Welcome to my website!
My name is Jenna Martin Leitch and Iโm an artist, illustrator and writer from Fife, Scotland.
My work is inspired by the treasures I find, in my everyday life and in the natural world. The joy they bring to me. The โhappyโ they make me feel.
I collect things; In my pockets, through my eyes, with my mind, and in my heart. The things we have lost. The things we have found. The sum of our parts.โจโจThrough written word, drawn line, and painted hue; I make sure the magic is remembered and the JOY I FEEL is paid forward.
5 years have passed, and likely about another 40 more since this photo was taken.
A Tifty bike ride. Little me in tiny seat. Safely fastened in.
Still, I feel her close. I instinctively, sometimes think, I should phone her.
I can feel her warm smile, her eyes watching me, as I do nothing, sitting across from her.
I still can feel the soft papery feeling of the touch of her hands. Hear her voice, her laugh.
I still can feel the way she used to annoy me, if she said I looked tired, when in fact, I just didnโt have any make up on.
I can still remember waiting on her stood on the gate at nursery. Or seeing her face at the playgroup door. The school gates, waiting for me in her car.
I can sense her close. Reading her paper. Reaching for her cuppa. Saying, โaw chickyโ to my Dad, in her gorgeous Yorkshire tone.
I can see them, looking at each other, gazes held, a reach of hands, clasping upon passing. Brief, but love so palpable.
I can feel the moment she left. I can remember the phone calls that day. I can remember how cold it was, but how the sun shone in our living room window, so brightly.
Sheโs somewhere else. I sense that too. Very much so.
Not hereโฆ. But she hasnโt left. Not entirely.
Life changes, thatโs for sure. The richness my Mum and my Dad have left me, in heart, is vast. Loss yes, but the love remains, and that is worth so much. We hold onto it.
Jen x
#mymum
This Friday we were able to tell the story of my Dadโs life in the most beautiful Aberdeenshire landscape.
Snow and sunshine, in equal and unexpected mix, met both blue skies, and friends, on the hilltop woodland burial site, where now both my parents lay, side by side.
With Bennachie in distance, and words spoken, so as to help tell of what a rich and wonderful life he lived.
My Dad was an amazing man. Which has somehow managed to hit home, all the more, now that he is no longer here, in this world, with us.
Lovely also, to bring friends together who have not seen each other, in too long. Sad circumstances, yes, but Dad would never want us to wallow in that, and instead, focus on seeing each other moreso, in the near future.
The pull to home, will be stronger now, once more, knowing that both my parents are together, in Buchan. Iโll visit Tifty, Iโll nip to Turriff. Iโll walk the woods at Windyhills, and I am MORE than sure, than THIS year, finally, I will walk up to the top of Mither Tap. With some glorious souls, walking by my side. In my Dads honour.
He would love that, but never as much, as I loved him.
๐
My friend and amazing brand photographer @jillyjillystudio has a new website. You can find information if you require her to help you tell your story or create beautiful images of your creations.
She also has a blog on her website, and I found this lovely post about the day she spent with me at my home studio and working/gallery space last year.
It honestly feels like a lifetime ago now. So much has happened since, and my life has changed in so many ways.
It was a lovely reminder of what we created that day to tell my story, and also, just a timely reminder of all that I am capable of, and have created from writing and my own artistic talents in recent years, since my Mum passed, and now my Dad has also.
I hope, once the dust settles, Iโll be able to move forward with as much clarity, joy and sunshine as ever. The last weeks have felt heavy and cloudy, the constant rain has not helped.
Always OF the seasons, my work may be in a lull just now, much like the skies above us, but, this is not for always. Iโve done it before, and Iโm sure Iโll manage again.
If you fancy a read, Iโll attach the link here, and into my stories for today.
Ever onwardsโฆ one step at a time.
Jen x
#JOYimprinted
#JennaMartinLeitchArtist
#JennaMartinLeitchWriter
https://www.jillyjilly.co.uk/blog/storytelling-portraits-for-an-artist-and-writer
Next day, I walk. Black ice and
sparkly surfaces. It all feels surreal.
Otherly.
I sit for hours, myself.
Alone, but with him.
Breath in. Breath out.
Hand on hand on hand.
I love you, I say, as eyes held.
โI love youโ he manages in reply.
Mumbled, but clarified with nod.
His last words.
I watch sunset. Another night.
Streetlights, all the way from Edinburgh.
~ Jenna Martin Leitch
Thereโs a little girl, that lives in me still. Powerful, empowered, self-belief in bucket loads.
There is a little girl that lives in me still. Wild, wonderful, and happiest when outside.
I am encouraged to remember herโฆ to have faith in her, and to make sure sheโs ok.
To sit with her in her sadness. To laugh with her when something tickles her funny bone.
This little girl, and I, ever one and the same. Yet years apart. Time spanning the differences, but soul, binding us together. Whole lifetimes in fact.
A force to be reckoned with, the same from then, to now, travelling our bodies. Within.
