“Go in quest of jubilation’s mysterious blessings.” ~ Rumi

I love this phrase from Rumi because he captures perfectly how I feel about Beauty. When I open my heart to a moment of Beauty, I feel a wave of jubilation – and also a sense of awe at the mysteries and marvels of our universe.

There is a magical summer rose garden on an island off the coast of Massachusetts, lovingly cultivated by a woman named Jane. She also nurtures another rose garden further down the East Coast, and this garden is equally enchanting.

For many years, my paintings reflected the vibrant cosmopolitan life I led in San Francisco. I was known for a series of paintings called “Portraits in Absentia” in which I used my subject’s belongings to create their portraits. My paintings included golf balls, stilettos, lipsticks, books, opera scores, ballet pointe shoes and footballs. They were a kind of archeology in paint.

I spent a lot of time in the studio this summer – but I’m not complaining! I was doing what I love: having a daily conversation in paint about Beauty and the gifts it brings to our lives. Flowers are emblems of beauty that remind us to pause and appreciate the wonder of this world.

When I lived in San Francisco, I had a succession of studios that were as vibrant, diverse, charming and quirky as the City By The Bay. One of these studios had the advantage of being downtown, just off the Powell Street cable car line. But it also came with some gritty urban challenges. Yet wherever they were, these studios were my treasured havens where I created and dreamed and mused.

When I was a younger artist, I was often hesitant to talk about beauty as an important component of my work. I wanted the work to be taken seriously (I still do) and worried that by invoking beauty, it could be dismissed as superficial.

For many years, I didn’t paint flowers. We lived in San Francisco, and my paintings reflected the glamorous, stimulating world swirling around me. From time to time, a flower demanded to be painted, but for the most part I ignored the call (or simply didn’t hear it).