Art

Even as the so-called “creator” of my paintings, I’m often baffled by the visuals & connective tissues that find their way to the canvas. As I work, these vivid ecosystems of whimsical forms, architectural lines, and dueling perspectives come into being – like inhabitants from outer realms, tunneling in to be seen & pondered for their curious nature.

Painting is my training in patience and perseverance. My process feels like a microcosm of getting through life – soldiering on (with imperfect grace) through the setbacks, elations, and myriad distractions of daily existence.

There are countless moments when the canvas is an unharmonious mess, nothing cooperates, and I welcome the sight of the nearest trash can. But you carry on. You sketch, erase, re-sketch, paint, take time out, rethink the whole damn thing, rest, and repeat the cycle. You keep on keepin’ on til you’re facing something that feels familiar to your soul.

As a woman in mid-life, I’m realizing how necessary it is to embark on and share the work of one’s heart. It feels like a sacrilege not to. Once you’ve mined the depths & battled your crafty mental goblins (doubt, fear, insecurity) to create a pure expression of self; it seems an honorable duty to pay it forward.

When I say “Hey folks, check out my weird paintings,” the hope is that one reluctant artist will dust off their paintbrushes, clay stacks, or sketchbook and get to work.