BECAUSE IT'S NATURAL.
My earliest memories involve an awareness of play in the world around me. Wonder. Once I gained the ability to speak, questions about how and why things changed weren't answered—at least not in ways I understood.
In winter, the sky poured miraculous snowflakes and cold changed puddled water into brittle lace sculpture. Spring brought life’s pulse, breaking through smooth wood branches. Incredibly tender buds, coaxed by early sun, crowded first blades of grass. Summer’s heady joy filled all my senses: I celebrated totally, plunging deep into water at lakes, rivers, pools. And fall changed, as if overnight, overhanging leaves with a palette dominated in reds and yellows. Indian Summer, mom called it.
Creative expression comes naturally as breath for me. Ideas percolate the fresh with the familiar, and time activates. Inner, then outer processes, like breathing. In-spiration. With words, in art, across years, through relationships.