Beatrice Wood

I like falling in love with old ladies. I have an instant fascination with a woman's life, how she got here, her struggles, her memories, her jewelry. When I was little I assumed all kids had someone like this in their lives, not just a kind grandma, but a woman to admire and love with all your heart. I was lucky.

To Ojai again. I was already in pure heaven when we arrived at a cabin along the river, right up in the mountains, away from town, close to nothing. The noise of the rushing water, the smell of the shady air, the little stove furnace, the screened porch, everything was magical. Next to the couch was a stack of books and magazines, all about this one artist, Beatrice Wood. Once I picked up her autobiography, I couldn't stop reading it, and it actually turned into an important part of the weekend. I read and read and thought about all of her adventures right in this very place. Her spirit was free and wanted a lot, but she wasn't perfect and didn't have money. Her art became her life and she fought for it.







Her home is now a studio and center for the arts. I had to go and absorb. I kept thinking, this is where she sat by the fire, this is where her bed was, this is where she looked for peace, this is where she made her life happen. The drive there feels like you are being transported to a very special and faraway place.













Without one of these incredible ladies in my life anymore, Beato steps in. She's someone I can imagine and be inspired by. What I wouldn't give for a moment with her overlooking the valley into the mountains, painting a vessel, laughing and eating chocolate.

She's so much like my Nana and that's why I was so drawn to her. If my Nana didn't have to quit school in 4th grade and deal with everything she had to in her life, she would have been like Beato, an artist paving her own way, doing what she wanted with sass and boldness. She deserved that.



She lived to be 105 years old.