When I paint, I try to hold that light – not only the literal glow on feathers or leaves but the warmth of the moment itself. Each brushstroke becomes an act of noticing: the curve of a petal, the glint of life in an animal’s glance, the harmony of color that nature arranges effortlessly. Through painting, I rediscover that beauty isn’t rare; it’s everywhere, waiting to be seen.

Nature has a quiet way of teaching this. The more time I spend outdoors, the more I realize how much life depends on small things – soft rain nurturing roots, light renewing color, a pause allowing reflection. In art, that same attentiveness gives meaning to every tone. Even the simplest shapes can shine when filled with care and intent, much like sunlight making a humble twig sparkle.

What moves me most is how consistently wonder returns, even in familiar places. The forest I’ve walked a hundred times still surprises me when light touches it differently. That awareness – the joy of seeing anew – keeps painting alive for me. It’s a reminder that beauty isn’t about perfection or novelty but presence.

In the end, finding wonder is about slowing down long enough to notice the gift already in front of us. Light and life are always offering connection, quietly, without asking for attention. Through painting, I hope to share that gentleness – that moment when the world feels still for just long enough that we realize we’re part of something luminous, something endlessly alive.

There is a quiet wonder that comes with watching wild lives go about their days – the playful camaraderie of young siblings tucked safely into the safety of a tree hollow, or the tender, unspoken bond holding a pack together under a soft summer light.

Holding onto those moments is why I paint.

I am so deeply honored that two of my paintings have been accepted into the 2026 Kentucky National Wildlife Art Exhibit, the 16th Biennial, on exhibit Sept-Nov at the Preston Arts Center in Henderson, KY :

• Woodland Hollow – Raccoon Trio (11×14″, opaque & transparent watercolor on museum board) A playful, intimate look at three young raccoons peering out from the safety of their forest home.
• Golden Solace – Wolf Family (20×24″, opaque & transparent watercolor on museum board) A larger narrative study focused on the quiet strength, warmth, and connection within a wolf pack.

Working layer by thin layer on museum board allows me to build the soft, living depth of fur and atmospheric light while preserving that fluid, luminous quality unique to watercolor.

To be a part of an exhibition that celebrates the wild world is a true privilege. My heartfelt thanks to the juror, the exhibition organizers, and everyone who takes time to pause, reflect, and share in a love for these incredible creatures.

If you are visiting the exhibition this Autumn, I hope these pieces bring you a quiet moment of connection to the wild.

When light touches the natural world, it brings a quiet kind of energy, one that doesn’t shout but whispers through color and form. Early morning glow on feathers, the shimmer of a stream at dusk – these moments remind me that beauty often hides in softness. To paint such scenes, I focus on how light nurtures life, wrapping subjects in warmth that feels tender and real.

Stillness, I’ve learned, isn’t about stopping; it’s about balance. Even in the calmest setting, something is always breathing, shifting, growing. When I work, I let that truth guide my brush. A fine line or a subtle glaze can suggest the faint movement of air, the unseen pulse of the living world. I want viewers to sense that quiet heartbeat – the one that exists both in the painting and in themselves.

Watercolor, with its luminosity, allows this relationship between stillness and vitality to unfold naturally. I let the medium flow, allowing light to travel through transparency just as sunlight passes through mist or petals. Each wash becomes a conversation between control and surrender – a mirror of how peace in nature coexists with life’s constant, gentle motion.

In the end, what moves me most in painting calm scenes is their quiet optimism. Nature shows us that even in stillness, life continues to shimmer and renew. Through soft light and patient brushwork, I hope to share that feeling: that within every moment of quiet lies a world awake and full of wonder – a living reminder that peace itself is alive.

When I spend time in the studio, the act of painting becomes a form of meditation. Each brushstroke asks for presence. I find that when I slow down enough to really study a subject – a reflection on still water, the shimmer of feathers catching morning light – I begin to sense not just what it looks like, but what it feels like. That space of listening, where perception meets emotion, is where the heart of a painting truly lives.

