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Life, Values & Legacy – A Chat With Mary Ahern by Bold Journey Magazine

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Jan 10, 2026

This is a reprint of an article initially published by Bold Journey Magazine on December 29, 2025.

Mary Ahern shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.

Hi Mary, thank you so much for taking time out of your busy day to share your story, experiences and insights with our readers. Let’s jump right in with an interesting one: What is a normal day like for you right now?

Most days, I wake up without an alarm, and before I get out of bed, I enjoy a 30-minute stretching and meditation routine. Then I shower, have coffee & read the news on my laptop. Each day that the weather permits, I spend time in my garden either working, photographing, or just seeing and enjoying. By mid-afternoon, I head to my studio for hours of painting or drawing.

Standing in my drawing studio, which overlooks my front garden.

The slow start to my day begins the process of staying fit, both mentally and physically, in order to continue my decades-long practice of creativity. Connecting with my garden is critical, as it is where my artwork’s inspiration comes from. My two studios are custom-built in my home, allowing me total immersion in all aspects of the life I live and work in. They are seamless.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?

I am an artist with a fifty-year career in many forms and mediums of creativity. I began as an oil painter in the 1970s. During the 1980s and 90s, I moved into digital work as a career, first selling computer graphics equipment and later establishing my own graphic design business. No matter where I lived, I always carved out a studio for myself.

In the early 2000s, using a professional-leveI scanner, I captured live flowers from my garden, then composited the images in Photoshop. From these images I created what I called Designer Prints which I sold online and in art festivals in six different states. I created digital paintings of garden landscapes using Corel Painter. I programmed custom digital brushes to mimic the oil painting brushes I use to create my oil paintings on canvas for this artwork.

Over the past decade, I’ve returned exclusively to oil painting. What hasn’t changed is the inspiration I draw from my extensive garden, which I’ve designed and tended for over 35 years

Work in Progress – “Cosmic Iris Squared”

Amazing, so let’s take a moment to go back in time. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?

I was raised in Brooklyn, NY, in a very strict old European environment with no vision beyond being a wife and a mommy. Though I graduated from high school with academic honors, my family offered no further education, believing that educating women was a waste of money. Throughout Junior and Senior High School, I was in the orchestra and band music programs. At graduation, I conducted Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, having been awarded the music department honors. That was the final act of my musical career. With no further educational or career opportunities in my future, I married and had two sons.

In my later 20s, I began to draw. Never having had art classes in school because of my involvement with music, this was a completely new experience for me. From the moment I picked up a piece of charcoal and put it to paper, I felt like it was an extension of my own body. I began taking oil painting classes on Wednesday evenings at the local YMCA. A college professor friend of mine suggested I apply to college to study art. At the time, I didn’t even know a person could go to college as an older student. I applied. Was accepted. And my life changed dramatically.

Sitting in my office, surrounded by 3 views of the garden where I work and write.

Do you remember a time someone truly listened to you?

I have been fortunate in this respect. I have had the benefit of several mentors and role models throughout my life’s journey. My friend Roberta, who told me I could and should go to college. Mary Ann, who showed me women could be executives, wealthy, and own sports cars. Martha, my mentor and boss, who steered me into a career in computers in the early 1980s, when this field was just dawning. This beginning opened a pathway into high-end technology sales, a field not populated by women and therefore better paid.

Work in Progress – “My New World – Anemone Redux”

Sure, so let’s go deeper into your values and how you think. Is the public version of you the real you?

People who don’t really know me get me all wrong. My public persona has been sculpted by the challenging life and career I’ve experienced. Having worked as a single mother, in an almost totally male industry for quite a while, I’ve developed some of that style of speaking and traits such as assertiveness, competitiveness and confidence. Add to that the fact that I’m of Dutch heritage, which means I’m direct, opinionated, and rather straightforward. Many people, particularly women, misunderstand this about me.

My friends know me as a sensitive and empathetic human being. Generous and helpful with my time and energy when I believe I can make a difference. I’m serious and don’t engage in small talk, pop culture, or time fillers. I am easily bored. I have always, and continue to, take classes and workshops to expand my knowledge of a variety of subjects, including art, art history, horticulture, marketing, and writing.

I also have a balance between left- and right-brain thinking, which helps me in both creativity and logic. Though unusual in most artists, I enjoy this aptitude immensely.

