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This painting is done from memories of places I have been. Maybe you've been there, too. I've purposely left the edges raw and allowed the loose, drippy under painting to show. Look closely: you will see birds, fox and an elk hidden in the trees and underbrush. They weren't put there intentionally, but showed up as the painting progressed.

I was undecided whether to leave the under painting showing until I checked out Matt Flint's work. In his artist statement, he talks about process, how he likes to let the process show. I like that as well - and think that some of the painting I do in the early stages of a piece are the most free and spontaneous. Leaving some of that showing helps keep the freshness.

Back when I studied pastel with Clive Tyler, he always said my under paintings were beautiful, and that I shouldn't cover them up. But of course I did - they were so loose, full of wild color, energetic. They scared me, I think. They didn't look like any other paintings I'd ever seen, and so, in my mind, they weren't good. I've spent years trying to figure out how to differentiate my work from every one else. And all the time, I knew, underneath it all (pun intended!) was the answer. I just needed to gain the confidence to trust myself.

"There Are Places I Remember" is 36x24, acrylic on canvas, under painting done with brushes, the rest with palette knife. Click here if you are interested in this painting.

I haven’t been blogging lately, or writing my newsletters. The spirit is willing but the body is just… tired. Life decided to heap more on my plate this past summer, and so my creative time has been cut down. Sometimes it’s all I can do to muster the energy to go into my studio and paint. But I must paint. Something had to give, and I’m afraid it was communication with my tribe that had to take a back seat for awhile.

As I’m writing this, I’m listening to the sounds of my 18 month old grandson playing in the living room. What a joy it is to have him in our lives! But, I had forgotten how much energy those little ones have. By the time he goes to bed at night, I’m ready to go, too. But instead I force myself to go into the studio, if only for an hour. Sometimes once I’m in there, I get on a roll, and paint for three hours. Then the next morning I’m dragging.

My grandson loves the outdoors, and everything is new and exciting to him. After we clean the horse stalls, we like to throw the ball for the dogs, and look for the flocks of blackbirds that fly overhead. He has gotten so that he hears them now, and looks for them, pointing his finger skyward, tracing their path across the sky. Nothing escapes his curious eyes, from tiny bugs crawling in the dirt to the sound of my neighbor’s cows mooing. Each sight and sound is noticed and cataloged, his mind a sponge for all the wonders of life.

Being with him has opened my eyes as well. I delight in discovery with him, seeing the world through innocent eyes. This childlike curiosity has spilled over into my art.

Since the end of August, I’ve been experimenting with acrylic paints and palette knife and am excited by what I am creating. I guess I am still shocked at how much I am enjoying acrylic. In my latest paintings, I’ve started combining loose brush work and dripping paint with the knife work. Although I still love the feel of oils, I am appreciating the quick dry time of acrylic which allows me to layer the paint, creating depth and texture. In that way, acrylics remind me of painting with pastel, and using the palette knife further enhances the similarity.

But even more than the act of putting paint on canvas, I’ve been trying to be more aware of my intention when painting. Sometimes I ask myself why I do this. It is a path fraught with struggle, frustration, exhaustion – highlighted with moments of serendipity, insight and oneness with the Universe. It is an expensive undertaking. Canvas, paint, frames, show entry fees, shipping costs, advertising… all costs money. And frankly, the sales are few and far between. I get discouraged. And yet… I keep painting. Why?

The reasons are complex, but perhaps it all boils down to this for me, the questions: Can one move hearts through art? Is it possible for a painting or a sculpture to change someone’s heart, to open it up, if only for a moment, and flood it with universal light and knowledge? Can art affect change? 

This is my quest, my journey, my course charted. To create a painting so emotional that through the visual experience it creates an opening for the spirit to enter someone’s heart, if only for a moment. Then the memory can start seeking out the connection, to keep returning to a state of bliss, the place where we are perfect and interwoven in the fabric of the universe. A place of Love.

"Glory Daze" is a 18x24 acrylic on canvas, gallery-wrapped on 1.5" stretcher bars. Someone who saw the painting said, "It brings me back to a time when I was happy." I couldn't ask for a better compliment. If you are interested in purchasing "Glory Daze",   click here.