Acrylic gouache on MDF, approx 4x6". Part of an experiment: what if I painted the inside of a picture frame (ie, the inside of the backing board)? Result: it actually works really well!
Another piece from my vernal pools/treescapes studies I have been working on in correlation to my interest in local creature found in our woodlands.
I adopted the use of a circle one night, wanting to frame out an idea/sketch and a wine glass happened to be close by. Since then I have used it often, loving the circle aspect.
I wax specific areas (paint with wax) and light from the back...in the end it will be in a glass frame to hang in a window....tben the waxed areas will glow!!!
I had some 5x7 postcards produced if you're looking for some whimsical paintings to frame or use to mail to friends. I'll throw some stickers in with each order.
I am an art teacher with a master’s degree—trained by brilliant professors who believed that art could do more than decorate walls. I offer safe spaces for teenagers to grow—nourishing soil where their imaginations can take root.
And yet… I am assigned to hallway duty.
This is compulsory education, after all.
So I sit—posted like a sentinel—watching young lives stream past.
“Get to class,” I say with a smile and a nudge.
The system wants attendance; I’m hungry for presence.
Armed not with a whistle or clipboard, but with a pen—
my scribble’s soft insurgency.
The hallway stretches out like a geometric hymn.
Columns and corners chant structure.
Teenagers swirl past—half-formed galaxies of limbs and laughter—
their orbits chaotic, their gravity pulling time forward.
I begin to draw.
Not their tardiness, but their motion.
A shoulder. A blur of sneakers.
A tilted head chasing freedom.
Feet flickering like seconds.
Each mark a pulse.
Each smudge a breath.
My paper becomes a seismograph of seeing—
trembling gently through the mundane.
This isn’t about making art for a frame or a feed.
It’s about refusing to leak away in the fluorescent hum of obligation.
It’s a quiet mutiny against the clock.
I do this on long car rides, too (passenger side, mind you).
Letting the lines grow wild, jagged, and unapologetic.
Not for polish—
but for presence.
This is how I remember I’m still alive.
Still growing.
Still watching.
Still choosing to see.
Because sometimes mental health looks like
a piece of scrap paper,
a moving pen,
and the simple, sacred act of
marking time with wonder.
This is an exterior white paint on an old tarp with a treated lumber frame painting using a photograph taken of my Dad in the Summer of 1979. Dad and I were on the porch playing our guitars while a girl I was dating snapped some photos. I get a sense of Dad's calmness whenever I look at the photo, and now, this painting.
Another attempt to work on more dynamic posing, I did a series of sketches pushing the pose into something outlandish and a tad pin-uppy for my unnamed Houdini knockoff escape artist. I used a different framework technique than usual to help me along, but I'm noticing now a few errors in the final sketch as per usual :)
