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Inspiration for writing finds me most often on my early morning walks. This is most annoying. By the time my shoes are untied and a pencil is at hand, nothing is left of those lovely strings of words brought on by the rhythm of trees and the sounds of creatures waking up. Let me tell you about it this way -  Peit Mondrian, Broadway Boogie Woogie 1942 Our little community is laid out like a Mondrian painting; right angles, straight wide streets, cars and trucks in staccato rhythms.  Claude Monet, The Magpie, 1868 The snowy yard with its purple shadows and old shack is a Monet painting.  Jackson Pollock, Lavender Mist, 1950 Jackson Pollack is woven into the tangle of branches in overgrown ditches.  Nikita Fedosov, Fields in the Village, 1972 Nikita Fedosov would be right at home here. As for me, it really stings when the words I’ve carefully crafted dribble out my ear and into the garden…  2017 Daisy Business, 16x12 pastel
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I've been sharing the odds and ends of my art life for the last 8 years.
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