https://www.etsy.com/listing/545604817/folk-painted-distressed-wooden?ref=shop_home_feat_1

Finally posting new items on Etsy. My whirlwind is winding down...

New works completed in the last few months....

Newest pen and ink illustration: Available at ebay

Atlas

 Of course, they think I'm a man. After all, it's been such a long time since I've seen anyone.

"But, who, but a man could hold up the weight of the heavens?!"

"What do men know of perseverance?", I counter. "To hold the heavens for all time..."

And to think that I'm made of stone. Rigid and unmoving. Do the scientists not reveal to us that the heavens move?

To think that strength alone bears aloft the heavens. No, it takes more than strength. To sway and bend as the heavens shift in my arms. It takes a dancer's grace. It is a womb that I carry above. Pulsing and throbbing with life. And wombs can only be carried by women. And only love can bear the weight of the world.

Destroy your art!

 Why do I paint patterns and then damage them? Distress them?

Maybe it's my love of history. Finding buried treasures that have been brought to light. Worn and well-loved pieces of....something. Something bigger. Something lost.

 Maybe it's loving the look of old barns and houses. Wondering about the lives that lived there. Looking at old photographs and putting yourself in that time, that place, feeling how the air felt and the way the wind smelled

 Maybe it's because we all carry scars. Parts that are covered up, parts that have been broken. Parts that are still breaking....Maybe this is why I paint patterns, bright colors....and why I destroy them, sand them down, smear the paint, muddy the colors and take sharpened blades and chip away at the surface....to reveal a different, stranger beauty. A beauty revealed in age and endurance.

 Maybe it's a way of painting time and life.....remembering other lives, places and times.

Maybe it's a way to reveal a truth....that I have yet to discover or name.....but I know that it's out there because I see it shining in the broken pieces of things that remain....

Golden Fruit

 
She remembered green. Great rolling green. Like the ocean. That great expanse of water that tossed her stomach ridding it of the moldy potatoes she'd eaten at her last meal on the island. They had come here for the gold and they found it, stretched out all around them glistening in tiny grains under the burning red sun. But the real treasure, the only treasure she found was the strange, new golden fruit that tasted like life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

New painting on recycled house wood.

The Herdess

The Herdess

Acrylic painted on recycled house wood.

There was a big pile of wood across the street. The city was finally tearing down the drug den where the prostitutes had covertly ducked into slowing cars.  The stench of mold and mildew lingered in the air and the bugs swarmed.

The lot was quickly emptied. And the grasses sprouted quicker, filling in the bare patch of earth exposed to the light for the first time in decades. Small fresh flowers replaced the fallen and sullen.

Before the city dump trucks came to haul away the walls and panels riddled with numerous nail holes, a quiet girl with her hair pulled back in a pony tail carefully sifted through the pile pulling out serviceable panels and dragging them down the street to her house. She would give them new life. Give the wood better pictures than they had previously witnessed. Perhaps let a new eyes see a different view.

She pulled out rusted nails. Sanded the rough sides and chose the face to paint. And created a new world.

The Herdess

She was strong. She worked hard and she cared for the animals that were hers to care for. They trusted her wisdom and guidance. She walked the firm earth in confidence. But behind her were crumbling walls. 

Prints available. Contact for info.