A Window on Bones Print

I am a mixed media artist with a preference for making 3-D work. Themes recur in my art: I use found objects, and may use molds& casting of my small pieces to create new work. I enjoy photography, "straight" and digitally manipulated, and sometimes include my photos in my collage artworks. Maybe my motto could be "art by any means necessary". My work is somewhat unusual, and perhaps I walk & work on the Dark Side. However I see hope and beauty everywhere, and hope that is part of even my darkest artworks. * * * Read a 2021 article about my work at Obsessed with Art here: . Personally I am obsessed with making: after a 20 years working with computers, I turned to art full time. I left the city of Seattle for a cohousing community in idyllic small town Port Townsend. I have a particular love of sculpture, assembly, & collage: I draw, paint, sculpt, assemble, blog (). I use a wide variety of media: pencil, colored pencil, pastels, watercolor, ink, resin, cement, wood, stone, fabric and more. My original work is often transformed & reused in both physical and digital collage. I use a computer, scanner & archival ink jet printer as tools to modify and create new work. I appreciate the element of surprise, so rarely make detailed plans. I try to balance a need for control, which requires technical skill and practice, with a sense of play and enjoyment. Despite my play, I take my work seriously: it is a daily practice. I do not follow techniques and trends in the art world, however it is a delight to encounter a new technique that allows me to express my visual thoughts. Art is a form of expression and way to share what I see and feel. I want to communicate the sense of mystery and delight I feel myself. I hope to capture your eye and mind, and to take you to a different place for at least a moment. My Thread is a Rope The thread I hold is a rope. My thread is not a delicate silken floss, Bright with color. The thread that I hold onto is a rope: Strong, dull, dun colored, Dirty, encrusted with the juices of sixty-two years. Years of living, struggling, crying Laughing, making, and holding hands. Tarred by many more years of history, Family stories, memories not my own. Some strands of this rope are loose, Unraveled, untidy, adhering to people and things Left along the way. But the rope is strong: I can Pull, and lean, and even hang limp From this thread.