I am a little firecracker. I always have been. I know that little girl well.
I remember her well.
I am her.
#rememberher
#littlefirecracker
#JOYimprinted
#JennaMartinLeitchArtist
#littleme
My Dad had beautiful hands.
Weather worn, and with aged skin. Veins apparent, skin tenuousโฆ almost transparent.
Age spots and bruises dappled. Both surface and centre. Alabaster to purple. Lines and furrows.
A softness. Papery to touch. Like folded maps, laid flat and bare with time. Creases part of their intrinsic make up. Antiquities. Antiquated.
A sea held in those palms. Knuckles as waves. Crest and full. The gap between fingers held. A lull. Beach falling.
Landlocked. Hands clasped. โLost at seaโโฆ whilst safe on dry land.
They helped tell his story. Expressive and with an elegance, they assisted in the weaving of tales. The telling of his stories. Water born, or otherwise. Of land and of oceans.
My Fatherโs Hands.
#mydad
#myfathershandsasoceans
#lostatseawhilstsafeondryland
She will listen to the sea.
Watch the waves; see them folding over themselvesโฆ again & again.
That pause at peak, momentary and imperceptible, yet also, like a sharp intake of breath.
And then release, a fall. White in grey in blue, the turn.
Like a horizontal spiral, the air and the water meet. Hold one another, in soft caress.
Water, the most powerful of elements, softens at this point. In a small way, on a massive scale.
Enchanting and hypnotic. The emotion of the water enthralls.
Our ears engulfed by soft volume.
We sit by the sea. Side by side and it carries us. By ears and by eyes.
Somewhere else entirely. Still, here.
~ Jenna Martin Leitch
She will listen to the sea.
Watch the waves; see them folding over themselvesโฆ again & again.
That pause at peak, momentary and imperceptible, yet also, like a sharp intake of breath.
And then release, a fall. White in grey in blue, the turn.
Like a horizontal spiral, the air and the water meet. Hold one another, in soft caress.
Water, the most powerful of elements, softens at this point. In a small way, on a massive scale.
Enchanting and hypnotic. The emotion of the water enthralls.
Our ears engulfed by soft volume.
We sit by the sea. Side by side and it carries us. By ears and by eyes.
Somewhere else entirely. Still, here.
~ Jenna Martin Leitch
#JOYimprinted
#shewilllistentothesea
#griefandjoy
#ineededtoseethesea
Itโs not a perfect photoโฆ but, I miss my Man in the Moon. ๐
My Dad loved the night sky. He learned it, and he charted it. It guided him and whole ships across oceans.
This last year, Iโd thought of him as my (Old) Man in the Moon so often. His wise and beautiful face. Gentle, and lit up. Always watching over me. Closed mouth smile. That innate warmth he possessed so readily.
The sky tonight, with day lighter longerโฆ but even now, as the full moon was resting in the sky; with clarity, and no clouds, the air felt bright. I could breathe. I looked up and felt the peaceful way he made me feel, as his daughter.
Even in darkness. That luminosity.
Two weeks have now passed, where he hasnโt been in my world, and yet, he has been everywhere. His essence and his loss, both shadowing, and at the same time, enchanting my life.
Today is Imbolc, and we are halfway, to the Spring Equinox. Half way from, the Winter Solstice. Already.
Time passes still. The light will trickle back in, and the moon, full or otherwise, with a face smiling down at me, will remain in the sky. Whether we see it or not.
There is light. How comforting.
#mydad
#themaninthemoon
โToday Iโm aware of birdsong. And light. Brighter sooner.
I saw rainbows. Two. Across different skies
I saw a golden glow so warming, as if it settled in my very soul. Radiant. Shining.
A cat came to me. Intrigued by my presence. Unknown. Unbeknownst. Watchful and slow tiptoe towards.
Seagulls on blue. People crossing roads. Strangers on pavements.
Tyres dispersing puddles. Smoke from chimneys. Sunlight reflecting on windows. High up. Mirror rays.โ
This excerpt I wrote a few days before my father left this world. I noticed a lot, those days, as I am always inclined to doโฆ a noticer, like him.
I noticed light. The way it played in air and on surfaces.
I noticed how the world came to me. How others seemed to respond to me, or not.
I noticed sounds and as if the air around me were a very THING. Tangible. Touchable. Weightless and, even amongst all the sadness, it was wonderful. As if it were trying to help me. Help me to breathe as my father lost his.
Just the oddest feeling days. So heavy. Yet so filled with light.
I donโt think that whole realization will ever leave me. I donโt want it to either.
So, just to sayโฆ. Iโm still here. Life is a lot. I have so much to organise and prioritise and to be.
A daughter, still. A wife. A mum. A sister. A friend.
But, mostly, I just need to be me. Only me. Within. Without.
And onwards, I guess.
Jen x
#JennaMartinLeitchWriter
#thelight
#mydad
#thetinydetailsandthefaraways
