The walls of my studio are lined with bookcases, packed with hundreds of books about art. if you didn’t know what kind of artist worked here, you would find it hard to guess from her books. Here you will find books on Artemisia Gentileschi, Agnes Martin, Wayne Thiebaud, Georgia O’Keeffe and Mark Rothko. All so different, yet each one has lit part of the way in my artistic journey.

My paintings have long journeys as they come into being.  They often start with a thought such as “Oooh, I REALLY want to paint a voluptuous peony.”  From that moment of intense longing, it may be months — sometimes more than a year — before the painting is fully alive on the canvas.

When I lived in San Francisco, I was exhilarated by my vibrant urban life.  My still life paintings,  were of people’s belongings — shoes, books, clothing —  and I called them “portraits in absentia.”  But when my husband and I moved to Carmel-by-the-Sea, California, my paintings soon changed. 

One of the joys of painting flowers is working with their never-ending array of colors.   I revel in mixing violets, magentas and corals, and seeing a flower burst into life on the canvas in its full glory takes my breath away every time.

I am a slow painter.  Each painting takes 3 – 8 weeks to complete, depending upon the size of the canvas.  But that is just the actual painting time.  I work on a painting “behind the scenes” for as long as a year – gathering flowers when they are in season, photographing them in early morning light, playing with the composition, changing my mind, and beginning again.

People often say to me “you are so disciplined.” They are referring to the fact that I go to my studio and paint six days a week, Monday — Saturday. (When I’m up against a looming deadline, I may paint on Sundays too.) But I am not disciplined, I am devoted.

I love shadows and I love painting them. I am drawn to their subtlety, hidden depths and inner light. Shadows are like us — they have distinctive forms and sizes. But also like us, their true beauty is revealed only when we take the time to truly see them.

“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).