The Closer You Look
The closer you look, the more there is. A note on how closeness, to water, memory, nature, and the people I love, runs through all the work.
Notes on memory, nature, and the stories behind the work
The closer you look, the more there is. A note on how closeness, to water, memory, nature, and the people I love, runs through all the work.
There is a moment when you get close enough to something ordinary that it stops being ordinary.
There are childhood memories that stay in the body, not just the mind.
Some images stay in the mind until they become paintings. My uncle was the inspiration. The cowboy, the horse, and the flag are who he is at his core, his essence.
Some people move through the world leaving beauty behind them. Madeline is one of those people.
I love this old photo of my dad. I've seen that same mischievous, self-assured, little boy grin so many times on the man, father, grandfather, great-grandfather.
Sometimes to have more, you must let go of what was and make room for what could be.
At the beach staring off into the horizon, quickly lulled into a peaceful, serene place. Calm yet energized and renewed.
Just put the finishing touches on our Little Teapot. I'm four years old and filled with wide-eyed excitement and joy, wrapped in love and comfort every time I see it.
I've had the gift of learning from an artist whose work I admire and now call a friend, Margaret Chiaro, a North County San Diego artist known for her work in Magical Realism.
Oh to be a Giant Tecolote Ranunculus waving free in the breeze. Took a departure and had a marvelous time lost in the moment slapping paint on and scraping paint off my canvas.
Went to see the big waves forecast one day and was captivated by this little boy standing all alone bracing himself as he challenged the waves rushing in to knock him down. They never did.
The wind caresses my skin, the sun bursts through the oak trees like an exploding star and nature starts singing its song. To onlookers I'm on a leisurely stroll. If only they knew.
A time gone by. A time yet to happen. Child's play not forgotten. Off to worlds unknown. Won't you come fly with me?
The afternoon breeze blows through the stand of eucalyptus trees behind my studio. I close my eyes and I'm lost up in the trees never wanting to come down.
A blue winter's day. Storm clouds, rushing tide, and everything else falling away. That became Rushing In.