Reading · FEED THE MONSTER

Ink on paper, 15 x 22 inches, November 2025

Hello lovely readers:

Last December I took a trip to Berlin and Denmark with my husband David, my daughter Chloe, and Chloe’s partner Serg. We spent five days in Berlin, then drove up to Esbjerg, Denmark to spend Christmas with some much-loved family of mine.

After six days with the family in Esbjerg, we headed to Copenhagen for two nights. I was feeling pretty ho-hum about Copenhagen; David felt the same. We’d barely scratched the surface of Berlin—I’d done tons of research on galleries and other places of interest, but we were torn away before soaking up the tiniest fraction of it. I was expecting Copenhagen to be a dull disappointment in comparison.

No. That’s not how it went.

After our brief visit, we just wanted more. Though I have no direct ties to Copenhagen, being in Denmark and hearing Danish being spoken around me makes my connection to my Danish grandmother feel alive, and that is a form of sustenance I don’t often get. It feels like I’m with her, and I love to be with her.

I came back to Canada determined to find a way to return to Copenhagen, partly because I wanted more time in that city, and partly to have the opportunity to spend more time with my family on the west coast of Denmark. I’m not getting any younger, as they say. And neither are they. Do it now, or think about it on your death-bed.

To that end, I joined Home Exchange, an organization for swapping homes that’s been around since 1993. I’ve been talking about doing this for years. I set myself up on the platform and compiled my travel “wish list”—Copenhagen, Berlin, Barcelona, Madrid, Mexico City, Dublin, Amsterdam, Paris, Toronto, Montreal, Halifax, Vancouver. Think big! Also think practical. Our daughter lives in Toronto… what if we could go there more often thanks to free accommodations? (BTW, you can use Home Exchange whether you’re a home-owner or a renter).

I sent out scores of exchange requests to people in Copenhagen, but nobody was biting. I was looking for next fall, or next spring. Meanwhile, I was getting requests for exchanges from people in Liverpool, Northern Ireland, York UK, and weirdly tons from Montreal. I started to give up hope—why would anyone there want to come to Victoria, BC, Canada?

I finally started working again on my shelved graphic memoir, now called The Mother Lode. I found my way back to it after being inspired by Kelcey Ervick’s post Finding Stories in Family Photos. I wrote three memoir posts using artwork, photos, letters and other documents:

My desire to work on The Mother Lode was reignited, but all my energy for it was going into my Substack newsletter posts—not the actual graphic memoir. I realized I was still frozen where I’d been for years: avoiding the artwork. I was so rusty and having such a hard time knowing where to start, each time I tried I’d get frustrated and abort the mission.

I reread the manuscript for the memoir, telling myself to pick something to paint that I felt drawn to, or that felt like an easy in. I have an aversion to drawing the same scene multiple times—the thought of doing rough sketches over and over makes me want to poke hot sticks into my eyes. The burning question was: should I attempt a rough sketch in a sketchbook (like a normal person would), or use better paper in case I liked the drawing and wanted to use it for the memoir?

I essentially had to command myself to shut-the-fuck-up and start with something, anything. I remembered a photo that David had taken of my mother in the care home ten days before she died, and I painted it in my sketchbook. It was fast and as I mentioned I’m rusty, but in doing it I was reminded that the energy of drawing something that has deep resonance is a very different experience from the act of illustrating something that has less personal meaning. The felt need for it to be “good” is usurped by the powerful experience of real feelings being transmitted.

Though it may seem macabre to start with my mother’s death, it was precisely what I needed to feel the pull of the story again, and to bypass my irritating need to PAINT GOOD. Anyway, it’s not macabre. Death is normal. If you haven’t experienced it yet, you will.

I wasn't there when my mother died. She was alone, and I've been led to believe that she must have wanted it that way. Nevertheless it looms large in my mind.

I commanded myself to paint it again… quickly, Betty-Ann! QUICKLY!

This one didn’t feel nearly as potent, but it didn’t matter because I’d found my way in. I was on my way.

Somehow—I no longer remember how—I went from that point to painting the first page of a preface on “good” paper:

That was weeks ago!

I won’t bore you with the details, but there’s been an unprecedented amount of “life admin” stuff to tackle recently. So far, 2026 has been chock-a-block full of shit to deal with. So be it.

AND THEN—

A few weeks ago I had a home exchange request from a family in Copenhagen. Amazingly, they wanted to come to Victoria, BC for the entire months of July and August. I experienced a kind of shock: I broke into a mild sweat and my throat closed up momentarily. I told David, “there are people in Copenhagen who want to exchange with us! They live in Frederiksberg near Nørrebro! Their place is beautiful!”

Low-key panic ensued. We weren’t planning on traveling in summer, let alone for that long. What would it mean, how would it work? No, we can’t “afford it”. But we can do it, come what may. So that’s what we’re going to do. Sweet Jesus.

I’m stunned by the thought that this possibility has been lying in wait for decades. That others can also do it; that we could conceivably do it again. That the world is always ripe with opportunities that we might not be ready for, or not see because we’re looking the other way. There are no rules. Also, nothing is fair. Also, your life is going to take its own sweet time. Also, I could be hit by a bus tomorrow.

I don’t know what this will mean for working on the graphic memoir. One has to fucking laugh. Honestly, how can I worry about it? I’ve been given proof positive that wonderful things can happen in a life when you least expect it. And that reminder is a welcome bouy at this moment in time.

PS, this painting and the one at the top of the post were created in November 2025, during yet another period of desperate attempts to re-engage with art-making. What is my problem, one wonders? I care less and less about the answer to that question, and I suspect therein lies the answer. Anyhoo, I really like these paintings! Which isn’t always the case, with me and my persnickity brain. Faces come easily to me, and letting ink move across paper feels so good. These were an easy win.

I’ve been due for some wins.