When I was a kid and my family lived abroad in Asia, we spent a lot of time traveling by boat and car throughout neighboring countries. My mother had a driver who would take us across the border to Thailand in our little white Honda sedan for her to shop interesting artifacts and food. We often did this when my father was at work; we'd rummage the village shops and make it back home by dinner. My mother had all the furniture in our Penang home built by local artisans; the coffee table, the dining table and chairs, her personal telephone table, all of the children's beds, our toy chests, most of our toys. Everything made from local wood, hand-cut and carved. When we moved back to the United States, she took most of it with us, and set it up in our new home. I remember guests visited for dinner one evening, and when my mother was out of the room they quietly commented how odd and strange people are with their unusual design aesthetic, and they wrinkled up their faces in distaste. My mother came back in the room glowing and smiling - pride in carrying her teak tray with beautiful goodies on it. I remember feeling proud of her and glad to see her joy, glad that she had not seen the looks on our guests faces. Earlier this week I saw a photo on social media of rattan tables and chairs from Vietnam, which reminded of my time as a child spent abroad - our family room opened up to a large stone patio which looked out onto the forested hills and the ocean below, the leaves rustling, the warm, tropical wind blowing through the open doors, my feet up on the rattan coffee table. The contrast I saw in my mothers design sense, and the unusual reponses I saw come from it, helped me to consider beauty in different ways. It's one thing I think about when writing poetry, or making paintings - and I think I can feel the wind on me again from in that house in Malaysia.   

Working simultaneously on my professional work with my children by my side - just as I like it. Together we create a variety of experimental work and art that they can feel proud of. We learn so much together. Here are some samples of the work we've been doing together - these in particular are mono prints. It's not all about the large abstracts I make, or the farm centered paintings - it's also about the time spent living IN art, making it our life and our breathe.

When I'm creating paintings for clients, I'm also painting with my kids and giving them lessons. Watercolors with kids - wet on dry paper, dry on dry paper, ink and crayon added, acrylic on canvas, oil on canvas, oil on paper, wood carved and printed, cut paper. Three kids, three different artists.

There are many wonderful artists whom inspire my work, but the French artist, François-Louis Schmied, is one of the strongest. Here are some of his beautiful pieces. I look at these pieces daily and find myself standing there in those painted environments. The colors stir me and push me to recreate them in my own studio. I hope you enjoy.

When I was twenty-two years old, I was walking through the mountains in France with my then German husband, and his father. We hiked all day to a small rural village, got cleaned up, and dined at the well-hidden, three star Michelin rated restaurant there. It was a divine food experience. My father in law had been an art collector his entire adult life. While we dined, he told us the story of the German artist who owned this restaurant hidden in the French hills, and spoke vi vidly of the things that drew him to his art. My father in law was an art history teacher to me, and I admired his taste in art. At the time, I was an art student, and it was his interest to impress upon me his artistic ideals, which I accepted honorably. Klaus Fussman, the German painter, was the subject of that dining experience, and from that point on he was an artist I watched closely and studied. Since then, I have acquired three small Fussman pieces of my own, and have several of his exhibition books which I refer to often. I don't work professionally with water-color paints, as Fussman does, but in making art with my children we use them and discuss how Fussman achieved certain looks. I'm grateful for the exposure my former husbands father gave to me, and for the beauty and liveliness I experience when viewing Fussman's work.

“The figure of a laborer—some furrows in a ploughed field—a bit of sand, sea and sky—are serious subjects, so difficult, but at the same time so beautiful, that it is indeed worth while to devote one’s life to the task of expressing the poetry hidden in them.” — Vincent van Gogh to his brother Theo

Life in the Desert - Death Valley, CA., oil on canvas, 54" x 58"