Living with art nurtures that same awareness. A piece you’ve seen every day can surprise you with something new – a subtle detail, a mood you hadn’t noticed before, a small invitation to feel differently. That’s the quiet conversation between viewer and artwork. It doesn’t shout for attention; it simply waits for it.

In time, this way of seeing extends beyond the walls where art hangs. You start to notice the world differently – the patience of clouds, the shifting tone of a winter sky, the tiny interplay of light on wings in flight. Art trains the soul to be attentive, to see the extraordinary within the ordinary. Every glance becomes more meaningful because you’ve learned to carry that vision with you.

Seeing deeply is an act of gratitude. It opens the door to connection – with nature, with others, and with yourself. Art becomes the teacher that reminds us to pause, breathe, and receive the quiet beauty that exists all around.

When we allow art to guide how we see, life itself begins to unfold with greater tenderness and clarity. What once felt fleeting becomes vivid, suspended in a luminous stillness. In noticing more fully, we begin living more fully too.

There is a serene stillness that settles over the high peaks when the air turns crisp and cool. That elevated quiet is the heart behind my watercolor, Spruce Summit – American Kestrel – capturing a solitary moment as this small, vibrant falcon perches among the evergreen needles, watching over the wild landscape below.

I am so deeply honored that Spruce Summit has been selected for the Georgia Watercolor Society (GWS) 2026 Juried Member Exhibition. The show will be hosted in the Main Gallery of the Oconee Cultural Arts Foundation (OCAF) in Watkinsville, Georgia, running from September 25 through November 6, 2026.

Spruce Summit – American Kestrel, 14×11″, opaque & transparent watercolor on museum board, Rebecca Latham

To render the kestrel’s delicate plumage against the soft lighting of the tree and sky, I built up transparent glazes layer by subtle layer on museum board. Exhibiting alongside such a talented community of watercolorists is a true privilege, and I am profoundly grateful to the GWS jury, the team at OCAF, and everyone who supports nature and wildlife in art.

If you are in the area this autumn, I hope you’ll drop by the gallery to take in the show and spend a quiet moment with Spruce Summit.

Thank you, as always, for sharing in this love for wild places and the creatures that inhabit them.

– Rebecca

Geometry is one of nature’s hidden languages. The curve of a feather carries the same sense of balance as a wave’s arc. Shells, horns, petals, and galaxies echo one another through spirals and proportion. These patterns are not rigid rules, but a graceful logic connecting the smallest forms to the vastness around them. Recognizing them helps me paint with greater intuition. When I understand why a curve feels right, I can follow its rhythm without forcing it.

In miniature painting, proportion becomes especially important. Every shadow, texture, and transition must exist in relation to the whole; even a slight shift can change the harmony. Yet precision alone is not enough. Geometry gives a painting structure, but life gives it motion. These principles extend beyond form. They appear in a bird’s flight, grasses moving in wind, and reflections shifting across water. When a composition grows from those natural patterns, the painting begins to feel inevitable – as if it could exist no other way.

I do not think of geometry as calculation alone, but as awareness. Nature’s order is never static; it breathes, shifts, and adapts with light, weather, and life itself. Painting with that understanding feels like collaborating with something timeless. In every curve and balance, I am trying to paint not only what I see, but the quiet harmony that sustains it.

Over the past few weeks, from late July into these crisp September mornings, our local stretch of the Mississippi Flyway has been alive with movement.

While the larger visitors are impossible to miss – grand formations of white pelicans soaring high overhead, robins gathering in the thickets, and waterfowl drifting along the riverbanks – it is the warblers that have completely captured my attention in the field these last few weeks.

These tiny songbirds arrive in silent, sudden waves. One morning the canopy is quiet, and the next, the branches are flitting with nashvilles, magnolias, and palm warblers, all pausing briefly to forage before continuing their massive journeys south. Watching a bird that weighs no more than a coin prepare to navigate thousands of miles never fails to fill me with awe.

In the Studio

In this new study, I wanted to focus on that energy and weightlessness. Warblers rarely sit still; their movements are quick, darting, and buoyant.

