I had a magical childhood... I spent my days playing in Michigan woods, climbing old grape vines and crawling through dry swamps. Sometimes I stopped and hid very still inside the hollow trunk of an ancient tree. Other times I wandered, following the bees and sweet smells as I learned to recognize the gnarl of an old apple tree and , if I was lucky, one live branch that managed to grow one bumpy little apple for me to eat.
I collected walnuts and loved the tall grasses and the huge vines that I climbed on. I loved lying in the deep grass, arms and leg spread, staring up at the stars as I wondered how it would be to stay awake and watch myself be grown back under, part of the roots and grass and earth.
As each winter approached the spider webs that hung across the chicory become covered in frost, like snowflakes that bloomed. Dad sharpened the snow shovel, put on skates and swoosh! He sliced down cattails all around him then swept them aside and waited for the next freeze to cover their stems. We ice skated for acres, through swamps draped with grapevines and haunted trees, bent and gnarling. We skated around islands, under vines, leaping frozen floated logs. Later we had bonfires in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night when the snow glowed.
I painted rocks and wood, made jewelry, and collected feather and bones and leaves and helped Mom create a large tree as she presented a play of Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree. Together we watched The Lorax and I knew I would someday speak for the trees.
This is where my paintings come from. The magic of my childhood, and my desire to capture the mystical and spiritual beauty that nature offers. I speak for the trees. The grass. The stars. The earth. I paint to reveal the sacred magic of nature.