twelve 2012

twelve months of painting and drawing
(a selection from 2012)

i am truly grateful that i painted everyday from december 2011 through August 2012, and then weekly.
in october i took a small break.  in november and december i have been getting the studio ready for another year that plans to be more deeply devoted to the studio ritual that i cherish.

i feel lucky.

i get to do this work from a small studio at my home and with creative kids interrupting me constantly.
it is wonderful and it is often in these little interruptions that i hear what a painting is telling me.
my kids force me to focus and listen.

these paintings utilize the same 6 basic colors, give or take a special addition here or there.
to me, the limited palette is part of a game: the wonderful battle with paint as a distinct language and the surprise that comes throughout the process of painting.

Special thanks to Poem*88, One Twelve Gallery, Georgia Perimeter College Galleries, 
The Defoor Center Forum Gallery, The Swan Coach House and Mint Gallery for showing my work this year in group, three person and a solo shows.

december ( 36" x 36" in progress)
this work is in the beginning stages  -  on to 2013.



[French gravitéheaviness, from Old French, from Latin gravits, from gravisheavy; see gwer-1 in Indo-European roots.

small right corner of 36" x 36", Gravity -  in progress.

when i was a kid my favorite book was The Light Princess. this i my copy. it cost $1.25.

in the story, the princess loses her ability to be held by gravity.

i found this fascinating because gravity is the primary law of attraction. we gravitate to an earthy pull.
as a kid with a wild imagination, i fretted over the possibility to lose one's pull. 

but she floated and giggled and grew and played and found mischief.
without gravity, late at night, she would float down to her lake and swim, enjoying one of the second elements: water. water held her. a deep dark lake, bottomless and lucid only at the surface.

without the law of attraction how would she find the dirt that makes us heavy and human: earth. 

without gravity how would she find love? 
without tactility at her feet how would she see with a whole body? 

i thought she had nothing and from nothing was free to create something. 
she finds love in a deep, dark lake. 
a volume so heavy and dark it mirrors the air. 
(of course there is a prince. of course he loves her for her darkness and light.)

but even later in the story, when she eventually reunites with the earth, every night she returns to the lake to float. weightless. 

what i still find attractive about this story, after 20 something years is that gravity would have gotten in her way as she grew.

so what does this have to do with painting? 

once gravity got in my way for years and years. it was good and i went on a journey. in the end the love of the deep, dark lake won. painting is my lake. i am ever more fascinated with the instability of ground, heaviness and our inability to truly contain the physical markers we hold dear to remain grounded: 

horizon lines 
(we never get there folks, the horizon is a wiggling, spinning construct. it is always in the distance).
di-urinal shifts in light and temperature
landscape as a constructed trope
cracks and fissures
surface as a tenuous film
the infinite expanse of scale
sound as color.

we think we know what these things are, just as we are confident gravity will keep us safely bound to the heaviness of the ground. 

i am happy to announce i am back in my lake. painting full time, against gravity yet heavy, human and deeply curious.


two paintings

a few of my paintings are in the current inventory at {Poem 88} in Atlanta's Westside Arts District. 
if you are by the gallery checking out the latest exhibition, events or passing by, ask to see them! 

each painting is oil paint, acrylic and graphite with polymers. 24" x 24" on canvas.

marauder, 2012

red wary vessel, 2012



this is my studio. we built it ourselves.
it is not big but is full of texture and tactile materials.
through the skylights i watch airplanes circle en route to and from the atlanta airport.
a 100 year old camilla brings small birds to my door.

sometimes i paint outside because i like to listen to the city of atlanta unfold all day.
 (and the weather is splendid most of the year.)

beyond my studio walls the city continues. sirens. box cars. subway trains per every 10 minute interval.
birds. children. shops. restaurants. runners. walkers. cars. trucks. airplanes.