Morning Has Broken Print

When I was young I would stare at the Christmas tree for what seemed to be hours, imagining I was about 2 inches tall and living amongst the branches, dazzled by the sparkle of the lights and the details of each colorful ornament. Like meditating with paint, I found I could go anywhere I wanted. It could be summer when the snow was falling or cool crisp winter when the days were too hot. ​ To be lost in an image distracted by nothing but it’s life as it grows before me, encouraged by my own hand; the depth of black in a blob of ink or never-ending colors of paint, spreading across a surface, pushed and prodded, poked or stretched; coming alive as it grows. Being able to direct and watch it grow into something that can, even for a moment, transport the viewer to another place, is a tremendously fulfilling adventure. ​ If that is the definition of an artist, then I plead guilty. Being an artist is not a goal I have strived for, it’s who I am. Its journey is one on which I will forever be drawn. Please let me know if I can help transport you somewhere soon