I'm from Queenstown New Zealand.  I am now living in Taos New Mexico, where I work as a

Massage Therapist and Somatic Educator. I also like to express myself any way I can.  I return

to NZ often, where I have a little house on wheels.

Most of the art is for sale or if you ask, I may give it to you. Most are on paper - some originals

are still available - or they can be ordered as high quality digital prints or as cards. If you use

my images, please give me credit for them.

My work shows at FAFA's  gallery in Taos.

CONTACT ME:

EMAIL

PHONE:   575 751 7594

WHERE I'M FROM     jonell mills   2008

I'm from the South, way south. 45 degrees south

I'm from the South of the South Island of New Zealand.

I'm from Lake Wakatipu,

with the legend of the sleeping giant

I'm from float planes, jet boats, gondolas and tourists

I'm from dingies, eel traps, tickling trout 

and pebbled beaches. 

I'm from  COLD water

clear lakes

and milky turquoise rivers 

tall Yellow trees,

fresh green mint, 

and snow capped peaks 

I'm from panning gold from black sand 

and dancing across rounded river rocks 

I'm from injured hawks on the kitchen floor, 

broken-legged goats in the back yard, 

and ponies nosing in the bread bin 

hundreds of little green frogs

emerging from the paddling pool

and drowned orphan ducklings 

floating in there on a rainy morning

I'm from bare feet and sandals, skinned knees, 

peeling noses and scabbed hands. 

I'm from falling face forward down the hill, 

again and again and, yes Mum, 

it happened again. 

I'm from sure-footed stock!  

I'm from long summer days 

splashing naked

in the paddling pool, 

where little boys

got their first peek 

at fuzzy wee peaches... 

mine and my sister's   

I'm from the dear old Earnslaw, our Lady of the Lake, 

pumping black coal smoke and eerie hoots 

into the clear mountain air. 

I'm from feeding the ducks -

generations of us are.

I'm from eathquakes and land slides 

Coal fires, hoar frosts and short winter days

I'm from skiing 

Wet snow, flat light and horizotal storms

steamy warming huts with pot bellied stoves

I'm from the sweet smell of wet wool in winter 

From shrunken woolen mittens, all left handed, 

all ruined by the burn of rope tows, 

none covering the wrists  

I'm from skating on thin ice

curling on frozen lakes, whiskey, 

tam-o-shanters and breathing 

white 

steamy 

breaths

I'm from bare legs, hob nail boots,

swan dries and oil skins. 

I'm from the high country, 

tussocks, matagouri and bracken

Marino sheep, hoggets 

and yellow sweeds smothered in butter  

I'm from a father who was a ski champion, 

a cheap drunk and a man 

of much mischief

I'm from skipping a dead day in church 

for a live morning on the waterfront

spending threepence on lollies 

even if it was meant for

the collection bowl 

I'm from brothers who taught me to break

the rules 

and a mother who could bend them. 

I'm from home brewed beer -

pungent hops and sickly sweet malt 

bubbling behind the kitchen door 

I'm from raspberry jam, 

preserved apricots, 

and rowan berry wine

I'm from

Sunday Night is Bath Night

sheets hot out of the drying cupboard, 

thrown over my small freshly bathed body, 

wraped in flannel pajamas

I'm from heavy wool blankets, 

tucked in around me sweetly

I'm from corrugated iron roofs, 

pinex ceilings, 

and loud

long

rainy

nights.