Before we go, we’d love to hear your thoughts on some longer-run, legacy type questions. If you knew you had 10 years left, what would you stop doing immediately?
Since I’m already 78, this is more of a question of what I have already stopped doing. When I turned 70, I closed my commercial graphic design business, although I still have a few legacy clients. Earlier this year, I resigned from a PR Chair position at a non-profit I had been dedicating about 30 hours a week to for the past 5 years. Working in a non-profit easily becomes a full-time job before you realize it because it is usually in an area in which you have passion.

I have replaced these efforts with a concentration on my own creativity. As an artist, I now have two solo exhibitions scheduled for next year and one for the year I turn 80. Creating that much artwork requires a full dedication to working in my studio every day. I am finding it liberating to focus entirely on my own work. I’m glad I made this choice! I’m glad I made this choice!

Some selections of my oil paintings

Image Credits
Images by Mary Ahern

Click here to read the reprinted article on Substack

Copyright © 2025 Bold Journey

 

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Someone Asked, Do You Only Ever Paint Flowers?

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Recently, someone who came to my studio looked around at all the walls and asked whether I only ever paint flowers. The question stopped me in my tracks. It seemed like a judgment. That somehow, I was a limited artist who couldn’t paint anything else. I guess the word only made a difference to me. Every once in a while, I’ve heard this type of statement, but for some reason, this time it struck a chord with me. Perhaps it was because the person who asked it was also an artist.

Since this visit, I’ve been ruminating about her question. I wonder whether artists who only paint portraits of people or pets are also questioned as to their output? Are non-objective abstract artists asked whether they only paint abstracts, or are they able to paint in other styles?

I recall when I first began studying art and art history and saw the early drawings of Willem de Kooning, being quite surprised when I realized he was an excellent draftsman. Before seeing that early work of his, I thought he painted abstractly because he couldn’t draw. But I was young.

Some paintings of mine from the early 20002 featured people.

I learned quickly that artists are called to their work by forces beyond competency alone. The choice of their style or subject matter is often a calling to some higher energy source, emotional pull, or intellectual pursuit. The final artwork is a key to appreciating the depth of the artist’s inquiry and evolution.

Artists often work in a series while exploring concepts, mediums, mood, and life circumstances. Had this artist visited my studio in the 1970s, she would have asked if I only ever painted windows. In the 1980s, 90s, and early 2000s, the question might have been whether I only worked digitally. A few years later, she might have asked if I only painted portraits or gardens.

Each artist’s work, including my own, evolves over time. Some are due to life changes, personal or emotional. Others are due to changing interests or insights into questions the current work has amplified. Some series of work may reach an impasse or closure.

Over the fifty years I’ve been creating, my art has reflected my ever-changing life. My interests and needs have evolved, and my work has reflected some of those changes. There were personal losses, anger and fear, as well as broader political concerns, financial ups and downs, career paths that led to leaps in skills, changes in physical fitness, and obstacles to overcome. There have been time pressures that can influence what mediums I choose to create my work.

Over time, my paintings focused upon gardens, my own and those of my friends.

For the last eight years, I’ve been painting large flowers in oils, most of them bursting outside the edges of the canvas with energy. Each of these bold flowers has a different story to tell. Every one of them has arrived with a new challenge. Sometimes, years after I’ve completed and signed a painting, I return it to the easel since I feel it has new things it wants to say. As I continue to evolve, these flowers also take on new directions.

A few years ago, having made a conscious decision to calm the hectic pace of my life, close down the commercial side of my art, and spend more time creating for myself, my artwork changed yet again. I returned to my first love, oil painting. This decision also allowed more quiet time for reading, reflecting, and listening. As I continued to evolve, spiritual and intellectual awakenings increasingly inform more of my work. Embedded in my large flower paintings are layered the ideas and emotions surfacing in me at that moment. Tomorrow or next week, I might be thinking other thoughts, and my art will follow that thread of ideas.

The Purple Phalaenopsis Orchid on the left was painted in 2021. In 2023, I repainted the orchid with added inspiration from the NAWA Cosmos images I had been studying.

Part of the responsibility of being an artist is that amazing opportunity each day to reflect change. Change in thinking, emotions, feelings, or awareness, or change in circumstances, physical or financial. Those changes absorbed by the artist don’t necessarily trigger massive, recognizable alterations in an artist’s work. Over time, perhaps years or even decades, they slowly transform the outcome. Looking back over my fifty years of creating art, I can read the threads of my biography weaving the story of my life.

