During winter months, alone in my heatless studio and reacting to the somber grays of a world wrapped in rainy hibernation, I am often inspired to escape into a warm, colorful womb of my own making. Using small canvases as a backdrop, I layer collage elements, gold leaf, textured mediums and shimmering paint into welcoming images. These usually include flowers and food—those symbols of a peaceful, tactile and sensuous existence beyond the negative news of current events that we are force fed. These simple still life creations are a mélange of abstract and figurative, an infusion of joy and comfort.
Brushes thrust their hairy heads from glassine throats
Like alien flowers not yet opened.
Canvases protrude and flatten in geometric disorder.
Those paints, oh those paints shimmer and beckon
From feasted tables juicier than peaches,
More sensual than pears or pomegranates,
More fluorescent than citrus,
More pithy than mango or melon.
I stroke and they spread their skin,
I brush and they wiggle their weight.
I knife and they lay thickly on their beds.
Ice settles into stubborn striations
As I imagine an orchid—just a wisp of exotic filament—
Throbbing above the storm, an acolyte, a wine-red wink,
A phosphorescence that breathes in, breathes out,
A ventilator that reminds us we’re still living.
