A tender shoot serves as a reminder of the potential for growth, and the ongoing work of God's providence.

It can be a tender and vulnerable posture to trust in God's timing and provision, hoping that He can bring forth new life and purpose even in the most challenging of circumstances.

"—a scrawny seedling, a scrubby plant in a parched field." Isaiah 53:2

Perhaps, most passionate of these colors may be the color red. In western culture the idiomatic expression, “seeing red” is an expression of anger and rage. Whereas in other countries, the expression could hold an entirely different meaning.

Are we currently only capable of understanding a fragmented spectrum?

Technical Notes:

I began with a limited palette: perylene red, hansa yellow and a violet.

Eventually, after several layers, the limited palette became more inclusive. I added a few more hues in addition to the original three colors. Having at least one staining color, I learned, was needed.

Then, summer humidity became a major issue. I wanted to address the waves it was causing in the paper. And the significant pulling off the board.

Midway through the painting process, the paper was re-stretched. This meant, taking the paper off the gator board and carefully painting water across the back of the watercolor sheet, soaking it. Then adhering it to the gator board again. I use a staple gun.

Thankfully, it dried flat without any water falling upon or touching the previously painted portion. I considered videoing the process but I was already holding my breath. I didn’t want to add anything else which might distract my focus.

For those of you who are watercolor paper enthusiasts, this piece is painted on 140 lb cold, which means it has a slight texture.pressed Arches watercolor paper.

by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

The book, Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak both fascinated and frightened me as a child.

My favorite scenes occur as a forest grows in Max’s room. Then the banks of an ocean appear. Max travels solo in his boat, by night and day for almost a year! Or at least, what feels to be a year! (Some days are just like that.)

As a child, I could hide myself in those spaces and that imaginative solo voyage.

Max finally reaches a far off shore, after his long voyage … only to be confronted by giant terrible Wild Things!

Now looking back upon the story as an adult, I am even more so struck by young Max’s courage to stare down and shout at the Wild Things,

“Be Still!”

I am reminded that there continue to be many things out there that roar at us, no matter what our age.

Sometimes we have the words to face those Wild Things. And sometimes, we have to steadfastly seek them.

Either way, whichever might be true for you . . .

I hope you always have someone who loves you best of all.

In this one, I was immediately drawn to the ever-cool banana phone.

And as I painted it, my mind thought of the duct taped banana, titled Comedian by artist Maurizio Cattelan, which has rocked the art world. I don’t think artists can ever look at bananas the same way again. And if we don’t recognize the humor behind that piece and laugh at ourselves, we just might cry.

Some things cannot be captured or kept forever ... no matter how many dollars might be thrown at them.

The value is in recognizing the moments when they occur, be it the cheeky cleverness of an artist in a cultural moment or the fleetingness of childhood imagination and play.

Ground Control to Major Tom
Commencing countdown, engines on
Check ignition and may God's love be with you

Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Lift off

This is Ground Control to Major Tom
You've really made the grade
And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear
Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare

This is Major Tom to Ground Control
I'm stepping through the door
And I'm floating in a most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today

For here
Am I sitting in a tin can
Far above the world
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do

Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles
I'm feeling very still
And I think my spaceship knows which way to go
Tell my wife I love her very much she knows

Ground Control to Major Tom
Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you...

Here am I floating round my tin can
Far above the Moon
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do

-David Bowie

I believe I am more excited about a fresh start and new year this year than in previous years. A proper and thorough Neujahrsputz has already taken place in the studio. (And yes, there is a German word for that deep clean we tend to do after the holidays and a new year approaches or zwischen den Jahren the German phrase for the time between Christmas and the new year.)

For 2025, I have ideas upon ideas alongside art making goals that may be a little upon the ambitious side . . . like making 50 paintings during the year that I will turn 50! But after all that 2024 held for me, I am inspired to take them somewhat seriously. My idea of what success as an artist means is also shifting. The older I get, the more I continue to learn from the other artists I know, meet, and work alongside. I am becoming more and more convinced that success as an artist truly looks different for everyone and is subjective. While there is no one path to it, for those who find it for themselves, those observing can see the objective qualities.

