Keyword: water

  • Seek & Find

    “Seek & Find” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is available. 🟢 Shop this art!

    My wife has a remarkable superpower for finding hearts in nature, hiding in clouds, flowers, and even her sourdough bread.

    One day, we walked along a pier in Lake Michigan. We talked about our business, kids, and future. We lingered at the end of the pier, then walked back, resuming our conversation. Kim casually mentioned seeing fifteen hearts during our walk.

    I had seen exactly none.

    I marveled at her talent.

    But is there such a thing as talent for seeing hearts in nature? I’m not so sure. It’s not like having a beautiful singing voice, exceptional sprinting speed, or a penchant for math.

    Kim has a knack for spotting hearts because she spends a lot of time looking for them. 

    What seems magical to others is often the result of lots of practice.

    I once wrote a book about seeing. In it, I talked about storms, the metaphorical kind that blow through our lives. I also wrote about one of our most underrated superpowers: the ability to choose what we look for in the midst of those storms. 

    Yes, the storms will come. Scary, devastating, faith-shaking storms. They are a given, right up there with death and taxes and missing socks.

    But those who see the silver linings are usually the ones looking for them.

    It’s not a talent; it’s a practice.

    The more you practice, the better you get.

    This is true with finding hearts in nature as it is with anything.

    So, will this year be worse than last year? Or will it be your best year ever?

    Here’s the secret: You don’t have to wait to find out.

    The trap is letting external circumstances dictate our answers:  the news headlines, the outrage du jour on social media, the ups and downs of life. 

    It’s hard to view a year of hardship as anything but negative. However, a decade might offer perspective, transforming it into a valuable gift. A little time and practice might turn up a whole host of hidden blessings.

    I’m not suggesting you pretend that the tough or terrible moments don’t suck. Being sad, mad, or angry is part of the human experience. We don’t have to bury those emotions under some false blanket of positivity. 

    Just remember that storms are part of life. The best year isn’t one without failure, conflict, tragedy, or loss.

    Kim took the photo that inspired this painting. She saw a heart in the sky near the lighthouse. I enhanced it slightly and added dozens more. I can’t count them all, and you might find some I didn’t add.

    That is how it is with cloud watching and wonderhunting and the counting of blessings. 

    The more you practice, the more you’ll see.

    Those who seek shall find.

    ☕ How would you assess your ability to spot the “hearts” in your life? What’s one way you could practice getting better?

  • Sunshine In My Soul

    “Sunshine In My Soul” by Jason Kotecki. 12 x 12. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    I do not know how people survive without faith in this dark world. 

    Perhaps it’s why our rates of depression, anxiety, and suicide are at all-time highs. My faith is like having sunshine in my soul. No matter how heavy the storm or dark the night, there is a joy that never dissipates, giving me hope. 

    I did not always have this faith. Like many, my perception of God came from the reflection of Him I saw in others. Often, it was a pretty distorted version. 

    But there were people I encountered who were in alignment with the merciful, mighty, and loving Father I have come to know and love. 

    This is the God whose light I pray shines forth from my work, so that others may see, believe, and experience this sunshine in their soul. 

  • The Armada

    “The Armada” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 16. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    Quick! You’re on the beach with a friend and you spot something approaching on the horizon. To your amazement, you make out an armada of giant rubber ducks coming to shore. What is your reaction?

    Are you excited? Overjoyed? Concerned? Skeptical? Worried? Afraid?

    Are they visitors or invaders?

    Do they bring good tidings or dark intentions?

    Sometimes a painting can just be a fun picture that makes you smile. And sometimes it contains a deeper meaning. I asked people on social media to share their perceptions of this painting, and it may or may not surprise you that their responses varied greatly:

    • “Pure joy. I have a jacket printed with rubber ducks. They always make me smile, as does the ocean, and riding my bike!”
    • “Here comes whimsy!”
    • “Hope is on the horizon.”
    • “I’m a little worried.”
    • “Terrified.”
    • “Invasion from a Trojan Horse.”
    • “Plastic pollution and impending doom from climate change.”

    It turns out that the meaning of this painting, as well as the meaning of almost everything in life, is largely determined by you. 

    Our perceptions impact our actions. For example, whether you’d run for cover or organize a welcoming party would depend on whether you see these rubber ducks as friends or foes. One side sees the other as hopelessly naive. The other side sees the other as paranoid. Both sides have a point.

    If we respond too enthusiastically, we might fall into a trap.

    If we respond with animosity, we may sabotage any chance of something good happening.

    We can assume the best, assume the worst, or…perhaps the best, wisest, most productive thing we can do is keep an open mind and wait and see.

    Now, let’s put the shoe on the other flipper. Imagine if you’re one of those ducks. You’re fun. Lots of people like you. You want to be helpful and bring joy to others. You’re new in town, but you have good intentions. But what are those locals on the shore thinking?

    Do they see you as a visitor or an invader?

    Do they think you bring good tidings or dark intentions?

