I think a lot about fallow fields, new beginnings, change and transformation. As many of you know, my back failed years ago. Doctors told gave me a choice: Spinal fusion or quit sculpting. I chose to quit. I wrote four books, opened three new businesses, and resigned myself to the fact that creativity comes in many forms.
Then the pandemic hit. Most of my businesses were forced to close and my husband and I kept our essential business operating with the help of a few committed employees. On the days I worked the store, I felt like I was under machine-gun fire. Lines went out the door and through the parking lot because we never ran out of the things people needed: Masks, gloves, wipes, paper towels, mason jars…
Early morning and late at night, I scoured the news so I could anticipate what products might disappear next and my husband searched suppliers to source supplies before they were no longer available. By the time the vaccine emerged, I was spent. Then, suddenly, I suffered a health emergency that confined me to bed (or, more often, the couch) for five months.
Though traumatic at the time, ultimately the pandemic and my health scare (Acute Compartment Syndrome), were gifts. They taught me to reevaluate my work ethos and, ultimately, redefine my life. I closed or sold my personal businesses. We started raising food and I went back to my studio.
For the first time in my adult life, I was completely free to pursue any artistic direction. I made chairs. I made new sculptures (albeit slowly), and then I began to paint. And paint. And paint. I became obsessed as my inner child found a voice, became a teenager (replete with tantrums and moodiness) and matured into an adult.
Now, I’m re-emerging from the fallow fields of my previously abandoned studio and am fully engaged as an artist again. It’s thrilling. It’s messy. By the end of the day, my back aches, my knees click, and my eyes are alight. Paint splatters the walls, the ceiling, my hair and face and I haven’t been this excited since I discovered sculpting some thirty years ago.
But art isn’t the only thing consuming me these days. We now raise chickens, ducks, turkeys, and the occasional Berkshire hogs. I built a greenhouse on my back patio that’s connected to the house, a large cold frame, and several gardens. I spend most weekends making food from scratch (bagels, smoked lox, cream cheese, mozzarella, bread, etc. etc.).
I’m also traveling as much as I can.
Though the world is crazy right now and none of us know what the new normal will be, I’ve decided the only thing we control is what we give. To that end, I’m starting a new newsletter to share what’s happening in my studio, on the homestead, and on my travel adventures. It’s my hope you will receive this newsletter as a gift and that the stories I share inspire, delight, or amuse you.
You’re on this list because of your past support of my creative endeavors. If you don’t want to receive the chronicles, let me know by replying to this email or simply hit the unsubscribe button. This newsletter is about things that help us feel good.
Below, find photos of two of the chairs, a story about our newest baby, and an account of our most recent travel adventure. Also, if you have the inclination, check out my new website where you can share the creative journey.
Artworks are available for purchase, but that’s not my primary focus. I’ve been fortunate to enjoy success and its accompanying accolades. That journey, however, required a lot of sacrifice. These days, I’m focused on a good life. It’s been my experience that the works find the right home so if you fall in love with something and want to own it, get in touch. If not, just enjoy. On that note, I’m accepting only very select commissions because, for the first time, my time is now my own.
Thank you for helping me get here and I look forward to sharing the adventures with you.
With love and gratitude,
Destiny