Monday, January 11, 2016


Whenever we return from a long trip, I savor the fresh perspective I have when I return home. My vision is clear and I see things more as they are rather than how I wish they were (or how they used to be). Our four months of driving to, from, in, and around Alaska in a motorhome gave me new eyes for looking at home and life.

The first thing I noticed was how much stuff I have. My closets, drawers, shelves, and rooms are full of it. When I tried to put away the first load of clean clothes into already full drawers and closets, I knew I had to do something.

I started to tidy up. Clothes were just the beginning. Then foodstuffs, kitchen utensils, art supplies, all of it. Assess, discard, and clean it up. I have used a modified version of the popular KonMarie method. If you haven't heard of it yet, you can read more about it here.

As I simplified my stuff, I noticed that my drawings were showing signs of simplification, too. Spare and clean, and mostly just pen and ink, my sketchbook drawings look different these days.

It's just possible that in de-cluttering my life from too much stuff, I am also de-cluttering my mind. It shows in my drawings. The spaces and simplicity delight me.

More from Marie Kondo.

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

press on

Glen Alps Press
It has been a couple of years since I purchased this big piece of machinery, nicknamed "Orange Crush.". It is set up in my garage, adjacent to my studio, and ready for use. Some things are still in progress, like the amount of strength it takes to move the rollers down so that they touch the bed. The wheels are locked now, but when unlocked, they allow me to move it (with three strong people) in and out of this space. The extra height provides some challenges, though. I am excited to learn how to use this press, and how to find my voice with monotypes.

This press is one of about 50 that were created by Seattle artist, Glen Alps. This one was originally used at the Olympic College in Bremerton, WA.

I still hold my breath when I pull a print.

Wishing you all good things during this holiday season and in the new year. Peace. Health. Light.

A Classical Christmas.

Monday, December 7, 2015


Arrival.1. 20 x 20. Oil on board.  
I am devoting more of my studio time to painting in oil. I enjoy the creamy texture and vibrant color. I am learning the language of oil and playing with how to move it about the painting in ways that interest me.

This painting may be the start of a new series of paintings, but it's still early to tell. Arrivals come in all shapes and meanings. At Thanksgiving, my home was the sight of many arrivals as family joined us to celebrate and feast. Christmas season speaks to another kind of arrival. Much is on my mind, but not organized into words yet. In this case, the images come first.

The Piano Guys "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel."

Sunday, November 22, 2015


"Company of Women" 25 x 32, acrylic on board

Some of my happiest childhood memories of Thanksgiving include times spent with extended family and gatherings filled with people and food. The women crowded into the kitchen and laughed and bustled, chopped and bumped, and talked and shared. The little girls watched and dreamed of the day when we were grown and knew the kitchen secrets of a happy holiday. The men were often in the den watching football. Later, after dinner, the adults played poker for chips or toothpicks.

Although I did not paint this piece with Thanksgiving in mind,it now reminds me of many good holiday times. In the figures, I women now passed and little girls who have grown into women. Family. I am grateful for the memories.  

I am cultivating a daily habit of giving thanks. I think that a positive, grateful mindset will take me far down the road I want to travel as I age.

Thank you.

"As it Seems" by Lily Kershaw.

Saturday, November 14, 2015

listening for the silence

D. oil on canvas, 18 x 18

"D" was one of five band mates I played with about 15 years ago.When we played, "D" held his head tilted, closed his eyes and listened for those spaces between us. We often let the silences linger before we started to fill them with fragments and ideas and building materials for new things.

Making music isn't just about playing notes. It's also about the silences.

As with music, art is not just about what to include, but also what to edit out. I have been thinking about how to include silence in my paintings. Art and Music are good bedfellows, but they don't always share the blankets nicely.

Simon and Garfunkel, "The Sound of Silence."

Friday, November 6, 2015


Lonely People. Mixed Media
Back in the studio after a "life happens" break. It's a relief to paint and let things happen as they will, without limitations or direction on my part. Not art therapy, but still therapeutic. Not purposeful, but still with purpose. Not self conscious, yet completely expressive.

Scarlett "Eleanor Rigby" cover.

Friday, September 25, 2015

here I am

Cairn, pen and ink

The beach at Seward, Alaska, was mostly rocks from glacier retreats centuries ago. I was on a long walk along the shore, feeling the many miles between where I was and where I was from. Those quiet meditative moments are hard to find in the busyness of a normal day. But, this day was different. There was no rush to go anywhere, no pressure to drive someplace new. Just a day at the beach. And my thoughts on a walk.

