PS: Prices range from $20 to $120. Feel free to email me at jessica.brogan@gmail.com if you have a question, or would like to commission a piece.

PPS: To purchase, simply scroll down below the images of the Painting that you want, and Click the “BUY NOW” button. You can pay with a Credit Card via PayPal, easy – peasy!

Rare, Uncommon YOU

** Reserved for Parinaz because you are so uncommonly, uniquely amazingly YOU.**

8 x 10 inches

Bursting Forth

6 x 6 inches (1 in. gallery sides)

A Wish For You

8 x 10 inches

 Today’s Instructions

5 x 5 inches (1 in gallery sides)

Secrets of the Heart

11 x 14 inches

Making Kindness Matters

8 x 10 inches

You Are Stronger Than You Know

8 x 10 inches

Your Wings Emerge

11 x 14 inches

Pacifica

12 x 12 inches (1 in gallery sides)

In the Personal Life:

- It’s utter craziness that I did not touch an art supply for the entire first three months of the year. In March I started something I’m calling my “Treasure Book.” I’ve been collecting little treasures for about five years. Not a huge collection, because I’m picky. It started in Switzerland, where I found a fancy vintage postcards that I couldn’t let slip by. Then I began keeping bits of ephemera: vintage lace, scraps of colored papers I love, buttons or stamps.  And for five years, I’ve collected them and carried them around in a box and moved them across the ocean and never had ANY idea what I was doing this for. At the end of March and on into April, I suddenly felt compelled to put these treasures into a compilation. I decided to use a vintage photo album, and inspired by a book I saw at Christine Mason Miller’s house, I created a “lookbook” of my treasures. Interestingly, despite the extremely gratification I felt in making it, in making art, I spent a lot of quiet time internally processing what it takes to make a piece of art, or an album of your favorite scraps of paper, just to do it. Like, with no real purpose. The purpose, in fact, is incredibly deep: for sheer pleasure. But that is something that I think a lot of us struggle with when we set out to create. Perhaps the mark of a true “artist,” if there is one at all, is that s/he can create without justifying, explaining and creates for the feeling it gives alone.

I spent a significantly long week or so with a very sick kiddo. He got the flu, which dehydrated him, which led us to the ER where he discovered that drinking his beverages out of a syringe is the.most.fun! Do you remember being a kid and figuring out that you could trap the soda in the straw with your finger, and then wanting to drink the entire drink that way? Yeah, me too. Thankfully after just a good dose of anti-nausea medicine, Liam was back in action. And then momma promptly crumbled into a heap when she realized she had three healthy kids to take care of for an entire weekend alone!

In the Biz Realm: 

- I saw my first magazine article + photos published nationally, in Somerset Life. Just last week I actually went and saw the magazine in person (they’d sent a copy to my home already) and it was SUCH a cool feeling!

- I designed an Empowering Art Workshop and then met with one of the coordinators at Austin’s Safe Place (Domestic Violence Shelter) to discuss facilitating these workshops for their victims. She and I clicked on so many levels, shared our own stories and both of us shed a tear during our simple hour meeting. Love that.

- Worked out an entire Site Map + Branding thesis for my first website. Worked with the awesome designer and started on my first ever logo!

- Organized all of the 100 Inspirational Decks for the current swap. Mixed them all up, packaged, labeled and sent them back out into the world!

- Started the “From Trauma to Truth” campaign and coordinated the first 4 entries that have come in

- Began an intensive online course called Fearless Launching

- Had a juicy hour long conversation with a most favorite person and worked out a bunch of math/numbers and details for our retreat next April!! This carried me around in a cloud for a good few days afterwards!

- Wrote my contributor Bio for True North, made a list of magazine article pitches for May, emptied my inbox (holla!) and compiled list of guest posts contributions for the next month!

