The drawings are in order of creation.  Today i drew the winged mother after a wave of emotion watching my little one wave bye bye to me as the car pulled away, the rain pouring.  This time to myself is a sacred time.  Feeling deeply, getting in touch with my core. 

Last night we devoured scallops with bacon, chard, and pasta with pesto for dinner out on the porch.  The food was as fresh as it was going to get, either from the farmers market or our own garden.  If only we could live like this every day, sigh.  Summer is too short.  But!  It's not over yet and I am hoping to trade inspiration with you.  I'll give you a recipe to help you enjoy your fresh garden veggies if you give me one!

Zucchini Pancakes (We ate the entire batch in like 20 minutes - so good) I just did an internet search and altered a recipe. Here is what I did: Take the following ingrediants and mix them all together in a bowl and then fry them up like pancakes til they are browned on each side. 1. Shredded zucchini (one large or more) 2. Three eggs 3. Two cups flour (I used gluten free baking mix) 4. Shredded hard goat cheese (Or a friend used feta) 5. Onion (I used chives and green onions) 6. Parsley 7. garlic powder 8. onion powder 9. salt and pepper to taste 10. one cup milk (i used water and goat yogurt b/c my fam can't drink the cow) ENJOY!!!

Whatcha got for me??? 

This guy is editing his paper by hand - how exciting!  Actually, I like this guy.  He is the character in most of my drawings for my recent project.  He is mister regular man.  nice guy. 

I like her too.  She is in a couple of drawings in my recent project.  I think she would be fun to hang out with.  Smart and strong and sassy. 

Pound. Pound. Pound.  “What is he building in there?” the music blasted back.  Pound. Pound. Pound.  “What the hell is he building?” the song responded to the pounding even louder now.  My bedroom door was closed as I timidly hammered nails into the wall to proudly display my framed Kandinsky print, the only piece of “art” I owned. 

I had just rented a room in a married couple’s house for my last semester of college.  “You have the same name as our cat that recently passed away” they told me.  It was a sign. 

Although I was usually quiet as a mouse, my pounding on the wall evoked an even louder response from my new housemates and to be quite honest, I was a bit freaked out.  Why were they playing this strange music?  What were they trying to communicate to me?  Who were these people I just moved in with?

That is how it started off with Robert and Marie.  Robert was a welder and working on his masters of art.  Marie quit a high paying business job to follow her dream of stage design and also went back to school to pursue an art degree.  I was getting as general a degree as I possibly could in liberal arts and was almost done!  I had no idea what I wanted to do or be.

The house was filled with Robert’s bright paintings and Marie’s antique furniture.  The back garden of Marie’s flowers hosted Robert’s welded sculptures.  The kitchen table was where Marie worked on all of her miniature models for theater productions.  Robert’s studio was out back.  Both were busy and I spent most of my time in my room with my door closed.  My private haven.   

At the time I didn’t realize I was an artist too.  I went to class.  I took notes.  I came home.  I worked several jobs.  I went to the bars with friends.  I went to sleep.  But a part of this daily routine included doodling.  Lots of doodling.  My class notebooks were filled with drawings of voluptuous women chained so they could not move and fairies stuck in mud unable to fly, much like my feeling of being trapped in a classroom when there were many other things I wanted to be doing with my life.  Like, for instance, flying with fairy wings to a bar.

As my last semester moved on I emerged from my thick shell of shyness and shared some of my doodling with Marie.  She told me that my style reminded her of a children’s book illustrator.  A spark ignited.  I was so excited that she had seen something in me that I hadn’t noticed before.  I started work on my first complete drawing since the art class I took first semester. 

The picture was a daydream of fairies and dragons in a peaceful natural setting.  I did my best with markers, pens and colored pencils.  A new haven in my imagination was blooming.  That was over a decade ago.         

I think of this now after feeling a sense of contentment in some recent illustration work I completed.    We never know who will influence our lives and how it will play out.  Robert and Marie were the first “real” artists I knew.  I have been encouraged and inspired by artists and their creations and I am honored that my art has touched the lives of others in return. 

Whose art has touched your life?  Who has inspired you to create?  

This year the Easter Bunny visited my daughter for the first time.  What did she find in her basket?  Gardening tools!  I have always viewed Easter as a celebration of spring.  Symbols of fertility, the Easter Bunny and colored eggs delight us as we awaken from a long winter.  Pastels gently boost us from shades of gray. 

My new gardening Easter tradition stems from recent visits to my grandparents.  My Grandma and aunts purchase spring bulbs - hyacinths, lilies and tulips - at their church fundraiser.  They take the flowers home after the Easter service.  I now buy myself some spring bulbs too and add them to my garden.  After finding just the right spot to plant them I love imagining their first awakenings in their new home next spring. This year I added some miniature daffodils, grape hyacinth and pink hyacinths. 

Spring time is my favorite time of year in the garden.  My imagination plays out the growth and blooming succession and it is my time to continue to build on my creation from the previous season.  The creation of my garden is a process much like how I paint a painting.  I add a little here, move some of it over here, and repeat the pattern here, a dab of yellow, purple, green, pink.  It’s meditative and renews my spirit.

I spent this Easter digging up hostas and replanting them to line the driveway alongside the preexisting row of hedges, separating purple irises and creeping phlox and creating new cluster arrangements, moving my wisteria to a sunnier spot, and of course, planting my blooming bulbs.

My neighbors probably think I am crazy.  I just stand in the front of my house staring at my yard.  In my mind I am so happy, my imagination devouring my recent efforts, enjoying the anticipation of the joy of each botanic expression throughout the season. 

This year, I will have someone to share my garden with, my little daughter.  I can’t wait to dig in the earth with her and watch her imagination run wild.

Trees have been a symbol of expression in my art since living in Japan at the turn of the century.  Alone in my small apartment with no TV I sat on a futon on the ground and dreamed, my eyes playing with the monochromatic painting of a pine tree on my wall, the only decoration in the entire two rooms.

I choose the tree when I feel my core as a trunk, my energy as the branches and leaves, and my footing rooting into the earth.  Trees are a dichotomy of strength and flexibility.  The trunk is strong, curvy, twisted, gnarled, knotted and solid, growing slowly each year.  The branches and leaves move playfully, the sunlight, weather and seasons changing their characteristics in moments.    The roots are grounded and nourished by the earth and decomposition of the world around them. 

Here is my latest tree.