Hello. If you're interested in reading about period movement influences or art analogies, please skip me. I didn't go to
college. I don't know what scumbling or encaustic means, or whether I should be using linseed oil. What I do know is how
stunned I feel to stand at the Met in front of a Repin. And when Bonnard's amazing colors wash over me, I have to hope
my moan wasn't audible. I guess what I'm saying is, I'm low on the intellectual but huge on the sensual.
I was a weird kid who hid in trees. There was always a book in my lap or a pencil in my hand. I grew into the same kind of
woman, but I'm better at making eye contact now. I feel energized by sunshine and things I love and feel an obsession to
record them as best I can. I make no statement other than "I was here, and these things I've loved." Babies. Dogs. Women
with pretty hair. My son. People having a nice lunch. Blueberries.
Human skin thrills me. I love bones and muscle and tone gradations, and those wonderful moist parts that glimmer in
sunlight. Thanks to my supportive husband, I've been blessed with the luxury of experimenting with any raw talents we all
possess but rarely have the time to explore. I thought I'd wind up in an overheated apartment with five kids, rushing to
catch the bus to my factory job. Instead here I am, on this website. Pretty fucking fantastic. Thanks for reading.
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|Cowboys and Tiaras
My husband, 2nd from right in the
Daniel Boone getup, with
neighborhood kids he barely
remembers; though he thinks he
played doctor with that girl on the left
|Happy Birthday, dear friend of mine
|The Uncles, One Fine Sunday
Circa 1962. I made this pencil sketch
from an old photo. The tall kid is my
brother Wayne. I'm holding the rabbit,
my sister Roxie behind me, my cousin
Chris in the middle. The other kid is my
|When She was Young, and Full of Dreams
My mother at Cowan's Gap.
Three of our cats ~ Lester, Ike and Mike.
Sorry about the glare from the glass.