Why I paint
I paint because looking is not enough. A walk on the cliff path is gone by supper. A painting of it stays, and it keeps the cold, the noise, and the gray I could not name at the time.
I do not paint the sea as it looks. I paint it as it felt to stand there, and that is a different color.
Twelve evenings, one thin layer at a time.
Most of my paintings begin as a bad mood about the weather.
The weather on this coast changes four times a day, and I take it personally. When a storm comes in, I go out. When it rains, I paint the table. When the moon is up, I stay up.
I keep the studio simple: one window, two easels, and a rag. The rest happens in the looking.
If you want to talk about a painting, or about the weather, the door of the net loft is open on Fridays.
Where the hours go.
A studio week, out of 100-
Looking
The first hour of every painting, with no brush in hand.
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Painting in the loft
Most afternoons, by the north window.
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Painting outside
More in winter, when the storms come.
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Scraping back
At least once a day.
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Cleaning brushes
Every evening, with soap.
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Answering letters
After supper, with tea.
What others see in it.
Critics and gallery directors-
“She paints the cold. You feel it in your hands.”
Ruth Abernathy Arts editor · Wrenhaven Courier -
“Her studio is small, but every painting in it feels like a large room.”
Hal Brennick Director · Wrenhaven Arts Center