Nestled into the hillside amid tall cedars and open fields, the pole barn creaks and groans in the wind, a testament to the passage of time and the stories it holds within its weathered walls. Horses used to bang around on the bottom floor. Tucked away on the top floor is my sanctuary
— the studio where I paint my oil land- scapes. It’s a place of solace and inspiration, where dreams dance across canvases and hopes take shape in strokes of vibrant color.
When I step into the studio, the scent of linseed oil and turpentine envelopes me like an old friend, comforting and familiar. Sunlight streams through the windows and skylights, casting a warm glow on the uncluttered space with easels, canvases and jars of brushes. Each corner holds memories of countless hours spent lost in the world of my imagination, bringing to life scenes of mountains, lakes and coastlines of the Pacific Northwest and the American West.
My inspiration is in nature, where I experience the feeling of awe and the unknown, and give in to creative and whimsical forces. Painting the landscape is like the feeling of entering a temple with its restorative powers. When I walk into a grassy field or hike a mountain trail, I experience these restorative powers and sense the essence of where forms and feelings are intertwined.
My biggest passion is carrying on the great traditions of representational oil painting and I am inspired by the 19th-century American Tonalism movement. I am fundamentally a conceptual artist, using the material from my sketchbook drawings and plein-air paintings to create a sense of place, stressing feeling over objective reality. With a carefully selected envelope of tones, I balance forms, masses and details, unifying the various elements within the painting until harmony has been achieved. The quality of my work is mythical — as the real myth is an abbreviated reality.
My artistic journey has been filled with twists and turns, triumphs and disappointments. There have been moments of exhilaration when a painting comes together effortlessly, capturing a fleeting moment in time. And there are times of difficulty, when self-doubt gnaws at my confidence and inspiration seems to elude me. I have faced rejections and setbacks along the way, which has fueled my determination to succeed. I create paintings to inspire others and share my work with gratitude.
What scares me the most is the fear of mediocrity, of pouring my heart and soul into a painting only to fall short of my expectations. It’s the fear of being unable to convey the beauty and complexity of nature, of failing to capture the essence of a moment in time. And it’s the fear of complacency, of becoming stagnant and losing the passion that drives me forward. In the quiet moments alone in my studio, surrounded by the echoes of past creations, field studies, notes and references, I find the strength to push through my fears and continue pursuing my passion.
My childhood home was filled with artwork, and I was particularly influenced by renowned Northwest School artist Thomas Scofield Handforth (1897-1948). Handforth was my cousin, twice removed.
Every painting I make incorporates my life experiences. When I was younger, I worked as an Outward Bound instructor in the North Cascades and taught environmental education for the Youth Conservation Corps. My husband and I lived in Italy for a year, where I taught at an international school. We trekked in Nepal; skied in Japan; and kayaked in Costa Rica. These experiences have given me a greater understanding of the world.
I began art training in my 40s while I was working as an elementary school teacher, starting out taking occasional art courses, then committing to full-time training. My life was very full. We had two young children, and our property was filled with dogs, cats, chickens, ducks and horses.
We built a treehouse with Pete Nelson, the treehouse guy on TV. I began to paint in the small, 100-square-feet space, claiming it as my first artist studio. Within a few years, our treehouse was featured on the Animal Planet TV show Treehouse Masters. I loved painting in that studio. It was designed after a mountain fire lookout, with windows on every side. During a windstorm, it rocked back and forth like a boat moored at the dock.
When I transitioned to formal art training, I studied at Gage Academy of Art, the Seattle Sculpture Atelier and Georgetown Atelier in Seattle, and the Landscape Atelier in Clarksville,
Texas. Over the years, I attended professional artist workshops with some of the leading landscape painters in the United States.
As I began painting larger pieces, I moved studios to the barn, where I am now. I am able to step back from the work and paint larger pieces, thanks to the space.
I sometimes wonder: What if I had started my painting career earlier? Where would I be now? What decisions would I be making? Would I have the experience to reflect on, like I do now? There is always so much to learn as a painter, and I know I’m right where I need to be at this point in my painting career.
I express myself without fear of judgment or criticism in this studio. I create art that will inspire others, evoke emotions, spark imaginations and transport viewers into their memories of the wonder and beauty of nature. Anything is possible in my studio with my brushes and my paints. My studio is a sacred space, where dreams are born and possibilities are endless.
I am expanding my art to connect with more people by improving my social media and marketing, and increasing my gallery representation across the country. I am currently represented by Smith and Vallee Gallery in Washington State and am an artist member of the Salmagundi Club in New York City. Founded in 1871, the Salmagundi Club is one of the country’s oldest art organizations, and has been a leading force in the creative development of American artists. I am currently working on a solo exhibition that will be exhibited at Smith and Vallee Gallery in November 2025. After that, I plan to explore new opportunities to paint the American West.
My studio is more than just a room filled with paints and canvases. It is where I escape the chaos of the outside world and immerse myself in the beauty of creation. It is a place where I bring the studies of nature and I pour my heart and soul onto canvas, expressing my deepest thoughts and emotions in every brushstroke.
This is my personal space where I come every day to draw and paint. Propped on shelves and in between the books are artifacts that remind me of people in my life, experiences and places I’ve been. There are a variety of heart-shaped rocks, crystals and fossils that I have found placed in nooks and crannies. There are pictures of our animals, our cabin on the Deschutes River in Oregon, and handmade cards from friends. The shelf above my easel holds wooden decoys, stuffed ducks, a drawing skull, Mexican ceramics, a plaster figurine, a wooden owl that my grandfather carved for me, as well as papier-mâché sculptures my kids made in elementary school.
I feel a sense of strength and support from my history, and from my ancestors, that drives me to create even when the outcome is uncertain.
My studio is about 800 square feet with tall, redwood-lined cathedral ceilings and northern skylights in the main room. It’s uncluttered and as simple as possible, with a large easel capable of holding 6-feet canvases and furniture on wheels. Depending upon the size of the painting I’m working on, I can rearrange the room quickly and easily by rolling easels and tables. Skylights on the sloping north side of the roof cast a natural northern light, perfect for painting.
A large standing worktable provides a place for drawing, preparing panels and framing. There’s a sink to wash my brushes and a library of art books, drawing journals and atelier notes. Two bedroom-size back rooms provide an office area and storage for linen, panels and frames. Carpet-lined storage racks for completed artwork protect the frames and paintings from damage. Narrow storage shelves mounted on the walls provide a place for unfinished paintings to dry and the display of unframed paintings, and for planning an exhibition.
My creative process includes drawing and plein-air painting in the field where I see the atmosphere, hear the sounds and feel the wind. When I return to my studio to make a final painting, I carry this as a memory and experience to suggest and convey through paint. I pay particular attention to the emotion that resonated in the field, and the resulting painting is a poetic interpretation of place.
My paintings capture the moods of nature and the essence of what it is to be human by observing nature’s beauty. One of my favorite quotes is by George Inness, a 19th-century Tonalist painter, who said, “The purpose of the painter is simply to reproduce in other minds the impression which a scene has made upon him.”
I paint intimate places that are small and safe, where I feel tucked in a refuge, as well as wide-open spaces with expansive skies, out on the edge where I tilt forward, facing what comes. When I walk through a forest or close to the edge of a cliff, I feel a sense of what I want to convey in my paintings. Traveling and painting the landscape inspires me and I am pushed to the frontiers of the beautiful and unexpected.
I am astounded by how I feel connected to nature’s universal message, that we are all at the edge of a great truth.
