and how much controls us?
Are we the weavers of our own web
or are we woven into the quilt of the
Reality we live in?


Our lives are full of golden moments - joys shared with those we love, magical words between friends, and smiles between strangers. It becomes a dance or interplay between souls—moving in harmony, dipping together, spinning about. These bobbing heads tell such a story. The center one looking forward, beckons you to join in. Do you hear the melody?
Petals dance about. They sway to a quiet symphony as heads nod and leaves whisper gentle reminders to each other. "Remember what it was like when we were young, the games we played in cool grasses as the shadows grew long? When family gathered around the table--the day's stories complete and supper's nourishment absorbed." Family memories are as long as the roads to return there and as deep as the pool of my soul. They guide me through the days now, their soft voices mumble--catching me unawares. It's as though I paint from the places of my past - I'm sitting in the back yard with palette held in young fingers, paint sloshed about, images created. And so the evolution of this flower seems to encompass this passage of time and the various stages of life. The large flower, strong-young-energetic reaches toward the sun. It caresses and protects the other two which are still quite lovely, but losing their vibrancy...allowing space for the wilting flowers to dip gracefully to the soil. They look sad, but life is sometimes sad. It's the opposition in all things that makes us appreciate the good. And dying is a part of living, right?
Here is another hand painting in another format. This one represents the healing power in us all. My image honors the Soaring Crane method of Qigong--a mind-body practice and a self-initiated moving meditation. Here the hand becomes the bird. A drawing together, and development of healing.
Early in the year I painted a 3 part series devoted to my love of stained glass and my artist friends who so lovingly create them. One of my friends would privately recite a "love mantra" to herself as she placed each piece into the growing image. What a wonderful skill - to take things that are whole, break them into small pieces, and then place them back together--creating an entirely new image and work of art. Once broken--now whole.
All the varied nuances of the artichoke come to light in this small painting. This globe with it's pine cone appearance is a perennial in the thistle group of the sunflower family. The "vegetable" that we eat is actually the plant's flower bud. If allowed to flower, the blossoms measure up to seven inches in diameter and are a beautiful violet-blue color. It probably resembles the musk-thistle, considered a noxious weed in many states.
What is this happy golden retriever thinking as gazes into your eyes in such a loving manner. A piece of grass was plucked from his chin, as he settled into this comfortable pose. "What are they going to feed me? My family surrounds me and I love them so much!" He was a special pet in the lives of our family friend's, coming to stay with us when they were out of town. His name was Kiowa, named after a small town in Colorado where he was born.
The day waned into the afternoon, as the sun began to cast long slanting rays across the land. What a spectacular view, as the landscape took on a jewel-like quality. It shone like a thousand tiny diamonds, even the grasses seemed to vibrate. Painting on site wasn't an option, so my camera kept the image alive a while longer. Later during isolated studio time, it was ressurected on the clayboard surface. And through all that shimmering, the sounds of water, breeze, rustle of brush and bird calls awakened again the joy I felt at the time.
This starts a small series, created by scratching into black clayboard and then applying light passages of watercolor tints. The inspiration was a photo of a towering pine tree that I saw while visiting Birch Bay up by Bellingham, Washington. The mighty tree was a strong presence during my stay there. 
This was painted in the fall of last year. I now realize I hadn't posted it earlier. The still life was staged in the studio and the pears that had been there didn't make the final painting--they started to decay. So the small leaf on the far left was added instead. I call it my still life landscape. I had planned to add more sky and hillsides in the background, but decided to keep it simple.