Are You a Feminist?
It sounds like a no-brainer to me. Of course, I am a Feminist! What woman isn’t?

I grew up in the late 60’s, early 70’s, when Feminism was at the forefront of mainstream media. It was almost impossible to turn on the news, or read a newspaper or magazine, without hearing about the movement. 

As a girl, I came to understand what these women were so passionate about - equal pay, gender equality, rights over their own bodies. And also as a child, I was unaware that we didn’t already have these rights. Weren’t girls equal to boys? Wait a minute, why are we treated differently? 

I remember a woman who handed me a necklace with the letters “N O W”. It was heavy, with a thick long chain and a large NOW logo hanging from it. I slipped it over my head and held the medallion in my small hand, not knowing what it meant. But the small group of ladies smiled and expressed words of approval and strength. I felt empowered for a moment, like I was one of them. It wasn’t until many years later that I realized what NOW stood for - National Organization for Women.

I remember the victory of Roe v Wade, and how it changed the landscape of women’s rights over their own bodies. It was a huge win, one in which I would reap the benefits of in the early 80’s as a teenaged girl. The right to legal abortion became commonplace, a fundamental right for women, as it should be. 

With the overturn of Roe v Wade, it is evident that we still face an upward battle. But the fire still burns, the protests still remain, and change is still hopeful. I see it in the younger generations of women and girls, in the older generations who faced more discrimination than I will ever know, and in a powerful future of women leaders. 

Are you a feminist? I’d love to hear your stories. All of you, old and young. I’m reaching out to you for inspiration. Shoot me an email, tell me your stories, share your experiences. I'm putting together a photography concept, and I'm eager to meet you all!

fem·i·nist /ˈfemənəst/ noun

1. an advocate of women's rights on the basis of the equality of the sexes; a person who supports feminism. 

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Ugh, how boring. A blog about healthy stuff. I could spend the next few minutes writing about how much I detest veggies. Actually, that would be more realistic than pretending I'm totally into carrots, broccoli, and squash. Truth is, I've eaten so many baby carrots as of late, that I'm starting to turn orange. 

What a way to end this year! I know I'm not speaking just for myself when I say "this year was rough!" For me, I lost my best friend to cancer, gave up my studio for lack of inspiration, dealt with a few new health issues, and dove back into therapy. I got raw and real with myself, emotionally and spiritually.  But it wasn't all terrible. 

Now is the time of year to give that special someone, or yourself, a gift that lasts a lifetime:  Art

7:59 p.m MST
Tuesday, November 23rd, 2021

Artists, like me, have a whole lot of art that we've created over the years. We do it because we love it. For me, it's an obsession. I can't go a single day without creating something - a photograph, a drawing, a painting, an animated NFT, something that involves designing something totally unique. 

I have stacks of canvases with my artwork on them, lots of abstracts or psychedelica. I take photos of Jerome on my daily morning walks, and edit them. I draw characters, and sometimes I become the character. Drawings are piled up on my home-studio art table. My computer stores thousands of photographs I've shot, not to mention 82 one-of-a-kind, sometimes animated, NFT art pieces (so far). 

Almost all of my original canvas artwork is at the Schutz Studio; some are hanging on a gallery wall at the House of Joy, both also in Jerome. So, unless you are here, where I am, how else can you see what I have?

Most of my art sales have come from people who follow me on social media. They see something they love, and they send me a direct message. I quote a size and price (plus shipping). They pay me via an email invoice from Square, and it's shipped the very next day. It doesn't get any simpler.

Once a year, I advertise my art for sale, and it's always during the holiday season. I am offering 20% off on Black Friday, and I am limiting the number of prints. Both my photography and my artwork is for sale. ALL OF IT.

If you want an original, they are all for sale too. 

For those of you into digital art, my NFT Collections are a lot of fun. I highly suggest you check it out on Open Sea.

Whatever you choose to buy, they all make great holiday gifts. They can be printed in a variety of sizes, even on metal or on a canvas-wrap. (unframed).

It's never easy for an artist to ask people to buy their art. It's almost unheard-of. We appreciate everyone who takes an interest in what we create, and welcome those who purchase a piece. Collectors , now is the time to jump onboard. 

Thank you for your purchases, and for supporting the arts. I am grateful. 

Contact me anytime:  redbenchart@gmail.com

Peace,
​Zushka

Hey, welcome to my Art Sale! 

Here are a couple of pieces from my Jerome Collection:  Ship On The Mountain, and All Hallows Eve.
Original unframed paintings on stretched canvas, various sizes.

I have a couple more to choose from, but you'll have to come out and visit the House of Joy at 416 Hull Avenue, Jerome, AZ 86331, to see them all.  

If Jerome isn't your thing, I have a lot of original abstract pieces, also on stretched canvas in various sizes at Schutz Studio at the Old Jerome High School, 885 Hampshire Avenue, Building A, Studio 203.

I'm reducing my inventory to make room for new pieces I've been working on.  Everything must go. 
If you've been following me on social media and love my work, take a drive up the mountain and meet me.

All Sales Are Final - No Refunds
Credit/Debit Cards Accepted
Exact Cash Only (if paying with cash.)
No checks

Okay, first of all this is not a blog about my senior years. Let's just get that out of the way. 

