How well I remember the afternoon light filtering through my honors advisor’s windows at UT Austin, not so/so long ago. The timbre of Dr. Sullivan’s voice when he peered at me over his glasses and said: My dear, Edna St. Vincent Millay was writing about you.

Worst/best compliment ever. My flame will not last the night; But “ah my foes, and oh my friends, it gives a lovely light!” Much as I try to pare down my [schedules, desires, hopes, projects] self, the same bad habits sustain me: inertia, miraculous interventions, and an unhealthy amount of caffeine. Here I am, fifteen freakin’ years later, and elbows deep in art show prep, full time teaching, and trying my darndest to raise my two kids to be good humans. Oh, and an impending studio move to Old East Dallas. I’m joining the new studios at Art on Main! Because enough is never enough, and this candle is lit, y’all.

Just a year ago, I changed high school campuses and reframed my teaching career. At the same time, I put together my first solo show, hosted by the fabulous Susan L Sistrunk in Waco, and on the heels of the opening, I began house hunting. My family moved into our first home at the end of the winter, collapsing weeks of packing and unpacking into a flurry of manic days. Last year was hard. I swore to myself I’d do less, but here I am: a mouthful of “oops!” and glorious evening espresso. This is fine.

I have a problem. BUT check out my first public photos of my new space! If you’re local to Dallas, you know real estate prices have escalated at an unholy rate since the pandemic. My new studio was a miraculous find (seriously!) nestled closely between our new home, Woodrow Wilson High School where I teach art, and Deep Ellum. I get my keys in about two weeks! I love the light, the location, the fact that I have more space, and the window the studio owners installed for me so that I can see the skyline from within my walls.

New beginnings mean endings, as well. It is with a sad heart that I bid farewell to the space that’s been my home by White Rock Lake for the last six years, and the dear art friends I have made there. I’m a better person and a much better artist for having worked among the fabulous ladies of ArtWorks Studio. Wednesday Studio Nights have been the highlight of my week for years. While I’m looking forward to forging new friendships and evolving in my practice, I will miss my home-away-from home so very much.

Art Mart is coming- catch me next weekend at the Bath House Cultural Center for my first official art festival since 2019! And help me celebrate my move by checking out my studio sale! Onward, aflame and aloft on caffeinated wings and daydreams.

“My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light!”

— Edna St. Vincent Millay

With gratitude <3

Tantalizing golden light of false autumn (thanks, Texas!) filters through my windows. I get an itch between my shoulder blades this time of year, jealously dreaming of what I imagine real fall must feel like: misty mornings, and trees arrayed in red and gold. These are things I have never experienced. I’m working on my West Texas series, and the light pulls at my attention. I want to be outside, where the vastness and buoyant air beckon.

Meet me on the Equinox

Meet me half-way…

After a few weeks of intense art deadlines, I gave myself a bit of a break, but I’m back at it prepping for fall and winter shows. There’s just not enough time. Covid supply chain issues have made getting art supplies- particularly Venetian Plaster- difficult. I’m not sure what it’s like in other parts of the world (or even in other parts of the US), but here in Texas there’s a weird dichotomy to daily life: near pre-pandemic busy obligations, little news on Covid, groaning expectations in all realms of life; but at the same time, store shelves are bare, places are short staffed, and it’s really hard to plan anything concrete due to rolling quarantines and cancellations. It’s exhausting. We had Covid in my household at the end of August and we still haven’t caught up - and we were so lucky. I am able to do far less than I could, even this time last year, because I am so drained.

When we went camping this past summer, most of the other campers near us were either teachers or first responders. In fact, one night our camp host in New Mexico told us the entire campground was full of first responders, EMTs and teachers. We had the best conversations and the best time, sitting around the fire and talking about how grateful we were to be there. We didn’t discuss what we’d been through the past year- nobody did!- it seemed we had shared experiences, and also a shared need of renewal, fellowship, and spiritual rest. We thanked all the first responders we met, and were surprised and humbled when they thanked us for our service. The most any of us said about the past year was “It’s been really hard. We are so happy to be here, now.” We had no cell service, no access to social media or news.

It was so nice.

I am longing for campfires, stars, and reading at night by lantern-light.

Here’s to making it through this latest gauntlet. I’m going to celebrate with my first solo show! Milagros: Visions of the Desert opens at the Susan L Sistrunk Fine Art Gallery in Waco on Saturday, November 27 with a reception 5-8 pm. I’ll be there and I will give a brief artist talk about my inspiration and my process. I can’t wait to share what I’ve been working on over the past few months. Check out the event page here!

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