- Worked with various clients on progressing their small creative business endeavors

Earlier this year, 25 amazing women joined me in creating a collaborative gift of peace for the families of the Newtown, Connecticut school massacre. In the spirit of the original Inspirational Deck Swap I run, we each created 26 cards. Each creator had a single poignant and powerful quote that offered solace or support to someone grieving and in pain. Then, of course, they mailed their cards to me. I mixed them up, as usual, so that there were piles of 26 packages and each package contained 26 unique, hand-made cards, with a special quote. I don’t know how I would have packaged them, ultimately, because I never had to think of it. One our participants, the thoughtful Linda Thiltgen, made 26 small felt pouches by hand, adorned with a single red heart, and containing a single glow-in-the-dark star. I shed tears when I opened the box and saw them, months ago now, and I shed tears when I stuffed each pouch with these amazing works of heart this week.

There’s no particular timing for why they’ve gone out now, last week. We finished the projet in January. I was delayed by a move. I got word that they were shutting down the mailing storage site because it was overflowing, and that the families were no longer taking packages. I waited, in hopes that time would pass and our package would arrive with less company. For whatever reason, they were ready, last week. I had a new address to use and I felt it was time. I believe in divine timing and in intuition. I don’t know for sure that the packages will make it to each of the 26 families who lost someone that day. But we can pray, and if we don’t pray, we can say what it is we need to say to the Universe, over the box, at the post office, about arriving when and where they need to be. I just started praying again recently, so I did both. I felt a sense of honor and real peace sending this box out to these families. I do hope they’ll make it to the families. But in the meantime, I’m in awe of the 25 other ladies who came together, at the drop of an idea on Facebook, to create these. They have put real energy – positive energy – out into a world that desperately needs it.

but by a series of small things brought together.”

Vincent Van Gogh

I was supposed to be standing at the alter last year – marrying my best friend. Instead, I was standing at a very different alter, telling a church full of loved ones who this man was in my life and what he had meant to me in our short time together. Striving to articulate the sheer magnitude of the person with whom I thought I would spend the rest of my days – it is nothing a twenty-nine year old woman should ever be faced with; nothing any of us should ever have to face for that matter.

We met in Dallas in 2008, on a dating site actually, although it would be almost a year before we dated. He was in flight school training to be a commercial helicopter pilot, and I was a web designer at a global fashion company. He liked guns, beer, and war movies. I liked art, poetry and beauty. We couldn’t have been more different it seemed… except for one uniting factor; a passion for adventure and learning. He taught me about guns and how to shoot, and I found this once terrifying subject fascinating and wonderfully fun. I taught him about creativity and seeing the world with an artist’s eye. He converted me to a beer drinker and I taught him all about design aesthetics. We went on many adventures… including skydiving, race car driving, and hot air ballooning to name a few. But the most memorable experiences by far were when he took me up for helicopter flights. It is so different to watch a person you know step into this role. They detach and become totally focused on the task at hand.. their only objective to fly that ship and to keep their precious cargo unharmed. Our entire relationship was built on a very deep level of trust. I trusted him not only with my heart and soul but also with my very life.

We dated for three years – the three most beautiful years of both of our lives. In early 2012, after completing flight school, he was hired for his first commercial helicopter job. We were both so excited: this meant it was time for us to embark on the next phase of our journey together, too. Just when it seemed we’d reached the greatest heights, everything changed.  On June 12th, on a routine flight doing agricultural work, the helicopter hit power lines and crashed. By the time I got the phone call, he was already gone.

Nothing can prepare you for a thing as horrific as this. You cannot ever be strong enough or smart enough or healthy enough for this to not rip open the very core of your being and leave you broken and forever changed. You cannot know how it will change you as a person – even though you know it already has, without you having any say. I’ve lost both of my parents and been through my fair share of struggles in life, but this is the only thing I have ever been faced with that left me terrified beyond belief that I would not survive it.

