About me
When I was growing up, art was everywhere. Hanging on the walls. Leaning against them, waiting to be hung. On the refrigerator. A painting we called God the Father, painted by my dad when he was a teen, had a place of honor in the hallway. Original portraits of native Americans lined the library walls. All over the house and in his office were paintings done by my father’s patients that he eagerly accepted as payment for his services. They sat side-by-side with his collection of original lithographs by Miro and Picasso.
The Air We Breathed
The message was clear. art was valued. It was the air we breathed. The thing that separated us from the pets who shared the space.
Art was the place I could go to find solitude surrounded by 11 siblings, and a menagerie of pets–birds and snakes, dogs and cats, rabbits and chickens. Even a monkey.
Out beyond the walls of my house, in my town, a lazy little river city between the banks of the Sacramento and American rivers, was a notable community of working artists and teachers. I was blessed.
A Change in Direction
I took art in college. In one painting class, a student I’d never noticed before, stood next to my painting, declared it good but then told me, “You’re not ready to be an artist yet. You need to go out and experience more pain.” Seemed like an odd thing to say to someone you don’t know—but as it turned out, he was a bit prophetic.
After college, life took an unexpected turn. I experienced a long era of breathtaking difficulties with pregnancy. It was a journey. While I was bedridden, out of both a need to find something to do and to see if there was anything to explain what the heck just happened, I took an astrology class. It turned out to be remarkably helpful. I never had an interest in foretelling the future, but it gave me a symbolic language to understand myself. I landed up spending a number of years delving into the subject, learning about myth and symbol in a deeper way than I ever had in school.
That rather oddly led me to work in technology. Technology taught me a lot about analysis, planning, and organization. I learned about technical tools and websites. So, while not doing art, my detour was giving me all kinds of tools that now stand me in good stead.
The personal journey was also a geographical one. It took me to many places. All increasing my appreciation for and love of the landscape. From west to east coast, north and south, trips on trains, planes, and in cars, from there and back again. I’ve called Boston and Cape Cod home, Seattle and Puget Sound, and now I’m in Los Angeles. Each place is unique and beautiful in its own way. These places I’ve called home are the inspiration of my series, For the Love of Place.
Through these travels, and the many chapters of my life, art never left me. I collected supplies for when I would get back to it. Taking lessons along the way. Showing my work here and there. My real journey back started in the wake of 9/11. I already planned to take a year-long break from work. My sweet sister, Katie, was in the late stages of cancer, and I was on my way to stay with her at the hospital in Palo Alto. But I also planned to travel and consider, “Where to from here.” When the attack happened, I quickly finished my project and took off. While my sister was in therapy, I wandered around downtown and found a little art store, bought a book, a few supplies and started painting in earnest again.
During that year off, I connected with siblings, wandering and camping as I went. I came back to another year of working on community projects and doing art before returning to work for another nine quite wonderful years. After I retired, a found all kinds of projects to keep me busy, including teaching art to elementary students. It wasn’t until Covid, when all the other obligations and distractions were removed, I had to ask myself, if not now, when?
I reorganized my space to make room for art. I focused my attention and gave myself to it. It’s been how many years since then? I’ve lost track of the time. I renewed my skills, built this website and a shop where I share my collection of spirit animal designs.
This is what I’ve learned along the way. That student way back when was probably right. My life took me there and that’s where I needed to go. It’s tempting to think that time away from art is somehow separate from it. What I’ve learned is that it is integral to it. All the side journeys. All the life events. The joys and sorrows. They are the weft and weave that we bring to our art. It’s never too late. Wherever you are. Whenever you can. Do art. It makes us human.
I hope you enjoy the work I share here.