From inspiration to completion my process celebrates a quote by Camille Pissarro, one of the first Impressionists painters.

Blessed are those who see beauty in humble places.

I found that statement to be true in grief, a very humble place, before and after loss. I see the seasons re-enacting the grief. What we love thrives in summer. Where rain (blue) and sun (yellow) kiss, everything is green. All is well. The earth ever so slightly tilts away from the sun. A shadow (black, white) threatens what we love. Green fades. Life slows. A spectrum of color blooms (red, yellow, orange, purple). What was vibrant, turns brown. Things are not as they should be or as we hoped they would be. Etched against the cool white of winter, what is left of brown waits. When what we love is gone, promise slumbers. Spring will come.

I collect natural and manmade ephemera that are textured by disuse, brokenness or aging. Their character contributes to the composition either as subject, markings, or texture in paint and other medium. Broken bits of tree bark or a broken key add pattern on art pages. The splendor of a sunset or the vastness of a mountain view may be the next painting. A singular humble place catches my eye. Perhaps it is a gnarled tree, or the anonymity of a farmer on his  tractor in the grandeur of green.