My last post was an indulgence of self pity, I confess. But it was also my first step towards regaining inner equilibrium. All my self-talk, as good as it was,…
For the past nine months I’ve been gestating an artistic collaboration with the Chamber Music Society of Ohio: an afternoon of me painting in concert with French chamber music, surrounded…
Mother’s Day holds garden memories for me. First and most obvious, it come in spring when the garden is bursting forth. But second, Mother’s Day and Easter were days when…
The day before, the hour before, the moment before, all hold a certain excitement and an ounce of anxiety alike. Whatever the event, when you’ve invested your energy and soul…
Abri is the French word for shelter. I like it. So much of my work is about it: homes, doors, windows, rooms, food. The things that surround us daily. I remember…
I just received an email from Wendy, who was missing the week-end blog as well as inquiring as to how I responded to the fan mail I posted last week…
Rembrandt has become to my spring what the mistral was to my winter: an unexpected thread, weaving together random events. My last reference to the Dutch master will be the…
Late yesterday afternoon I flipped on my phone thoughtlessly and the following email immediately opened onto the screen. I almost deleted it, thinking it was unsolicited spam… Well, it was unsolicited,…
I never experienced an Easter Vigil, in the liturgical sense, until I was in my thirties. Now my children are that age, I realize I’ve been waiting through them my…
A teacher’s dream is to instill fire and passion in his students. Sometimes you never know if it took or not until years later. For example, thirty years ago I…
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