When a boat left the marina and motored past me in Resurrection Bay, the wake created small waves that lifted the rocks and set them down with muted thumps and clacks before the water sssssss shhh -ed as it pulled back. That sweet rhythm lasted only minutes and then faded again to the silence of the beautiful landscape.

I picked up a few rocks and rubbed my fingers over their smooth surfaces. And slowly, I built a small stack of them along the beach. When I finished, I sat next to the stack and sketched it. Each step of this act, a meditation. A song. A quiet moment of breathing and being. And being fully awake. Sketching, another meditation, felt good and slow, too.

When I finished the sketch, I took the rocks off the cairn and put them back on the beach. I left no trace.

But, for those moments, I was there, on the beach. In Seward, Alaska.

Sometimes a song can put me into a meditative state. This one does.
Lily Kershaw "Maybe."

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

plein air in Homer, Alaska

At the Nick Dudiak Fishing Lagoon on the Homer Spit in Alaska I have had a few days to stare and think about the landscape and a sunny morning to paint it.

I feel a shift in my ideas about plein air painting. I used to feel pressured to paint a frame-worthy piece every time I went out, but now I feel like I'm taking notes. I am catching the rhythm of the land, the high notes of color, the bass part of line and texture. It doesn't need to all come together now. It might at some later time, if/when I rework it or start fresh with the idea of this place in mind.

I watched many people, of all ages, catching salmon here. I watched a man fish (fishing and catching are two different experiences, they say), unsuccessfully, for four hours before he packed up his gear and hiked out of the lagoon. When his back was turned, a fish leaped in the water nearby. In fact, almost exactly where his line had been just minutes before.

I watched a grandfather and 6 year old grandson stand together on the rocky shore. First, the grandfather taught the little boy how to bait his hook, hold his pole, cast his line, and watch the bob for a bite. Next, I watched the boy go through all of the steps on his own, with grandfather nearby for assurance and answers to questions, which the little guy asked over his shoulder. Finally, I saw the two of them standing side by side with lines in the water making forever kinds of memories. When the grandfather caught a fish, the grandson reeled in his own line and stepped aside to be out of the way. Grandfather skillfully pulled in the fish, and grandson helped pull it out of the water, only dropping it once when it wriggled and wrested itself out of little hands.

Best of all, I felt perfectly safe while I painted, even if I felt like I was in the middle of a Rie Munoz painting!

Enjoy "The Fishin' Hole Song" and whistle a little, if you know the tune.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

sketchbook -- mud flats in Cook Inlet, Alaska

The tour books warn to stay off the mud flats. My friend and Alaska native, Roxanne Colyer Clingman, warned me to stay off the mud flats. The newspapers and signs around town warn to stay off the mud flats.

The tide shift here is 30-40 feet, and when the tide is out, the bottom of the inlet is exposed. Glacial silt makes for a quicksand-like surface. Once stuck, a person faces 30 feet of water rushing in on the next tide. I was well-warned to stay off the flats.

When we explored Hope, Alaska, and I was faced with the mystery and beauty of the mud flats, I understood all of the warnings. I had to force myself to only draw and photograph them, because their attraction was strong! Here's what I wrote on the left side of this sketch:

7.1.15 Turnagain Arm from Hope Spur. 
Warnings in tour books (all) and from Roxanne: do not walk on the mud flats! 
Their quicksand siren song is lovely. Come and explore my complex curves and rivulets. 
Look into my puddles to see your future. Linger over grooves and cups, 
hillocks and terraces simple and marvel at the symmetry. 
The unspoken lyric remains that 
the song ends in doom.

Here is a short film of Alaska's landscape and a song that ends beautifully.

Sunday, June 28, 2015

sketchbook -- when plein air painting is not a good idea

Something about the light on Lake Kluane didn't excite me the morning I determined to paint en plein air. I lingered over my morning coffee and looked at the water and the surrounding rocks. I started thinking about how cozy I was inside, how much I was enjoying my cup of coffee, and recalling the visitor information about this area and the large grizzly bear population...

And I decided not to paint.

Not long after, I saw a grizzly bear, favoring one foot, walk right through what would have been my painting space. I was very happy I was not occupying the same spot he ambled through, turning rocks and sniffing at the grass where I had walked the night before.

But a sketch of a bear is a lot of fun. Especially when done from the safety of the motorhome. With a nice hot cup of coffee in my hand.