What one loves in childhood stays in the heart forever. -- Mary Jo Putney
This was my view of the sky as a child, small patches of sky filtering through the trees. My bedroom was on the second floor of our hundred-year-old family home. Through a set of old French doors I could step out onto the roof of the side porch. I dreamed among those treetops. My great-grandparents rested in a small cemetery among the roots. The woods of Glyndon and Foxley echoed with the footfalls of generations.
This is my view of the sky from our back porch. Is it any wonder that the same year my husband and I buy our little house in the woods that I begin painting trees? Trees and trees and trees.
I have trees on the brain, Carlson on the nightstand, and some experiments in monoprinting with a pancake griddle underway.
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