When laying down the initial strokes for a piece like this, my focus isn’t just on getting the anatomy and delicate feather tracts right, but on establishing the light filtering through the early autumn leaves behind them. Capturing the soft luminescence on their plumage against the rich tones of the late-summer foliage requires setting up careful value relationships right from the very first wash.

It’s a joy to translate these brief field encounters into lasting studies on panel, capturing a quiet moment in a very long journey. Have you noticed any of these little travelers passing through your area this month? I’d love to hear what migratory birds you’ve been spotting lately.

It can be found in light moving across a field, wind passing through dry grass, or the quiet after a bird takes flight. It lives in an animal’s watchful presence, the shifting surface of water, and the wide sky beyond the concerns of a single day. Nature does not remove us from the world; it places us within a larger rhythm of change, endurance, loss, renewal, and life continuing.

For me, painting begins there. To paint is to slow down enough to notice what might otherwise be missed: blue within a shadow, the delicate structure of a feather, muted winter grass, or the intelligence in an animal’s gaze. Looking asks me to become quieter. In the studio, each layer, softened edge, and open space becomes an act of listening.

The natural world is never truly still. Weather moves, leaves tremble, birds disappear and return, and light continually changes. Yet beneath that movement is a steadiness. Nature does not hurry toward an answer. It simply continues, holding both fragility and resilience. I try to let a painting hold some of that truth.

For the artist, that space is found in the making: a return to attention, wonder, and the living world. For the viewer, it may arrive in a different way. They may not know the place that inspired the work, but they may stand before it and feel their breath slow, recall a landscape or encounter, or simply find a place to rest.

This is one of art’s quiet gifts: an encounter that begins with one person looking carefully at the world can become a refuge for another. A painting cannot quiet everything around us, but it can create a small clearing within the noise – a place to linger, remember what matters, and feel again that we belong to something larger and more enduring than the urgency of the present moment.

Being selected to show in the Summer Nationals was already a privilege. To then receive this award feels especially meaningful. The piece grew from one of those quiet encounters that stop me in my tracks – a gentle Palm Warbler perched among young saplings on a warm day. Its subtle yellow tones, the soft movement of new growth, and the quiet play of light create a scene that feels both peaceful and fully alive. I hoped it would invite a slower look at the kind of beauty that often goes unnoticed.

This recognition is humbling. I’m thankful to the jurors and organizers of the Cape Cod Art Center for their care of the exhibition, and for the quiet resonance of an award given in honor of Selma Alden.

To everyone who supports my work – collectors, fellow artists, friends, and all of you who follow along – thank you. Your encouragement sustains the long hours of observation and painting. Moments like this remind me why I paint: to pause, to look closely, to honor the natural world, and to share those fleeting connections with others. I’m so grateful to continue this journey with all of you.

As Autumn takes hold in the St. Croix River Valley, I am deeply honored to contribute to an organization that has held a special place in my life since childhood: the Carpenter Nature Center.

Growing up surrounded by the river valley’s natural beauty, the Nature Center served as my earliest outdoor classroom. Long before I began painting professionally, my reverence for wildlife was nurtured along their quiet trails, watching songbirds during seasonal bird counts and bird banding sessions, attending outreach programs with their ambassador birds of prey, and wandering their historic orchards and gardens. The Center has enriched my life and work in countless ways, and supporting their mission is a meaningful way to help ensure future generations enjoy those same formative experiences.

Created specifically in support of the Nature Center and their annual gala, this piece captures a quintessential autumn moment in their orchards: a bright black-capped chickadee perched amongst ripe apples. September and October are always a wonderful time at Carpenter, when the branches are heavy with fruit—providing both a fall tradition for visiting families and a vital autumn food source for local songbirds.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to the dedicated staff, board members, volunteers, and community supporters whose efforts made this year’s gala and annual auction such a success. Your work protects the vital habitats, trails, and wildlife of the St. Croix and Mississippi river valleys, ensuring this sanctuary continues to thrive for years to come.