the violent “FIGHTER” painting to depict the strength it takes to endure the process, but this was equally as needed. There is hope.

I realize that not everyone who has cancer gets to experience this side of the journey, but all hope for it. And I think if it had a sound, this is what it would sound like…

Dance like light, where joy belongs
The paths ahead make different songs
The life inside, a gift to cherish
Beauty and hope will never perish

Music on Canvas
By Misty Bedwell

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“pursuing you”

Every time feels like the first time.

In a way, it was a first. This was the first work that came out of my new studio, so I am feeling sentimental about it. I find myself wishing I could keep it around for a little while longer, but it will be going to its new home in a few short weeks.

In my new studio, there is a tiny rounded patio, only for the purpose of romance in my opinion…because I swing open the doors while I paint and push the music and inspiration outside with my brush and voice.

The title for this painting came out in a moment just like that. I sang. I painted. And I was moved to tears, so now I am eagerly preparing the special message for the new owner.

At this time, it seems, the dragonfly is able to communicate something that is inside of me that needs to be expressed. And there is more on its way. More dragonflies, more paintings, more people…I nod my head in understanding something I cannot yet see.

Two years. That is how long most species of dragonfly spend in the “preparation stage” for life: a stage that ends in only a few short months of flying. But that ability to fly is full developed, expert, complete with the ability to catch their prey in mid-air with their feet. How do they do that? Well, nearly all of the dragonfly’s head is made up of eye…so their vision enables them to see every angle, except for behind them.

I want to live like that.

“Then God said, ‘Let the waters swarm with fish and other life. Let the skies be filled with birds of every kind.'” [Genesis 1:20]


24×36″ Mixed medium on canvas
by Misty Bedwell

>This blank canvas was generously donated by Tony Mayo…love it when artists believe in other artists. Please check out his website. Send me a message if you want in on the fun too 🙂

>This painting will be available at the After Dark Gala at The Abbotsford Reach on September 13, 2014 with 100% of the proceeds going to The Reach to further the community of art in Abbotsford.

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Glow bugs in my heart’s jar

I traveled to Redding, CA this summer in the middle of the moving chaos that was going on at home. The decision to go was extremely spontaneous, and I asked myself several times,”What are you thinking?!” But the flights were booked and there was no turning back.

The trip was weeks ago now, and looking back…I can see how it all began. My glow bugs. During that time away I carried my heart along, transparent like a mason jar…and then, there was a shift. Something changed inside. I found a glow bug. And then two, then three…

When I got home, we moved the next day and life became a flurry of unpacking and coordinating tradespeople, trips to Home Depot, packing and unpacking. Though I carried my little jar around with me, I had no time to crack the lid to process what had happened while I was away, and it seemed like it may have even been just a dream.

Now that the new place is unpacked, I have been staring at the treasures in my jar. As I write this today, I am unthreading the lid and setting them free.

Freedom. What does it look like? Is it a physical condition like looking out at the beauty from the top of a mountain? Or is there even more to it?

I was singing at the altar that day…My eyes were closed. I was conscious of only the Lord and me. That was when I saw the scene unfold before me.

Everything was sepia…like it had been tea-dyed. Beautiful, uneven, messy, artistic. I saw a piece of paper with words on it. I tried to read it, but before I could, a pair of hands reached down and began to fold the paper; and the words began to be pressed deeply into the middle until I could no longer see them. More folding ensued. Then, I saw that the paper had been folded into an airplane.

Hard to describe how I know this because I saw and felt nothing. I just knew. But there was a breath…and the paper airplane caught the flow and took off. No sooner had it begun then the wings of the airplane turned into the wings of a bird.

The bird flew briefly and landed on a brown bush. I mean EVERYTHING was still sepia colored. The bush also had no leaves. Instead it was made up of quilted pieces of material all grafted together. Perched on the tip of a branch, the bird began to sing…

I was mesmerized. Instead of a sound, tune, or whistle…little words began to flow out of the birds’ mouth on tiny pieces of paper. And each time the bird opened its mouth to sing, a new word came out.

They appeared almost as if they were alive, and they began to float towards a low-lying cloud that hovered like fog in a valley. When the words reached the cloud, they began to dangle like crystals from a chandelier. It was so beautiful to watch, I wish I could have grabbed a coffee and sat down and just adored the whole scene. But there was more.

Another breath came. Again, not sure how I knew. They all just simultaneously dropped… this time heavy like rain; and when they landed on the dirt, everything turned to full color!! The brown, what first seemed so cozy and artistic now paled in comparison as gardens began to team with the most vivid life I had ever seen.


God, what are You up to now?


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My life is a radio…how loud can it go?

Do you ever feel like you are being watched?

I am convinced that someone somewhere has been recording my life these past few months and it is continually being aired (unedited) to the entire world. Everyone can see it but me. The type of reality show that best represents what is going on is the kind where you are renovating trying to renovate a house on time and on budget, juggling the help, dealing with the pre-teen color flops, trying to keep things looking how you imagined them and trying to be nice at the same time (someone tell me how to do this), and coordinating the schedule overlaps…and ooops…I didn’t get to that one on time…I guess those two will have to fight it out. At the front door. Of my house.

The show wouldn’t be very entertaining if I were a perfect human being. So if you haven’t tuned in yet, just look for the blood on the ceiling… maybe on HelpMeTV or WakeMeWhenOver Channel 5. Either way, I’m sure I will be looking back on this transitional event of my life with stars in my eyes, realizing that WE DID IT!

So why am I writing this on my art blog? I was actually hoping to star in something a bit more poetic…about how the new house is my canvas and I my brush is my mind. Ha. Well, this is all that fits right now. My LIFE is an open door of amazing possibilities. What will I do here? What do I hang there? How long do I wait for a deal and when do I buy? Will it fit? Will I like it once it’s in? Does any of this really matter anyway?

And…I suspect that it has never been about the details. The challenge of maintaining peace in the middle of the organized madness will be pondered in the closing chapter. And then, the next one will start as I begin my mission of meeting the neighbors and trying to figure out what God planned for us in this house! (FREE PAINTINGS FOR EVERYONE!!!!!)

The least I can do now is…


(Picture of my dog smelling the “roses”)

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There are times when we think and hope and pray, and we are convinced we know what God has in mind. (In spite of myself, I do this.) In the shadows of the unkown, some may assume confirmation that He can’t hear us, doesn’t know us, and doesn’t care. We grow cold. This painting reflects the cold and dark areas of our hearts that we don’t like to acknowledge.

But He does see us.

It’s not how we assume it is. His plans are not like our plans. We may think we know what He wants, but God responds to what actually is best for us. Believing this truth revives our hearts. This painting also reflects the growth of believing His promises for us.

This weekend, His promises were revealed to me, and I had a choice. Would I doubt His plans or would I respond to them, even though they were different from my own?

Lord, make my heart fully Yours. My plans do not truly matter at all…only Yours do.

“Then I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean. Your filth will be washed away, and you will no longer worship idols. And I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit in you. I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart. (Ezekiel 36:25, 26 NLT)


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come like You promised…


I don’t have many words to go along with this painting. It speaks for itself. The title, is a prayer; the painting…the answer.

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