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Scattershot
more wholly here in medias resi walk to my studio,reconnect briefly with a journal pagewhere i began messing abouthaphazardlya few days ago. i tear a bit of paper,collage it to my mess,splatter india ink.the ink runsamok,not to my eye’s pleasure. i grab a square of toilet tissue,blot the ink,make a different mess,spy a nearby metallic… Continue reading
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Wayfinding
In Alexandra Fuller’s memoir, Fi, she writes, … and everyone has to find their own way [to survive, thrive, transcend]. C. S. Lewis knew: he knew grief , he knew love, and he knew love’s source. He knew, too, that for some, the way to Narnia was through a wardrobe, but to others the wardrobe… Continue reading
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Editor at Large
My recent studio time centers on rediscovering, revising, editing, and tweaking previously created sketches, explorations, and completed pieces. When I sit to write this post the title Editor at Large comes to mind so I draft it into place. Then I pause, wonder to myself, does that phrase fit? What does it actually mean? •… Continue reading
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Rhymes With Ponder
I often experience sonder but, prior to a few days ago, I’d never even heard the word. It’s a neologism that represents the profound feeling of realizing that every other individual you see is living a life as vivid, complex, full, and real as your own. Included in the feeling might be realizing that to… Continue reading
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Poem and Postcard
This morning, alone in my home, with sunlight streaming in from the skylight to my right and steady tick tick ticks sounding from the wall clock to my left, creative energy pings within me like a small steel ball tracing an unpredictable erratic zig-zag pattern in a pinball machine. In following the zigs and zags… Continue reading
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How Can I Write What My Heart Sings?
How can I put into words what sings in my heart? I cannot. But words are what I have, so I’ll use them as best I can to optimize the chances of your catching a phrase or two of the music. In 1971, Landmark School opened its doors in Prides Crossing, MA, to its first… Continue reading
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A Thousand Thousand
There are a thousand thousand reasonsto live this life,every one of themsufficient.—Marilynne Robinson One of those thousand thousand for me: playing with asemic writing, i.e. journaling thoughts and feelings, wonderings and observations, and complaints and fears, with a pen, by hand, using lines and symbols which look like writing but do not conventionally convey meaning… Continue reading
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Dear Diary
I began keeping what I call a diary calendar in 1967 during my senior year of high school. My family had moved to London at a time that predated electronic communication. Countless tissue-thin light-blue aerogrammes traversed the Atlantic between me and my besties in the States. So as to keep track of when I wrote… Continue reading
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At Some Point or Another
The development of an imagined pieceinto an actual pieceis a progression of decreasing possibilities,as each step in executionreduces future optionsby converting one—and only one—possibility into reality.Finally, at some point or another,the piece could not be other than it is,and it is done.—David Bayles, Ted Orland ——— source material: Continue reading
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As the Crow Flies
How many miles long, as the creative crow flies, was the madcap journey that eventually landed gently in my scraps diary as this two-page spread? The flight: • This spread began, if any creative expression actually has an identifiable beginning, years ago as a postcard from my Takodah family camp friend Stuart announcing a Prayers… Continue reading
My Story
In 2014, I grab an unexpected opportunity to paint.
To make art.
I get hooked.
In 2015 I start a blog—a diary of my life as an artist.
I post my paintings and their stories. The good, the bad, the ugly.
My compass points: bust through fear, be playful, get messy, trust my gut.
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