A couple months ago, I decided to boost my daily exercise by walking the Lazy River at the local community pool. Almost every morning, at least for the first few weeks, I threw my bathing suit and towel into a bag, got into my car and drove down the mountain for at least an hour of walking in water. 

It didn't take long to figure out that I was the youngest person there. But being eligible for the senior membership made me feel a little uneasy. Senior? Come on!

I had to get a new bathing suit, since I outgrew the ones I wore last... like, a decade ago. It was slim pickings at Walmart, being out of season and all. But I found something that would do. I really didn't care what I looked like in it. That is, until I was standing there in the locker room wearing it, in front of a full-length mirror. The horror! When did I turn into a fat old lady??

I ignored the reflection and headed off to the indoor aquatics room. I loved it there, full of natural light, swimming lanes, slides and a kiddie pool area, a huge hot tub, and the Lazy River.  Mornings were quiet, only a handful of old people walking and swimming the Lazy River, or sitting in the hot tub. Old classic rock played on the speaker. It wasn't too bad, actually. Not exactly my style of music, but reminded me of what it felt like to be a kid. And that's what I felt like in that pool - like a kid. 

My pink ponytail got noticed right away by the reaction of either giggles or looks of disapproval.  But, after a while, a few people started to lighten up. I was just so happy to be there, I smiled at everyone. I even said "good morning" to anyone who made eye contact with me.  A few of the ladies made small talk as they got close to me, walking next to me or past me. But I couldn't help feeling like I was in the pool with my parents.

I even started giving them secret nicknames, like Mark Twain and Ron White - two of the regulars. (Seriously, that's what they looked like, and if they ever read this blog, they'll recognize themselves.)  I watched a sweet couple, husband and wife, who taught me a little something about long-term relationships, which this generation was clearly all about.

It was like stepping back in time for an hour each morning, watching how they interacted with one another and with me. How they spoke, how they moved slower. They weren't cranky old people. They were just a generation older than me. They came from a different time where they fixed things that were broken, instead of throwing them away. I'm sure the speed of technology and devices, even cars and household appliances, were sometimes too much for them to grasp. They liked things the way they were. They were comfortable that way. Faster and newer doesn't always mean better.

After they started warming up to me, some of them opened up about their lives. Like the lady with the guardian angel tattoo on her shoulder. She struck up a conversation with me after she complimented my dragonfly tattoo. She had breast cancer years ago, and got her tattoo after she survived it. Each little star around the guardian angel represented each year she had been cancer-free since that time. After awhile, her daughter (who was probably my age) took over the star tattoos on her shoulders.

Or the man who was proud of his work as a bounty hunter. He was even a character in a movie about it. He invited me to the Elks Lodge. Not a place I'd ever go, but still a sweet person.

They lit up when they had someone new to talk to, especially one much younger. Their eyes sparkled, like this one lady who always wore a mask. She never said anything, but her eyes smiled as they met mine during her calculated laps.

The ones who made the biggest impact on me were a husband and wife. She always got to the pool early, usually met up with a girlfriend, and they swam the Lazy River together, chatting the whole time. Her husband always came in later, dressed in his street clothes, carrying a bag. He didn't look really old, but it was clear that he had some type of mental illness, like the early signs of dementia. Every time, he'd stand at the edge of the pool, waiting for his wife to make her way around so he could stop her. And every time she would say to him "you can't come into the pool dressed like that. Go into the locker room and change into your bathing suit." She would continue with her swim and he would wander around, still lost. A second time around she would tell him to put his bag over by her chair. She again continued with her swim, and he would slowly walk over to her chair, making conversation with the lifeguard along the way. He had style, like you could tell he was hot when he was young. She probably was too. What a beautiful young couple they must have been. I wondered, what were their dreams on their wedding day for their future? Did they have kids? Did they travel? 

She would eventually get out of the pool, grab her beach towel and wrap it around her, and sit on her chair. He sat on the chair next to her. She would reach over and hold his hand. He would look at her and smile. What I loved so much about them was, they didn't throw each other away when life got hard, because clearly mental illness makes life harder. She helped him, but didn't fix him. She told him what to do, and it was up to him to do it. And sometimes he would wander back out to the front desk and talk to the girls who worked there. He was a pleasant man, and she was in love with him for most of her life. In the end, they'd always find each other, either at the pool or at the front desk. 

The point is, they showed me what it was like to make a commitment to another person. I thought it was beautiful. It even brought a tear to my eye more than once. All of the people I met at the pool had these things in common - their word meant everything; they made promises and kept them; they knew how to appreciate life.

Being around these old people for a couple months made me feel younger. Not because they were old and I wasn't. But because, inside they were still young. We are all young. It's just our bodies that age. Spending time with them helped me get out of the mindset that my body was supposed to look a certain way, or move quicker. It may never look that way again, and I may never be able to move as quick as I once did. Accepting that isn't easy for me. But watching the old people at the pool changed everything for me. I, in turn, slowed down. I watched how I interacted with those around me. I was much more tolerate with those who are closest to me. Because life can change on a dime, and tomorrow I may not be here. Each day is memorable to me, even when my car breaks down, or I don't like what someone said, or my art isn't selling fast enough, or whatever. None of it matters. None of it. 

My advise to all of you - go swimming with old people. Do it. NOW. They have so much to share, these valuable incredible people. I'm forever grateful for the couple of months at the pool with all of them. 

Thanks for reading.

Zushka

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