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Walking On the Paths Carved By Centuries Of Women Artists

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The Christmas Present in 1976 that introduced me to Georgia O’Keeffe

Because I paint large flowers, people naturally say, “Oh, you must like Georgia O’Keeffe.” What they don’t know is that Georgia’s work drew me in not through her flowers but through her abstractions and her skulls. The sensuality of her forms triggered me. I was moved deeply by her lightened color palette. I’d never seen paintings that had that lightness, that buoyancy. They had a girlie-girl feel to them. I didn’t have the language to understand what moved me at the time. I probably still don’t. But her work made me feel like a woman—a soft, light, gentle free spirit.

I was a late starter, going to college at the age of 27. My youngest son was going to preschool, so I had some time to pursue something besides being a mommy that grabbed my soul. I began a YMCA oil painting class, and my teacher, a generous, gifted, and kind French woman, urged me to study in more depth. She saw something in me I didn’t know I had.

On Christmas in 1976, I received a present that changed the course of my life. It was the first coffee-table book published by Georgia O’Keeffe. On the cover was a stunning painting of a skull that changed everything I’d seen in art up to that point. It was gorgeous and inspirational to me.

I would weep at her images in that book. They spoke directly to my soul like no other art had ever spoken to me. In my late twenties, I first realized that paintings didn’t have to be narratives. Showing us how people lived or what they looked like. Art could make you think. Open your mind. Let you seek meaning within yourself. Stir questions that had never occurred to you before. They could open windows of thought into your mind and your very soul.

Flowers in a Glass Vase on a Marble Table by Rachel Ruysch (c. 1704)

I fell in love with Georgia’s white bones. They spoke to me of Life, of Death, of Eternity. In my classrooms with real skulls and at home with my plastic replicas, I took to drawing skulls. The subtle nuances of shading. The openings for eyes. The hollows and crevices. I felt that these skulls spoke to what was underneath our skin. What sturdiness we were made from. What held us together. A hidden part of ourselves. Her bones against the sky spoke to me of the eternity of life. The energy we dissolve into when we are no longer alive. A transition from being alive. The remnants of who we were when we left as a remembrance of sorts. The blue sky shining through those hollow bones. A signal of transition to another plane of existence.

There is another connection I felt with Georgia’s skulls. As the first generation of my family to be born outside of the Netherlands since the 1600s, I have, of course long been attracted to the vanitas paintings of the Dutch painters. Rachel Ruysch was a painter from the late 1600s into the 1700s who specialized in painting intricate and detailed floral bouquets. Because the Dutch were more of a secular nation, their work focused on symbols to express meaning rather than religious subjects, which predominated in other countries. Often, skulls were included in Dutch floral still life paintings, as well as different representations of the fleeting nature of life. Upon close inspection, you will find beetles, ants, and insects nestled amongst the flowers. You’ll discover past-prime deterioration in the petals. These vanitas images reminded the viewers of fragility of life. These are the dark paintings I’d been somewhat aware of until Georgia’s work burst into my sight with sunlight.

Marilyn (Vanitas) by Audrey Flack (1977)

At about the same time Georgia came into my life in the late 1970s, my extraordinary art history professor, Patricia Hills, began introducing us to contemporary women artists working in what would eventually be called the second wave of feminism. The two artists whose work spoke the loudest to me were Judy Chicago with her ground-breaking installation, The Dinner Party. I, along with thousands of other women, made a pilgrimage to see the work at the Brooklyn Museum, where I began to realize that hundreds and thousands of women throughout the world had been written out of history.

The photorealist Audrey Flack announced herself to me loudly with her large, air-brushed, and detailed paintings presented in a lightened palette of colors. This new take on the Baroque vanitas paintings of Ruysch filled me with ideas & expanded my vision in ways I’d never even considered. Her painting, Marilyn (Vanitas) of 1977, riffed on the subjects of transience and mortality. I realized that I was interested in painting ideas rather than painting objects. I wanted to stimulate thoughts, ideas, and conversations as these women had done for me.

I continue to walk boldly in the fading footsteps begun by these women. They showed me the immense courage it would take to keep creating my own vision, in my own way, in my own style. The world didn’t need their art. The world doesn’t need my art. But we need to create it, to put it out there to open the conversations, to spread ideas, to make statements, to provide warnings and to joyously celebrate being alive.

Originally posted in Sanctuary Magazine in March 2025.

