About twenty years ago, I realized that my heart was holding onto a secret desire. This desire was tucked away deeply in my heart, hidden under so many layers of fears, doubts, and painful memories that, even now, as I look back on my journey, I am amazed that this desire ever saw the light of day. But it did.

A beautiful, and great, weeping willow tree stood in the middle of the ancient villa of San Lorenzo di Arzene, rising high above the plains of the Friuli region. The courtyard, similar to other rural villas of centuries past where peasant families would gather to socialize and draw water from the shared well, often became the driving force behind subsequent “urban planning.” The weeping willow tree was located next to the perennial source of water; thus, it became the majestic centrepiece of the town square.

Although the space was small for three families to share this courtyard, every square inch was functional. The water pump and the outdoor bathroom were located at the back of the house, and a barn was built to house the cows. According to my mother-in-law, “The barn was small. It could hold three cows; two went in straight, but one had to go in sideways.” Then, because there was no room left in the barn, they built a small shed, which served double duty as a shelter for the donkey and for tool storage.

Three families shared the living space at 6 Via Blata when my mother-in-law lived there. It was a common custom for multiple generations of Italian relatives and extended family members to live under one roof, especially during tough economic times. It just made sense to share the workload and costs of living. The labour was divided, with all able bodies taking turns to work the land, milk the cows, make the meals, and care for the donkeys, pigs and other animals. My mother-in-law’s father was a butcher, so he offered his services to the other village residents when it came time to make the salami and sausage.

The kitchen is the heart of most Italian homes. I learned very quickly after marrying into an Italian family, that food – or rather, the sharing of it – is nothing short of an expression of love. Stepping through this door takes you directly into the kitchen. On the floor, in the centre of the kitchen, is a large fire place (fogolar) used both as a source of heat and place to cook their meals. The screen-less window to the left of the door opens directly onto the street as well.

I was fortunate enough to visit the birthplace of my mother-in-law while we were travelling in Italy. The reference photo for this painting was taken from across the narrow Via Blata, of San Lorenzo di Arzene, in the province of Pordenone.

I felt a dull pressure in the middle of my forehead, right between my eyebrows, as soon as we turned onto the highway to Sedona. It only lasted a moment, but it was enough for me to notice. I’d been expecting to feel it again at some point along the way but was admittedly surprised to feel it so soon into our journey. Having been to Sedona twice before, I was familiar with this sensation. I took it to be an indicator that I was in the presence of concentrated earth energy; a vortex, as it is commonly known.

Maybe this PORTAL 52 project has infiltrated all of my brain cells, because portals keep showing up everywhere I go, and connections are being noticed in such varied circumstances.

Today is the first day of the year, according to the Chinese lunar calendar, so Happy Chinese New Year!

I was inspired to paint this picture of my grand-dog, Jax, as soon as I learned that 2018 is theYear of the Dog. Jax, baby, this is your year to shine!

After completing his examination of my eyes, the doctor sat back and provided his diagnosis: PVD or Posterior Vitreous Detachment. He then explained the anatomy of the eye and what is happening with PVD.