    We’ve all been the new guy. The new kid in class. The newest employee. Or, most recently for us, the new family in town. I like to think of this painting as a metaphor for our mission to bring wonder and whimsy to distant shores. I unveiled it at the first Wondernite we hosted in Sheboygan, having moved from Madison two years earlier. As relative unknowns, we wondered if anyone would come.

    It turned out to be our biggest and best one yet.

    It’s scary to consider what the natives might think of you. You feel like you stick out like a sore thumb because it seems obvious that everyone can tell you’re not familiar with the local culture, the shorthand, the inside information that everyone else takes for granted. 

    It’s tempting to want to appear big and important. Maybe pretend to be something you’re not. After all, you’ve got a clean slate. None of these new people know all your history and baggage. You never get a second chance to make a first impression, so it’s a chance to put forth something impressive.

    I’ve found it’s easier, more effective, and frankly, less exhausting to just be yourself. People are drawn to authenticity, and we are very good at spotting a fake. Your weird flag may not inspire everyone, but it will attract your people.

    It’s more beneficial to check your expectations.

    If you expect the natives to be hostile, you’re likely to protect yourself by being hesitant and withdrawn, which may make you appear cold and aloof to others. But be warned: if you assume the locals will be hostile and unwelcoming, guess what you’re likely to get.

    You see, there is this thing called confirmation bias. (Perhaps you’ve heard of it.) It’s applicable whether or not you see yourself as the kids on the beach or the newcomers floating to shore. How it works is that we make an initial judgment or tell ourselves a story about a person, group, or situation. Then we reflexively look for evidence that supports our case and confirms our bias. 

    Meanwhile, we subconsciously filter out any information that runs contrary to our story. We interpret new information as being supportive of the opinions we already hold, and it doesn’t matter how poorly it fits. Our dutifully protective brain finds a way without us having much of a say.

    If you think your spouse is ignoring you, you’ll be on the lookout for all the evidence to make your case.

    If you expect to have an awesome day, your antenna will be up and scanning for proof all day long.

    If you think Republicans are the worst, you will notice and remember every example that proves your point.

    If you think Democrats are the enemy, well, you get the point.

    So…what if we paused at the very beginning to realize we don’t yet know the truth and take a wait-and-see approach? Thanks to confirmation bias, if you expect the best in others, the odds are better you’ll find it.

    This might just be a fun, whimsical painting that makes you smile.

    Perhaps something light-hearted to hang in your bathroom.

    It might also be a reminder to always be yourself while giving other people a chance to do the same.

  • Surfer Chicken

    “Surfer Chicken” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 16. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    I’ve watched surfers in Hawaii, San Diego, and yes, even here in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, which is also known as “The Malibu of the Midwest.”

    The majority of a surfer’s time seems to be spent paddling, floating, and waiting. From what I hear, it’s all worth it, because the feeling you experience when you’re in the middle of a great wave, having timed it just right, is a moment of euphoria.

    I feel like I have some sense of this as an artist. There are moments when I’m in the zone at my easel, when time stands still, every brush stroke feels pre-ordained, and the joy of creating fills my soul.

    But in between, there is the fishing for ideas, prepping the canvas, preparatory drawings and color studies, uncertain brushstrokes, frustration in mixing just the right color, constant distractions, and results that don’t match the vision in my head.

    The moment of euphoria — the small sliver of time in the zone — truly does make it all worth it.

    The magic doesn’t just happen, though. It requires a routine. You have to pull on your wetsuit. You have to lug your surfboard to the beach. You have to get out on the water. You have to put yourself in a position for the perfect wave. You have to wait and wait…and wait.

    I learned this as a cartoonist. When I was creating my comic strip, Kim & Jason, I spent time every morning writing. Most of the time, this so-called “writing” looked an awful lot like staring blankly into space. (Like how much of surfing looks like sitting on a surfboard floating in the water.) I realized that the key was committing to the entire time, no matter what, even if that meant I came away with zero ideas. Because a few minutes of staring blankly into space has a way of making you feel pretty foolish. You think of all the other things you have to get done, rationalize that maybe you just don’t have it today, and you’d be better served to switch to something more “productive.” 

    This is a trap! I reframed the win as sitting there for the whole thirty minutes, not coming up with a great idea. 

    Putting in the time, regardless of the result, is the key. Sometimes it involved jotting down ideas that weren’t very good (much like a surfer mistiming a wave or committing to one that peters out). More times than not, the best ideas came at the very end, after a long stretch of nothing. 

    I also discovered that ideas came more easily when I was faithful to the daily habit. Too long a break dried up the well and made staring back up even harder.

    No matter what our activity of interest, we want to experience the sexy highlights, like gliding effortlessly across a rushing wall of water, or putting the finishing touches on a masterpiece.

    But committed dedication to the practice is how you get there.

    A surfer who goes out every day is the one most likely to catch the wave when it comes. And because she is out there every day, practicing and honing the craft, when the ultimate wave does come, she’s more likely to have the skill to catch it properly and ride it as well and for as long as possible. She will possess the experience to make the most of that moment.

    The fisherman who fishes every day has the best chance of making the best catch.

