Keyword: waves

  • Beyond the Bathtub

    “Beyond the Bathtub” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is available 🟢 Shop this art!

    I could have stayed in the bathtub.

    Way back when, after completing my schooling and earning a degree, the safe path was waiting for me. A decent job in my hometown. It wasn’t particularly exciting, but it was close enough to what I went to school for that I could rationalize it as making sense. I could have taken the job, gotten married, bought a house, and started collecting benefits.

    It was tempting, and by most standards, the smart thing to do. The only problem is that I knew exactly what life in the bathtub would look like for the rest of my life.

    I may have been shy and quiet, but I grew up observing people who decided to stay in the bathtub. Whether they rationalized it as a smart choice or insisted they didn’t have any others, I could always sense a certain sadness, simmering just below the surface. 

    Life outside the bathtub is fraught.

    The ocean is vast. The edges disappear as the shoreline fades from view. The waves toss us around until we’re seasick. At times it feels like we’ll drown—or be swallowed by something much bigger than ourselves. The current carries us in directions we never would have chosen. It’s disorienting. Terrifying. Unpredictable.

    Of course we prefer to remain in an environment we can control! 

    The problem is that it’s not much of a life. 

    The bathtub is safe, controlled, and predictable. But it’s also small. Constricting. Eventually the what-ifs become impossible to ignore. What’s outside these walls? What am I truly capable of? Where might I go if I ventured beyond the edge of what I can see?

    I was the kid my relatives called a scaredy-cat. Honestly, not much has changed. I’ve never become especially brave or outgoing.

    I just knew there was life beyond the bathtub.

    Although I’m just a tiny rubber duck, I sensed I was made for a bigger shore, farther away than I could get to on my own.

    So I put my trust in the One who made the water, the waves, and the wind.

    That choice came with no certainty, no safety, and no benefits package. There were seasons when I felt lost at sea. Driftless. Doubtful. Overwhelmed. Afraid.

    You know what? I still feel that way sometimes. There are always temptations to pull into a safe harbor somewhere and settle down. To quit while I’m ahead.

    But I can’t go back now.

    Since giving my life to the Creator of the ocean, I’ve seen things, accomplished things, and experienced things I never would have known had I stayed in the bathtub. I’ve been swept up in an adventure that’s been wonderful, beautiful, and breathtaking.

    The decision isn’t to become adventurous.

    The decision is to leave the bathtub.

    Everything else follows.

    We’re destined for a life beyond the bathtub. 

    Of course it isn’t safe. But it is good.

    Is it time for you to experience what life is like beyond the bathtub?

    process

  • 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.

  • To Sheboygan with Love

    “To Sheboygan with Love” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 16. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    On our very first date, Kim and I agreed to live on a lake.

    As we began the process of getting to know each other, we got talking about our ideal place to live. For some reason, Idaho was mentioned. (When you grow up in a small town in Illinois surrounded by cornfields, almost everywhere feels more exotic.) We talked of mountains and potatoes (obviously), but pine trees and lakes took precedence. 

    We both agreed that living on a lake surrounded by tall pine trees would be an ideal place to settle down. (We didn’t necessarily know it would be together.)

    The two of us dated for five years before getting married, and that vision of lake living stayed with us. We never lived on any of the four lakes that make up the heart and soul of Madison, Wisconsin, in the twenty years we called it home. We did spend hours and hours walking along those lakes, dreaming and scheming together, trying our best to figure out how to make it happen. 

    We were also open to other lakes in other locations. We just knew it needed to be bigger than a pond, something large enough to accommodate a pontoon boat. We tried on lots of places, including Idaho, where we finally visited for the first time while celebrating our twentieth wedding anniversary. After all those years, we couldn’t shake the dream of living on a lake.

    We never anticipated it would be a Great one.

    Sheboygan didn’t hit our radar until one day during the height of the pandemic. A friend of ours knew our dream. He took note of the fact that we often took vacations near the ocean because we loved the sound of the waves, and suggested we check out Lake Michigan (which looks a lot like an ocean when you’re standing on the shore, unable to see the other side).

    The idea had never occurred to us. We pulled up a map and surveyed the cities east coast of Wisconsin. What about Sheboygan? I had spoken there once, and remember enjoying a few moments I had to spend sitting by the lake. We googled it, and learned it was known as the Bratwurst Capitol of the World and the Malibu of the Midwest because of its unique geographical qualities that provide ideal surfing conditions.

    That kicked off a magical and miraculous journey, a long story made short by saying we now live in Sheboygan. On a lake.

    This painting celebrates Sheboygan, the funny-sounding city on the shores of Lake Michigan, known for brats and surfing. But it also represents our prayers.

    Saying a prayer is like launching a message in a bottle into the ocean. Once a prayer leaves your heart, you lose all control. You hope it reaches God, but once it floats out of sight, it’s easy for doubt to creep in: Did it get lost? Swallowed by a shark? Did it reach its destination only to be rejected or forgotten? You might be tempted to wonder how you could have been so foolish to trust in such an uncontrollable, unpredictable, mysterious method. Did you think this would actually work?

    Our prayer to live on a lake was a message in a bottle. It floated out there for two decades.

    The dream felt more and more foolish as the years wore on and our business took longer to grow than we’d expected. There were times I thought the dream was lost at sea. There were moments I wished it really was, because I was so weary from wondering what happened to it. I figured it would be easier, and less painful, to have never dreamed the dream or prayed the prayer at all.

    Maybe you have a prayer like that, a message in a bottle that you’re certain is lost. I can’t tell you how your prayer will be answered, but I know for sure it’s not lost. It’s definitely not forgotten. 

    Somehow, our prayers find our way back, with answers washing up on unexpected shores at unexpected times. But it’s always at exactly the right time and delivers exactly what we need, even if it looks different than we imagined.

    God will not let you miss your future. 

    It takes faith to release a prayer into the great unknown, and that faith is always rewarded.

  • Wind In Our Sails

    “Wind In Our Sails” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    This painting was inspired by a family vacation to Mexico. One thing that was abundantly clear in the week we were there is that the Mexican people love their color. When you’re accustomed to everything being Pottery Barn beige and gray, it really stands out. 

    I wanted to incorporate that vibrant, whimsical color, along with one of the culture’s great traditions, Dia de Muertos, or Day of the Dead. I think it is a beautiful way to look at the afterlife and the ancestors who went before us. I appreciated the idea of seeing death as a part of the life process, rather than an end in itself.

    I also liked the focus on how much we owe to the people who came before us. In American culture, the independent spirit of the individual is celebrated. That’s fine, as far as it goes. Except that there is no such thing as a self-made man or woman. No one becomes successful by themselves. Yes, your unique talents and a fiery self-determination are key ingredients for success. 

    But life is a group effort. 

    I was thinking about the people in my own life who have passed away. Not just family members, but teachers and coaches who served as mentors, too. Every one of them taught me something that I carry with me to this day. 

    My Grandma K. made me feel like I was special, just as I was.

    My third-grade teacher, Mrs. Smith, encouraged me to take my artistic talent seriously.

    My Little League coach, Mr. Dawson, helped me believe that I was a winner.

    When I was an uncertain teenager, Deacon Vince saw me as a grown-up with valuable contributions to make.

    Each of us is like that tiny sailboat. At times, it can feel like we are drifting, alone, on a vast and overwhelming sea. 

    But we are not alone. 

    We have the wisdom, given to us by the people in our lives who have gone before us, charting our course. They have touched our lives, and their examples live on, showing us the way.

    And their words live on as the wind in our sails, guiding us into a bright and colorful future.