It has been ten months since Andrew passed as I write this to you. The one-year mark is looming, yet it feels at times as if only days have gone by. Time stands still when you lose someone so vital to your being. And while I usually try to show a strong, positive image… the truth is that – as the shock begins to wear off and people begin to go back to their lives – the depression is setting in. Sadness permeates every breath. Nearly every day the pain is still piercing for at least a short time. What little joy there is is tinged always with the sadness that he is absent from sharing in it. Some days and many events are still completely debilitating for me, and likely will be for years. But this is what we have now, so I must make what I can out of it… which is why I chose to accept the invitation to write this piece.

I suppose there are a lot of things I have come to learn about life and loss in these ten months. But if I were to pick three to share with you, it would be these: Love something. Trust people. Find purpose. In coping with loss and trauma, (and life in general) I am finding these three things to be crucial to enduring the path.

Love Something: If you can find something you love to do no matter what else is going on in your life – something that removes you from your mind – do it. For me, this has been creative exploration and learning new things. Art has always been a part of my life… but this past year I have allowed myself to fall so completely into creating in all forms; from photography and writing to painting, welding and jewelry making. I have surrendered myself fully to the creative process out of survival. It has allowed me to be still, to be calm, and to feel excited about something in the midst of all the unthinkable thoughts and emotions. It has given me direction in a sea of pain.

Trust People: Trusting people is certainly a truth that has never been my strong suit. Having lost my mother when I was nine, I’ve spent my life avoiding getting too close to people for fear of losing them. Losing Andrew has blown the roof off of that, because I’ve had no choice but to rely on people. For the first few weeks I couldn’t eat or make a single decision myself. My family, his family and our friends had to make sure I ate and had clean clothes and every other basic thing that we normally take for granted that we can do for ourselves. For a month I didn’t drive myself anywhere. I could not be alone for more than a few hours at a time for the first few months. In many ways, it felt like being a child again. I still remember one night when my best friend was over at my apartment with me. I was sitting at my desk in the bedroom watching her fold my underwear (my underwear!) and put it away for me. Before he died, I would have been utterly horrified by this, as I am a very private person when it comes to certain things, undies included. But there I sat, with no energy and no ability, and I watched this beautiful, kind person tenderly folding my delicates without my even asking. I have had many, many moments like this, of surrendering to the care of others because I know that I cannot do it on my own. I still don’t live alone, having moved in with his family so that we could walk this journey together. Striving to trust others is changing me and healing me on a daily basis.

Find Purpose: The last truth I mentioned was to find purpose. I didn’t have much of a sense of purpose a year ago. I worked to be a good person, a good partner to him, and to take good care of myself… but I honestly was very disconnected from my role in helping others in a larger sense. I really didn’t even believe that I might actually have anything valuable to share with the world. Now I know, everyone does. Even the smallest gesture from one person to another can mean all the world. I have poured my heart out to strangers this year, and they have listened and given love. I am finding it very healing to be in service of others in whatever ways I have the capacity to right now. Mostly this is in little everyday ways, like just listening when someone needs to share. Sometimes it means reminding someone of how incredible they are and that someone believes in them – because it can be so easy for us to forget that about ourselves. It also means I’m learning to be honest with people even when they may not like it – something I never used to do before (queen of avoiding confrontations here). Most of all, it means I’m learning to share myself honestly with the world. Which is not easy to do. Its not particularly appealing to want to share yourself when you are depressed and pissed off at the world for having taken something important away from you. But I still try, and keep trying, and it helps.

I don’t have any idea where I’m going from here. I cannot see farther than the darkness right now, but you’re not supposed to be able to when you’ve had something traumatic happen to you. I believe that you’re supposed to learn how to sit in the dark long enough to see stars you’ve never seen before. This doesn’t make the dark any less lonely or cold or frightening, and it doesn’t make it okay either, but it does make it valuable. Just as valuable as the truly great moments of our lives. These three truths help to remind me of this every day.

