Origin Story

“It is through painting that I tell stories”

Tucson is my home. I live and work downtown, in an old adobe made of this earth, and sheltering. Surrounded by the desert landscape, I am intoxicated by the fragrance of creosote and sage. I am mesmerized by the play of light and shadow across my field of vision. These vast skies quiet my mind and train whistles sooth my sleep.

There is a gentle ease in living and working here, a grace in this ancient, sacred land. The people are kind and welcoming. A community that feeds my soul. The work I have wanted for so long to make comes easy. I paint and sculpt and write. Creating beauty in everything I touch.

All that said, it gets pretty hot come summer and I retreat to my family’s old cabin in Vermont. Where I paint in the boathouse, hang out with my family and watch eagles dance in the sky.

I was raised in Vermont. The little village of Franklin, on the Canadian border. We lived close to the land, farming mostly and running a small telephone company. We built things and grew things. Our lives were resourceful because they needed to be. It was bucolic and also very hard.

I grew up trying to get away. Riding horses, climbing rock ledges and constructing whole worlds within the roots of trees. In my solitary wanderings, I discovered the ruins of old buildings and the rusty remains of what would not burn. As a child, I felt the spirit of the land and dreamed of a bigger life.

And then I began to ask if there might be something more. Something not yet explored. Something else within me wanting to see the light. I began to study art making and realized that here, my heart was full. One brave day I loaded up the car, said my good-byes and headed for Tucson.

My art is inspired by the places where I have lived, the people I have known and my own wild imaginings. I am endlessly fascinated by architectural ruin, telephone poles and trees I love to salvage and work with what I find. The things that mystified me as a child still hold that wonder. I explore both memories and ideas with paint. Weaving images and telling stories.

At eighteen, my parents gifted me a one-way ticket to anywhere in the country and I chose my cousins in Berkeley. It was the greatest, hardest gift and I am forever grateful. They set me free. California was (and still is) the land of dreams.

I got an education and built a business, designing beautiful gardens. I knew love and raised a child. I was part of an amazing community and found ways to live creatively and abundantly amidst the vibrancy of San Francisco. I loved it for thirty years.