As the new year ushers in, thank you for the creative conversations 2024 held, and thank you to everyone who invited one of my little paintings into your homes.

Often people attempt to live their lives backwards, they try to have more things or more money in order to do more of what they want so that they will be happier. The way it actually works is the reverse. You must first be who you really are then do what you need to do in order to have what you want.

Margaret Young

Essential tremor is a condition which causes one’s hands to shake. I have seen it in many older people and not given it a second thought. Until that thing, that I blamed on too much coffee or perhaps needing to eat something, became real to me last October.

It can be treated with medication on the bad days. And caffeine is no longer a friend to me. But the shock, I wrestled with, was that more than likely it will increase with age. And well, these hands are an extension of my creativity.

Internally, I was embarrassed by my self-pity. This is not a terminal illness or anything very debilitating. But it still felt like such a blow. How will I go through my future days without having the steadiness to hold a brush?

My husband, Charles with direct appropriateness stated, “This just means, we make the most of today.”

So, the Bird Squares pulled me out a creative paralysis of sorts. These small quadrants greeted me in the mornings or the late afternoons of my days.

And in the midst of this, a curious and remarkable thing happened. During a confirmation church service, a clerical man, whom I had not met before, paused while I was at the church alter, and said to me, in a voice I will never forget, “Give me your hands. Anoint them with oil…” (along with a few additional words that I believe are mine alone to treasure.)

Y’all, I cried THE ugliest of cries in front of an entire fancy traditional congregation. A Sunday morning emotional spectacle, if you will. How did this robed stranger man know !?!?

I have asked myself for several months, do I talk about this? Or simply keep it to myself? But recently, after reading thought provoking words, which Mary McLeod Bethune wrote, I came to the conclusion that I think I’d like to let you know; amazing and wondrous mysteries of faith still exist, at least to me. And maybe will meet you where you are and usher in perhaps an ounce of comfort.

The bird squares in their series of 12 continued to carry me through much more these past few months. Let’s just say. “It has been a time.” And I am looking forward to “much less of a time” as 2024 begins to wane.

I hope you enjoy the Bird Squares. I plan to post their individual stories on Instagram in the days ahead.

P.S. Several have already left the nest and are in homes they were meant to find. However, a few are still available for purchase.

Do the lines from the poem (turned hymn, book title and eventual television series) give us pause, when viewed through the lens of our time?

Do we value all things as bright and beautiful or fear when postmodernity questions them at all?

*Incidentally and of note, lines of the original poem (which are included below) are most often omitted today, especially when considered through the devastation and horrors of the Irish potato famine of the mid 1850s in which they were written. That in itself is a form of commentary to me.

All Things Bright and Beautiful

by Cecil Frances Alexander, 1848

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colors,
He made their tiny wings.

The rich man in his castle,
The poor man at his gate,
God made them high and lowly,
And ordered their estate.*

The purple headed mountain,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning,
That brightens up the sky;−

The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden,−
He made them every one.

The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
We gather every day;−

He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell
How great is God Almighty,
Who hath made all things well.

To the woman I nicknamed with my uncle Wilde Rose, after one of her dish sets. But never dared tell her.

Dishes which were used to set the tables throughout an entire house (Küche, Wohnzimmer und Wohnstube) for Kaffee und Kuchen if the entire family was to be there. And then were washed and dried by hand.

To the woman who with a movement of her hand would let me know it was time to clear the table.

To the woman who taught me a guest should always be offered something to drink and their glasses should not sit empty. Yet, who would also tell you who could share a beer and who could not.

To the woman who put me in a stroller when I was an infant and cleaned classrooms as a janitor while my mother completed her contract with Lufthansa.

To the woman who turned off the water in an entire house while my sister was showering because she was wasting water.

