My Father's Clouds

Seemingly, as a child, I viewed my father as all-knowing, as so many children do. When I had the chance to be with him alone, we talked of nature and its beauty, specifically about clouds. Unknowingly to me at the time, he had been a navigator in WWII and flew fifty missions helping to drop bombs on war factories in Europe. Instead of discussing that with me, he chose to teach me the various types of clouds he had seen, transposing horror to beauty.

The following paintings are studies for possible larger format paintings.

Cloud Study Three, 18”H x 24”W, Acrylic on canvas, 2024.

Cloud Study One, 18”H x 24”W, Acrylic on canvas, 2024.

Cloud Study Two, 18”H x 24”W, Acrylic on canvas, 2024.

Storm Cloud, 30”H, 40”W, Acrylic on canvas, 2024.

The South

A River’s Island, acrylic on canvas, 36” square, 2022. After living in the west for decades, to see bountiful water…so much so that the earth is saturated and green. The thick sauna of the air replaces the lack of dryness and smells of smoke, once known to me, which now seem so foreign. The golden views of western grasses, the knarled trees, the parched earth, the patches of rare blue bodies of water are now experientially replaced by the thick air of swamps, multiple lakes, streams, green mossed trees and soft views of hazed blue and coloured light. Yet, the plein air impressionist hues that once graced my mind looking at other Californian artists work are still in my influenced mind, so I have intuitively infused that palette with the naturalistic browns and olives of the American southern landscape in an indirect method of painting.

The second painting (in-progress) entitled River Island Pond, acrylic on canvas, 36” square, 2022. Using watercolour techniques of layering washes and thin glazes of color, this painting informs the viewer of late afternoon’s reflection, light and stillness on a small body of water.

A River’s Island, 36” square, acrylic on canvas. 2022.

River Island Pond, 36” square, acrylic on canvas. 2022.

Western South Carolina’s Edge, 36” square, acrylic on canvas. 2023.

In-progress small works: 9” x 12” acrylic on canvas.

"Piccoli Inizi" looking back; looking forward

I’ve had a long life, albeit small, with an eye on what seemed so large in nature. I’ve accomplished what most people would consider large steps: multiple degrees, jobs, homes and relationships. Yet, it’s my personal walk of life—seeing the histories and workings of natural life and its renewal—that is so overwhelmingly powerful for my mind’s eye and memories. I’ve collected natural objects for decades: shells, pieces of plants and petrified remnants of small creatures as if they were jewelry. I’ve been drawn, since the age of seven, to the processes of ideation/creation about nature and as an adult, the examination of human socio-political issues inclusive of religion and how they structure behaviour (symbolized by a white pencil, a fused glass marble, and a rosary). Yet, I always come back to nature with awe and respect of its mostly quiet and amazing way it sustains itself.

“Piccoli Inizi” in-progress. 36”W, 24”H, acrylic on canvas. 2022

Loss of Life

In-progress: painting leaves. “The Adventures of Princess Piccoli”. 36”H, 24”W, acrylic on canvas, 2021.

In the past two years I’ve lost a beloved elderly cat, my father, and finally another well-aged cat. I have one left, and feel no need to replace the other two. Out of step with my normal portraiture, I decided to paint my third and only cat: Piccoli. She is a tiny six pound cat who survived living in the Sierras of Northern California for months only to end up hiding within my wall-protected garden for a month’s time until discovered. I thought she came to visit during the day, but in actuality, she was living under my deck and ate the leaves of my plants, specifically my David Austin roses, to stay alive. I am grateful for her-—even though I saved her as malnourished forced vegan—she has been by my side for six years, and helped me cope with the loss of my three loved ones.

New Life, New Studio

After 40 years of teaching at the university level, I decided to retire and become a full-time painter in the very late summer of 2019. Moving across the USA from Northern California to the Southeast was a daunting solo task, especially on the heels of the devastating Camp Fire of 2018, the worse fire in California History. The University—-California State University-Chico—as a standard rite of passage, deemed me as an Emerita Professor, a title I hold proudly.

Since then, I have exhibited twice in the Southeast, was the solo juror for a regional exhibition at an art center where I will have a solo exhibition in the summer of 2021. At present, I have mostly focused upon the redesigning a very good blue print for a sturdy house, and converting the upstairs into a working studio space. It’s almost completed, I move in a month, and I am extremely grateful to achieve this during a massive international health pandemic.

Listen and I Hear You

I have always been apolitical, preferring to work on projects, teaching and painting.  It was and is really difficult to ignore the slow eruption and eradication of American rights and privileges.  What strikes me the most is the affect on children.  Having none myself, but teaching thousands, I know the impressions and mimicry behavior of children of adults who appear to be role models. Permeating through electronic media of all kinds, we begin to understand how to act in order to survive.  

For the past two years, adults have been heatedly debating American and International issues, but it is the manner in which we discuss these issues as well as our humanist patterns that disturbs me.  What children hear and see done appears as normal and as they assume adult roles our present manner of behavior will repeat itself over and over.  

They are listening and they "hear" you.