meet the artist








the art life

The first artist sighting

Why so many paintings?

The storm

The secret to becoming an exceptional artist.

What art language do you speak?

The mystery behind a subject

Art as autobiography

The artist in the recession

Come out and play

The nature of creativity

Living the artist's life

Creative block


learn to paint

Rocking chairs progressive

Canning jars progressive video


Chuck Close

Roy McLendon

Agnes Martin

The art of children

personal pieces

St. Patrick's Day


Favorite quotes

Day at the beach



On the trip home from the grocery store today, my husband and I were discussing the new technology of wrapping motor vehicles in graphics. I was suddenly reminded of the first time I met an artist.

I was 7 years old and living in Newton, Massachusetts.

One sunny Saturday morning, I found a neighbor sitting on the curb in front of his house, painting the side of a taxi. Before decals and computers, all business names and phone numbers were hand painted onto a vehicle. Well, there he was, without a stencil, carefully stroking each letter with a soft, pointed brush. His arm swooped up and down applying the paint, then sideways and down into the small jars of color. It was much like watching a conductor leading an orchestra in a piece of classical music.

This intrigued me. His hand was so steady. His concentration so intense. I watched for quite some time, until my inquisitive little-child presence drove him to shoosh me away.

Before this, I had never seen another person paint. I did not know that you could do something so fun and do it even on the side of a car. My paint-by-number sets were no longer interesting. I asked for, and received, my first real art supplies, including oil paints, shortly after this incident.

I still enjoy watching another artist paint. To watch his or her process, often so different than my own, is like watching a mystery unfold. I never grow tired of it.