To the woman who wouldn’t set a place at the lunch table for you if you slept past 11.

To the woman who pitted cherries, harvested and canned food. (I rarely ate produce from a grocery shelf during my childhood summer months.)

To the woman who would take a 20-30 minute nap on die Eckbank after cooking and completing the lunch dishes.

To the woman who once upon a time ran a small school supply shop out of an annex of her home.

To the woman who quietly told the stories of Germany over small boxes of photographs and albums.

To the woman who knew how to prepare a meal of game. And feed a large crowd off of the simplest of ingredients.

To the woman who would insist on playing another round of Skipbo or Rummikub until victory was hers. And watched you like a hawk, lest you make a false move.

To the woman who made pour over coffee since the beginning of time.

To the woman who told me my husband was ein guter Mann.

To the woman who expressed delight in how a cheeseburger had everything of the food groups in one. Alles ist dabei.

To the woman who would create a Klingelstorm of great magnitude on the mornings a flight back to the US would leave. Ringing her own home’s doorbell to make sure all were up and moving at 4:30 am to make it to the Frankfurter Flughafen on time because alarm clocks were not efficient enough.

To the woman who cared for my grandfather as diabetes took a toe and eventually a leg and knew what changes in sugar levels can do to a person.

To the woman who was her mother’s caregiver.

To the woman who kept her granddaughters while their mother flew home to bury their father.

To the woman who sat with me in the room and softly told stories as we watched my own mother leave the earth.

To the woman who watched Americans surround a household during a time of grief and finally understood why her daughter chose the States.

To the woman who had 3 girls of the 1980s and 90s visit each summer for 3 months every year with very American ways.

To the woman who kept us in check.

This painting will be part of the 2022 SPARK Invitational Exhibit in the West Gallery of Public Works Arts Center in Summerville, South Carolina September 23 - November 5, 2022.

It is a visual and personal reflection; representing all 2020 until this moment has held for me.

I want to describe all the minutia. The cracks and the solid ground. Grief and joy juxtaposed.

My observation of an approaching crescendo began on March 13, 2020. The word of the day in my German classroom was Hamsterkauf, describing the global hoarding of toilet paper which was underway.

By Monday, schools closed and virtual teaching began: as did an onslaught of polarizing opinions, politics, loss, fear, hot tempers, and uncharted waters to navigate through. And I learned, humanity is a fragile thing in a time of sound and fury. Tender in a forest of clanging and discordant words.

How long to sing this song?

Some of us hear them, others sight and name them. Whether it is the colorful plumes, birdsong or the winged flight in motion, their presence compliments a local landscape.

I feel it is the same with those individuals working or supporting the Arts; be it visual, literary or performing. An absence of these artists or advocates would leave a lonesome place.

These small paintings were created for the Florence Regional Arts Awards. It is with much gratitude that I celebrate the hues, song, and movement these individuals create, guide and bring to our community. May their stories continue to take flight and leave Florence a better place.

(A video highlighting the recipients can be found on the Florence Regional Arts Alliance‘s Facebook page.)

Reference Photo Attribution:

Chikadee:© Francis C. Franklin / CC-BY-SA-3.0, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Cardinal:
Mike's Birds from Riverside, CA, US, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Painted Bunting:
Don Faulkner, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Bluebird:William H. Majoros, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Robin:en:User:Mdf, CC BY-SA 3.0 <http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/>, via Wikimedia Commons

Wren:
Manjith Kainickara, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

This portrait is of local artist Robert Garey. This version is painted on Arches cold pressed watercolor paper. A second unfinished and hidden version, painted on Arches hot pressed watercolor paper, sits in my studio. I chose this subject matter to compare the watercolor surfaces in regards to ability to capture details. The lettering, glasses and ring particularly.

When I look at a finished painting, I see all my personal musings of a time as I worked. These paintings consist of more than pigment to me. For me this one, holds a portion of the fatigue and slowness, I felt moving through 2021. I painted slower, searched for the little details and read more. Some years are for hidden work, others are for the visible.