For a groggy mama up at 6 a.m. to greet a youngin’ and two needy puppies, the day started out surprisingly upbeat. In our typical morning routine, Liam wakes me up, sheepishly grinning at me from the entrance to the bedroom, where he’s peeking his head around the corner and whispering my name.  Today I had to  wake him up early (to meet his Daddy, to sign the divorce papers), which meant I got to bathe in the sight of him sucking his thumb, deeply sleeping and sprawled among his support team of stuffed super heros. This sight alone melts any irritation I have at waking up a few hours early.

We drove to school and giggled hysterically over the fact that Liam insists that the gray stuff clouding my view is called “FOCK!” I know, as the parent of an almost 4 year old, that if he accidentally says a bad word (or one that sounds just like it) to  remain completely silent and above all, not to call any attention to it. But I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Then, I had him say it again. Then I got it on video. “Fock Fock Fock, fockee fockee fock” he sang, all the way to school, grinning with pride, while I laughed until my stomach hurt.

After dropping him off, I turned up the tunes and danced in the driver’s seat to hip-hop, surprised that I could possibly be in such a good mood, with such weather, with such an early wake-up call. I wondered idly to myself if I would be feeling a sudden onset of sadness today. Granted, Jonathan and I have been divorced mentally, physically and financially for two years now. Still,  would signing the actual papers today spark some sort of onset of grief? I never got to the grief, if there was any left, because I was blindsided during our idle chit-chat when Jonathan informed me this his father had “days to live.” My jaw did actually drop. Mouth agape, I stumbled for words. Jonathan’s dad has been fighting cancer, in and out of remission, for ten years. For the last two years, since Jon and I split, I’ve asked for updates and they have always been exactly the same. “He’s not well, in chemo…not well, resting between chemo.” This has gone on for two years + and I suppose that I’d become accustomed to, and therefore very much expecting, the same answer. I was not expecting to hear “days.” I burst into tears. I cried, attempting to reread the papers on final time, and I signed, my thoughts completely usurped by the thought of his father on his deathbed in Switzerland. Not being able to see him one last time. Knowing how ugly cancer makes the end. Realizing Liam will have lost two grandfathers – two really cool, special people in his life – to cancer in two years, and that he won’t know either of them.

Needless to say, my mood plummeted. I have been through enough grief, actually, enough processing, that I know the body reacts as strongly as the mind . I noticed with, part curious observation, that I became instantly lethargic, and that my brain felt as if I’d taken some sort of sedative. Gloomy, it was, inside and out. And that’s perfectly okay. I know better now. So much better. I planned to scratch half the things off of my day’s to-do list at least when I got home.

On the drive there, I started musing about how many bad things, and sad things, go on on a daily, hourly, minute basis each day. If I stop to think on it too long, it’s overwhelming. So I try not to. I try to stay away from the news, in all its forms. Some might call this ignorance, but I call it “keeping my sanity.”

When I got home a box was waiting for me at the doorstep. A box from Kelli,  creative soul sister, artistic penpal and quickly becoming a dear friend (and I haven’t even met her in person). Inside was a plethora of scraps from her studio, which she’s donating to the art workshops I’m trying to plan for the victims staying in Austin’s Safe House. She doesn’t live in Austin, we haven’t even met, but she’s giving what I need : art supplies for a good cause. And suddenly I smiled: here was a tangible act of goodness that broke right through my suffering and lifted me up.

This is called “Divine Timing.” This is what the world needs to keep functioning: every act of goodness it can get.

Kelli’s act prompted me to write this post, in part to let her know why her package meant so much, on this particular day, but mostly to tell you (remind myself) that whenever something positive comes to mind – from the door you might be able to open for the family coming through or the extra change the customer ahead of you needs to complete her order, to leaving surprises and paying it forward to strangers – to DO IT. Don’t hesitate, because then you’ll let the idea pass. I know because I’ve done it a hundred times. But no more. The world needs us to act on those little flashes of positive impact we have.

Thank you Kelli, for bringing my day back around to laughing at the “fock!”