I woke up from an afternoon nap on the couch to this pile of clean laundry. My son says it's boring because there's no color! But it's sumi ink, and I've only got watercolor. I've tried it before, and this ink will run. Time to order some colored pencils? Or use my son's markers!
The silver lining of this shelter in place is my daily afternoon walk to put my son down for a nap in his stroller. In our previously scheduled life, he would fall asleep on the drive home from school. These are non native eucalyptus and my beloved favorite tree, a Monterey pine, on a shady side trail of Golden Gate Park.
The Tool Bench marks my 50th canvas—completed exactly one year to the day after I finished my very first one. This piece is a tribute to work, memory, and the quiet corners where both creativity and responsibility live.
Drawn entirely freehand, it’s built like a snapshot of a lived-in workspace: mismatched tools, worn wood, scribbled reminders, and the little personal things that actually make a place yours. The clipboard holds a “Honey-Do” list that never seems to end. The Polaroid-style sketch of my wife sits taped to the wall like a reminder of why the work matters. The shadows on the back wall match the tools lying on the bench—suggesting a moment in progress, a task paused, life happening between motions.
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.
After a gorgeous sunny day in the garden, the wind picked up in the late afternoon. Too windy for a walk, so I drove my son to the GG bridge for his nap and stopped at the welcome sight of St. Ignatius on the way back.