The quote below I read in September and “tend to your own knitting” was my quiet anchor as I navigated through the waves of 2021. Wishing you all a 2022 that ministers to you. Be your knitting hidden or seen.

The above book was gifted to me. I completed it last week. It chronicles the biography of a female watercolorist who lived independently and earned her keep through watercolor during a time when this wasn’t the norm. She elevated watercolor and, using it, shared with others stories of the time and place in which she lived. Her life story reached into others and left its mark through her mentorship and generosity.

Following reading the book, I listened to a conversation about it Walter Edgar held with South Carolina artist Jonathon Green. And I want to say, Mr. Green described the creative process and watercolor in a way that I so appreciate. Few know and understand the medium. “It can be unforgiving,” Green states. That is so true and a watercolorist knows the sinking feel when you know you’ve passed the point of no return. Watercolor painting is a delicate timed dance between the paper, the water, and paint. Alice was skilled in this. She painted “what she knew”. A confidence in the artist emerges when they are true to themselves and in my opinion Alice did that.

Her work explores the natural and historical environment in which she grew up. Coincidentally as I was reading this book, I learned more about the Charleston Rice Plantations through Episode 2 of Netflix’s High on the Hog. Smith chronicled the experiences of the enslaved in the Charleston area working these plantations. Some say these paintings are romanticized, others say they hold empathy and dignity. I believe the impression is left to the viewer.

As an artist, she documented her world as she saw and experienced it. In a world of Insta-artists, I am inspired by those who sought to learn mastery in painting as opposed to marketing. While she had her fair share of early work in promoting her paintings. her steadfast commitment to “water-colour” (as she penned it) itself leaves me feeling that there is not enough time to learn all I wish.

I thank Alice for her artistic honesty and generosity.

P.S. Blog Title is a nod to a little song by Smokie that some may recognize from any German fest ever attended. So since I didn’t visit any this summer I though we’d enjoy a little Ohrwurm today. You’re welcome ;-).

In my mind I keep thinking... Working in Education this year is that box of chocolates. Each day one never knows what one is gonna get. It has been an unusual year for all involved.

Teachers, Students, Families, Administrators, Custodians, Guidance Counselors, School Districts and Communities. It has been a year, to say the least.

The subject matter took me back to my art minor college days when I studied the work of Wayne Thiebaud. The painting assignment then was to recreate a painting mimicking in the style of the artist. I painted three pastel colored mugs. I’m willing to bet he would love this box of chocolate.

My mornings begin very early, when it is dark outside. I’ve taken a leaf from my American grandmother’s book and begin with a morning prayer list. The comfort I find here goes a long way if you happen to know her and the source of inspiration she is to our family.

These early morning musings follow me into the studio and often into the paintings and the thoughts behind them.

The real chocolates behind this painting can be found at chocobella in downtown Florence, South Carolina. (And I can tell you each one of these chocolates is AMAZING!)

Now these petals, which chronicle the months, remind me that despite the standstill of time I continue to feel; the seasons will change. Blooms will appear again.

Most people know the check in one’s spirit that occurs upon finding a bird bereft of life. It isn’t quite right to see something which should be inflight asleep.

In a time before cameras, Audubon shot and killed the birds he painted and studied. And now those deaths on paper are coveted collections. Audubon himself took no pleasure in these killings and said, "The moment a bird was dead, no matter how beautiful it had been in life, the pleasure of possession became blunted for me." (Ornithological Biography, Volume 1)

Death is not foreign to me. I have known it as a reality. Life holds sorrows that sometimes come too early. And they shape us. Truly each encounter is significant and holds meaning. These experiences have taught me that death and grief are not an end but rather a tender step forward.

Through these fallen wings, I observe, learn and am able to speak.

P.S. Bird strikes are a very real issue impacting our planet’s bird population.

