My earliest recollection of “art work” is of intense concentration, my fat little fingers gripping an even fatter, thick-leaded pencil. My drawings included family members, animals, trees, grass, sky, water, and horses. At a very early age, writing letters and words fascinated me, as they seemed to carry “the message.” To this day, I swoon at the smell of a newly opened box of Crayons.
Today I paint and write. My paintings have evolved into what appears to be large expanses of pure color. On closer inspection one finds layers of color, brushstrokes, line, form, many depths of visual and perceptual suggestion, which create a spiritual relationship between viewer and the painting. I arrive at color choice after meditation and prayer. My process includes vast areas of quiet-time, during which the next layer of applied color is seen in my mind.
Poetry, prose, memoir and essay are included in my writing. Often, like my paintings, the writing is a combination of form, as prose poetry, or memoir poetry, or essay poetry.
Today my painting and writing bring practicality to this mind of mine, which loves to hang out in the esoteric.
On days that seem too busy, too full of un-artist, or even anti-artist tasks, it is important for me to remember to claim my place, my work. "My work is loving the world." Even when I cannot see or hear the sunflowers or hummingbirds, loving this full and crazy life is healing and transformational.
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