I’ve lived a long and colorful life. I’ve often written about it, painted memories and adventures for the last twenty years, and I’m writing about it again, now, in the 7th decade.
I have been so blessed. I’ve always had wonderful family, beautiful friends and cherished adventures. I milked sheep, worked for diplomats and sung songs in fancy places. I’ve steered bluewater boats, driven tens of thousands of miles of roads, taken trains from Norway to Bari, and ferries up and down the Dalamatian coast as often as possible. I got to Paris as much as I could and never missed the opportunity to spend time in Venice. I spent years in the Caribbean, years in Florida, Key West, Seattle and Las Vegas. But I moved to the South for the first time in 1968 and this is my real home.
As an artist, I’ve had tremendous success. I have paintings all over the world. My colorful take on things has graced everything from billboards to museums, dozens of galleries, book covers, show posters, and huge canvases in homes and offices around the country. I was part of arts incubators, arts fund raising, arts business classes, a public studio and my own gallery.
Now I am blessed to be able to stay home and paint. And write and read. And paint.
I cherish my husband and son and grandson, my Maine family, and North Carolina kin, all of whom enrich everything about this quotidian life.
I’ve seen a lot and learned a lot over the years and miles, and what sets us all apart and keeps us all together is our individual spirit, and where it meets the spiritual realm. Whether you paint, or write, or take photographs or weave cloth; whether you meditate or pray or congregate or drum; whether you walk in the woods or go to confession — where we meet as humans is in our spiritual connection to our world, and our opening our own spirits with the world. Artists and creatives of all kinds ask the world to look at their interpretation of things. It is scary and humbling, but in the end, it helps us communicate. It is what I often write about and I hope it shows in my painting.