As the pandemic weeks have continued on, I intentionally chose a background in which I could lose myself in, silence the rhetoric and find a quiet space.

The grief I have felt is laced into this one. It is easier to paint than to find the words to describe the paralysis and deep sadness I have felt. Almost, as if stuck on a dilapidated fence observing a destructive political garden party.

Two local venues have a few paintings of mine on display this month! :-)

The TRAX Visual Art Center is hosting Pause | Connect through November 14. I am honored to be included in this exhibition of local artists (Jennifer Altman, Jan Chenoweth, Colleen Critcher, Lynda English, Patz Fowle, Mike Fowle, Symon Gibson, Douglas Gray, Roger Halligan, Ashley Hamilton, Uschi Jeffcoat, Cornelia Joyner, Mary Ellen Judge, Milton Miles, Sarah Helen Mishoe, Julie Mixon, Tiffany Thomas, and Kimberly Washburn)!

If you live locally, I hope you will make time to visit and support these artists.

Seeing this exhibit in person is a completely different experience than seeing the images online.

The gallery is located at 122 Sauls Street, Lake City, SC. Gallery hours are Tuesday-Saturday 11am-5pm.

Bean Bar is a local coffee shop which opened in July. I am pleased to be their artist of the month during October and part of welcoming their small business to our community. Check out their website to learn what they are all about. (https://www.beanbarsc.com/ ) I appreciate the incredible attention to detail they demonstrate.

Selecting works for Bean Bar was a journey down memory lane. While some pieces are current there are a few included from the moments where I first encountered watercolor. Looking back, it is the medium which has given my paintings a voice.

A few are available on my website for sale. Bean Bar is open Monday-Saturday 7am to 6pm. If coffee is your language, you will not be disappointed by a visit. (Not to mention, you will be supporting a small business during some unusual times!)

Both venues adhere to current safety protocols and request that you wear a mask when visiting.

This quotation spoken by Hamlet created a new interest in the play for me. So, I watched an excellent BBC version featuring David Tennant as Hamlet last week in order to fully grasp the weight of these words. The green hardback covered Shakespeare Collection of plays which belonged to my parents was pulled off the shelf so I could read along as I watched.

The endeavor reminded me of listening to those records with story books, with the chime to turn the page. However, the Royal Shakespeare Company Production’s scenes did not follow the scenes directly, so there was much searching and page turning taking place on my part. But I loved it.

In high school I did a research paper on the messages of the birds in Macbeth. Funny, the way these birds appeared in my younger years.

In Hamlet some say through this statement he is nodding to Chapter 10 in the gospel of Matthew. He has moved from, “To Be or Not to Be” into an acceptance that some things are beyond control.

I see parallels in my world. Less than 6 months ago, I lived in a time and land of infinitives. To assume. To expect. To take. To be. To have. To do. To see. To travel. To go.

Barriers have fallen around the infinitives. A strangely constrained place of uncertainty has entered the scene which places us all under the wings of providence.

A few notes on the process behind this painting follow:

This 6” x 6”l painting was painted on aquabord. A monochromatic underpainting was applied. The decision to apply the cast shadow was made using tracing paper.

Color was then added, followed by wax medium. I love the texture found in the wax medium on the final piece. It is difficult to photograph and give this finished little bird justice so I have included a video of the process.

Applying wax medium over small watercolor on aquabord

Charity currently wears a scarf or a mask, considering the well being of others. It works in isolation yet extends kindness as it hopes to protect.

This is an image of my sister, taken April of 2020. It is a study in monochromatic underpainting of watercolor within portraiture. I plan to create a larger scale version of it. It feels incredibly iconic to me and has a zeitgeist feel.

Christina lives in New York City. I live in South Carolina and my other sister in North Carolina. We are experiencing opposite ends of a pandemic’s spectrum. The differences are vast yet still linked.

UPDATE August 10, 2020
Below is the final painting completed from the study described in this blog post.