People ask me how I discovered my creative niche. The truth is, I don’t remember discovering it, and am not sure I have. I just did what I did, and doubted myself all along the way. But I found comfort and joy in it, so I kept going from one day to the next. That path has led me to where I am now, but this is not a destination. It’s just the next day. I guess it will be a destination on the last day I do this. 

People are always telling me what I can’t do. If I want to try something, I just do it. I sometimes surprise people. I often surprise myself. There is no risk in making creative attempts, even if they don’t work out like I had envisioned. Every experience teaches me something. Some are happy accidents that feel at first like derailment. Later on, I realize switching tracks can redefine my expression.

It doesn’t have to be a jarring mishap. I find new directions through play.

If I like something, or if I am intrigued, I go a little deeper and develop that story. It doesn’t happen overnight. What comes out may have been steeping a long time.

No matter how much galleries might want new paintings from me, it’s not something I can force. I can stand in front of the easel with a paintbrush in my hand, but I can not, by sheer force of will, conjure a successful painting. At other times, the compositions just flow out without that effort.

When I am relaxed, and not thinking about the end product, I can get on the path of brushstrokes that wriggle out my hand and through the brush to the canvas. Like when you catch a fish, and then observe it dangling from the line or wriggling in the bottom of the boat.

There are stories for me to discover in my own work.

When the paintings don’t bite, I don’t need to worry. I can create in another medium, or I can just go and do something else for a while. Life outside of my studio is vital to working in it. 

Lately, my grandson has been painting.

He makes abstract compositions, and I love his casual confidence. He chatters away and sings while he paints. 

So what if he is only five years old. He has hands to hold a paintbrush, dexterity to apply the paint, and his own unique eye. 

I’d like to think that seeing my own paintings throughout his life has influenced him. When he was a newborn, he used to stare at my art on the wall, as his mother did when she was a baby. 

Maybe my work has influenced him in some way, but there is always something I can learn from him, too. His focused nonchalance, and joyous approach inspire me. 

Two 36×48 canvases in progress.

Sometimes pots break during the bisque firing. Usually because I haven’t allowed them to dry enough. If the bottom breaks out, I keep it. I glaze it, and then later, when I have extra room in the kiln, I’ll fire it again. It lets me try things with the glaze that I might not want to risk on an intact pot.

They go into the aquarium, and the fish make them their homes. I still get to display them in my home and look at them. It ties back into what I always say about shipwrecks. And imperfections.