April 18, 2017
April 4, 2017
March 31, 2017
March 30, 2017
March 7, 2017
March 3, 2017
February 28, 2017
Between shoveling snow and hammering nails I'm working on several new collections for licensing. Flamingo Road (more on the name and characters at a future date) features two flamingos and their celebration of life and living. This piece is called Time for Tea and lends itself well to tableware and giftware, as well as many items of home and yard decor. #artlicensingshow.com
November 22, 2016
In her younger years, Agnes Rebecca would have been a good model for a porcelain doll. Albeit, I believed, one that looked a bit dour. As she grew old, bright copper hued wisps of softly curling hair framed her aged face. Her graying eyebrows were penciled in, coal black. A rigid line of red lipstick was drawn across lips that seemed to seldom bestow a smile. Prim circles of rouge rode high on her cheeks. Severing fact from fiction she wasn't afraid to speak her own mind—to the extent some people avoided her.
I was one of them.
Agnes was my great-aunt by marriage, and at family gatherings I cut her a wide berth. I was never quite certain how she felt about me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. It took challenging circumstances in my own life to soften my heart toward her. Our second daughter was born ten weeks premature. We weren’t able to bring her home from the hospital for nearly two and a half months. Released just prior to her first Thanksgiving, she weighed barely four pounds. I was a nervous wreck. Since our baby was still too weak to suck, we had to feed her with a gavage tube. At night I sat and kept watch, making certain she was still breathing. Since she wasn't able to issue much of a cry, in the daytime I hovered over her, wringing my hands and worrying I’d miss if she needed something.
Sequestered in the far corner of a small family gathering on Thanksgiving Day and, I’m sure, looking as desperate as I felt, I was sought out by none other than Agnes Rebecca. As she reached for my baby, I felt a twinge of concern. It was soon replaced by an unexpected rush of grateful admiration. Her face radiating love, my great-aunt handled our tiny daughter with gentle confidence. She comforted me with advice gleaned from her years of experience with babies.
All my life how had I missed the fact that she’d worked as a pediatric nurse?
Every Thanksgiving thereafter, until her death, I watched with awe the sweet exchanges between my aunt and daughter. For me Thanksgiving Day now brings remembrances filled with gratitude and love for Agnes Rebecca.
To this day I wish I would have noticed much sooner than I did what a treasure she was.
Copyright 2012, Lori Nawyn
November 18, 2016
I'm sincerely honored to have been chosen as a Top 6 Pattern Design Winner
in the ArtLicensingShow.com Valentine's Day Design Challenge!
ALSC is home to many talented artists and designers who,
through their vision and creativity, help bring magic
into the lives of people around the world.
I'm grateful to be a part of the ALSC creative community!
August 1, 2016
July 28, 2016
September 15, 2015
Recently, quite by accident, I discovered something I wrote over three years ago has been spread widely around the Internet. The words have been used/repurposed in several ways with various photos and or artistic elements. One use of the saying on a Christian website has been shared over 200,000 times--which is totally amazing to me.
More amazing, however, is the return of the words to me.
I've really needed them this past week or so when it seems no matter how hard I try I keep falling short. Remembering that God knows I'm doing my very best is a both a comfort and a source of badly needed strength.
May 5, 2015
My grandma Minnie loved birds.
She was particularly fond of the sparrows that flocked to her backyard.
On many occasions, I watched from a distance as she walked among them.
She scattered birdseed, speaking to the sparrows in a gentle voice.
They seemed to regard her with the same caring she showed to them.
They knew her well. Knew they could trust she would be kind.