An Artist at Work...

I am a mixed media artist, enchanted by old farm properties and their buildings.

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I can't help but wonder: When was that building last used, and what was it originally intended for? When did a barn last house cows or horses, or a coop, chickens? Who was the last person to leave their home, shutting the door, never to return—and why? What was left behind, long forgotten? What conversations from the past seeped into the floorboards? What is the story?

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My discovery-based painting process allows me to be fully present, spontaneous, and free from expectations. The size of my canvases or wooden panels varies, but I feel most comfortable and uninhibited working on medium (starting at 16"x20") to large (up to 36"x36") surfaces. My process begins with layering: I start by writing affirmations and thoughts directly onto the stark canvas with a thick marker. Then, I randomly paint patches of bright colors—pastels, primaries, and secondaries—across the surface. While the paint is still wet, I use tools like a comb, chopstick, or even my fingers to scratch marks into it.

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The next layers incorporate materials like pages and strips from old books, colored tissue paper, and sections of vintage maps once collected by my father. Often, I drip red paint from one edge of the canvas, rotate it, and drip again from a perpendicular edge to create a grid effect. Sometimes, I glue down old sewing patterns as the final layer.

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I sit with the chaos until the subject matter reveals itself within the grid or the lines of the patterns. I often discover elements of nature, animals, or structures—most commonly those beloved farm buildings. Through editing, I emphasize or obscure different elements, applying layers of white paint to push some features back and bring others forward. I begin with a light wash and gradually add more paint and opaqueness, adjusting the composition’s depth and dimension. My paintings often resemble panoramic snapshots that have been deconstructed and reassembled in unconventional ways. The subject matter and perspectives are rarely realistic; instead, they appear flattened, askew, and whimsically catawampus, evoking a sense of lightheartedness.

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Paint left over on my palette after a session is never wasted. I “slap” it onto another canvas, creating a foundation of texture and color. As a result, I’m usually working on several paintings at different stages simultaneously.

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My process is slow and intentional, like life in past ages, and it brings a sense of order and whimsy to my world, which often feels chaotic and lightning-fast. While technology offers advantages and valuable resources, I've realized how dependent I've become on it—especially my phone. Social media bombardment and constant accessibility exhaust me. Painting allows me to slow down, reflect on the simplicity of days gone by, and immerse myself in nostalgia and brightness.