    The runner who runs every day has the best chance of completing the marathon.

    The writer who writes every day has the best chance of writing something great.

    The parent who spends time with their child every day has the best chance of creating a memory that will last a lifetime or having a conversation that changes a life.

    It’s easy to desire the moment of euphoria.

    It’s even easier to give up too quickly when that moment feels too hard or too long in coming.

    The in-between parts are long, hard, and boring. They are also normal. Don’t let them take you by surprise and trick you into quitting too soon. 

    You can’t predict or summon the ultimate wave on demand, just as you can’t predict or summon a great idea. 

    But you can make yourself ready to make the most of it when it comes.

  • Time For S’mores

    “Time For S’mores” by Jason Kotecki. 24 x 30. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    The background of this painting comes from a photograph I took during a family trip to the Pacific Northwest. It captured a holy moment.

    You see, in our family, when the sun has taken its final bow for the day, and the moon is set to take the stage, it’s time for s’mores. 

    I suppose you could have s’mores during afternoon tea, and of course, there’s no rule against having them for breakfast, but it just doesn’t seem right.

    You may disagree with me on the proper time for s’mores, but one thing is certain: making s’mores demands that you make time for s’mores. 

    It’s not something you just throw together. You have to gather the chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows, which aren’t as conveniently handy as eggs and milk. You have to build a fire, which requires wood and kindling and matches, and the patience required to nurse a spark into a full-blown fire, especially if the wind is conspiring against you. You have to get the sticks for roasting said marshmallows. And most importantly, you have to set aside the space to make all of this happen, because it won’t schedule itself, and there’s no rushing it if you want it done right. I’m first in line for a burnt marshmallow, but a perfectly toasted one takes no small amount of time and patience. 

    Time and patience.

    Two rare and very limited resources in our fast-food, drive-thru society, where we pack our vacations so full that upon our return home, we exclaim our need for another vacation.

    To make time for s’mores, you must be willing to put down your mobile devices. You have to turn down invitations to partake in other, more thrilling activities. You must set aside time for what seems like nothing. 

    And once you do all that, the real magic happens. Your heartbeat slows. You notice just how many stars are in the sky (have they been there this whole time?!). The smoke from the fire seeps into your clothes and your bones, making you feel like you lived this day well. Stories begin to emerge from the past, followed by laughter, and content smiles savoring good memories. New legends are born, while old legends grow mighty in stature. Talking about the olden days often leads to dreams for the future, and those stars suddenly become pretty handy for wish-making. 

    This, to say nothing of the s’mores themselves, which are deliciously gooey and sticky sweet, but nothing compared to the benefits they brought forth, in the form of conversation, contemplation, and connection.

    In a world that feels like it’s bursting at the seams, too rushed, too noisy, and too demanding, it’s always time for s’mores. 

  • Looking for Orcas

    “Looking for Orcas” by Jason Kotecki. 30 x 24. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    I’ve heard that God always answers prayers. Sometimes the answer is no. Sometimes, he says yes in ways that seem like a no.

    During a family vacation in the Pacific Northwest, one of the things I wanted to see was an orca.

    We heard stories of a mama and her baby being spotted in Puget Sound. We kept our eyes peeled on the ferry ride to Victoria. Our vacation home was on a bay on the Olympic Peninsula, and every wave in the distance seemed like it could be a killer whale in the process of surfacing.

    We never saw one. We could have booked a sightseeing tour, but time and weather, and the ages of our kids conspired against us. Maybe next time.

    As I have reflected on this minor disappointment, and through the act of creating this painting, something occurred to me. God knew I wanted to see an orca, but because he knows me so deeply, he also knew why I wanted to see one, before even I did.

    I had to stop and ask myself, Why did I want to see an orca in the wild?

    I wanted to experience God’s creation in a powerful way.

    I wanted to see something I’d never seen before.

    I wanted to have a remarkable experience with my children.

    I wanted a neat encounter with an animal.

    As it turns out, I did all of those things, and I never saw one orca.

    I marveled at the breathtaking vistas of Hurricane Ridge.

    Our vacation home was on a beach filled with thousands of crabs. Never saw anything like that before.

    Between our mountain hike, the ferry rides, the view from the Space Needle, and a spin on Seattle’s Great Wheel, there was no shortage of remarkable experiences to be shared with my kids.

    And feeding some harbor seals with a $2 bag of fish heads was a pretty neat animal encounter.

    I didn’t get what I asked for. But somehow, I still got what I wanted.

    Time and time again in my life, I didn’t get things that I asked for. 

    I thought I wanted to marry a brunette. God knew what I really wanted was a beautiful, smart, and thoughtful wife who believed in me. He also made her blonde.

    I wanted to use my art to make a living and shine light and goodness in the world. I asked for it in the form of being a professional syndicated cartoonist. That never materialized. But here I am, using my art to make a living and shine light and goodness in the world in a way that I never could have imagined, but I am excited to say is even better.

    Sometimes we miss the answer to our prayers because we’re looking in the wrong place.