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Awakenings in the Garden: An Artist’s Journey

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My garden has been the inspiration behind my art for decades but formally studying horticulture introduced me to an entirely new understanding of the garden. Studying the science behind this living environment at my doorstep, was and continues to be a source of endless investigation. Not just in the beauty a garden can project, but in the sustainability, the interaction, and reliability of the vast array of life forms involved in creating a mutually dependent whole. Because of this deep study of my garden, my art has changed. As I’ve grown in an awareness of the complexity of the garden that I’ve designed and tended for over 35 years, my art has changed too by becoming more expressive, less realistic, and more multilayered.

I first became aware of how I was being transformed, not just by having more technical knowledge through my studies in horticulture when one day, standing in my garden, my clothes and hands covered in dirt, scratched and bug bitten, a wave of quiet contentment entered my very being. Yes, I was exhausted, and my body was aching from the hours of hard physical labor, but something different was flowing through my mind. It was a sense of awakening. I felt it but I was not able to articulate clearly what I felt. I still don’t have the words completely to express this transformation. So, I have been trying to do so through my art.

Mary in Her Studio Working on Phaelanopsis Orchid (December 2020)

Working in my studio on the Phaelanopsis Orchid (December 2020)

Spending years since then of work both in my mind and physically, I have dug deeper into the metaphor the garden has represented to me about all living beings. It has taught me that in order to survive, the building of communities is needed to create a harmonic, healthy balance. The garden speaks to me of survival. I watch hummingbirds, with their long beaks, attracted to the long tubular flowers of the Salvias. I smell the late day fragrance of the Brugmansia as it seduces night pollinators less exhausted from a day’s work to help the lifecycle. Each insect, each flower, each fungus is only trying to survive for another season, another year, another generation. We as humans, like the complexities found in the garden are also trying to survive and hopefully prosper.

In my studio, my large, centrally focused flower paintings have been inspired by the imagery I saw through the microscopes used during my scientific studies in horticulture. The bold colors and large sized paintings were my way of grabbing the attention of the viewer just as the stunning presentation of a bold peony blossom calls out for attention.

Phaelanopsis Orchid (A Work in Progress,

Phaelanopsis Orchid (A Work in Progress, December 2020)
© Mary Ahern

Over time the education I am receiving from the garden has been changing me. My artwork Is reflecting my deepening thoughts, abstract concepts, and my openness to explore new ideas and deeper theories of the world surrounding us.

During Covid, another revelation presented itself to me. I began to look at the imagery posted online by NASA showing us the galaxy of which we are but a small part. I realized that the entire universe also depended upon that harmony and balance all of us, the garden included, must have in order to exist. This awareness of the delicacy of both the microcosm and the macrocosm of our worlds is what I am now trying to express in my artwork. Blending abstractions inspired by the cosmos transparently through the realistic flowers grown in my garden informs the current work in my studio.

The awareness of the multi-layered reliance on other forces to help in survival is humbling. This new awareness has deepened my gratitude. This is what I am now attempting to create in my studio.

Cosmic Phaelanopsis​ on Oil ~ 24 x 24 inches. Deep Cradled Hardboard

Cosmic Phaelanopsis​
Oil ~ 24 x 24 inches. Deep Cradled Hardboard.  Available on the website here.
© Mary Ahern

Note: “Cosmic Phaelanopsis” is the final work after I put the piece aside  for two years due to being dissatisfied with its direction. The final “Cosmic Phaelanopsis” is an example of the new direction my work has taken.
​
Partial Artist Statement:
This artwork sparks a vital conversation reflecting the interconnectedness and balance within the microcosm of my garden and the macrocosm of the cosmos. My work draws inspiration from the life cycle of flowers to explore existential questions about existence, purpose, fragility, and interconnectedness.

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The Start of my Art Journey

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In 1973, fifty years ago I began my artist’s journey. Since I’d majored in music during my Junior and Senior High School days, playing the trumpet and conducting, I hadn’t taken any art classes. It wasn’t until my youngest son went to pre-school that I began stretching my wings.

My first step towards discovering that my life’s work would be an artistic journey was buying a Jon Gnagy, Learn to Draw set and experiencing a sensation that the charcoal was an extension of my hand, my arm and my body. It was thrilling!

After completing his entire set of drawing lessons, I decided to take painting classes at the local YMCA where I lived at the time in Queens, NY. So, I arranged for a babysitter, signed up for the oil painting class and made my first foray into Jerry’s Artarama art supply store with my supply shopping list in hand. How electrifying to be exposed to so many wonderful and exciting new products, widgets, thingies, colors, brushes, papers and canvas. Oh, the possibilities!

 

And that began my art supply addiction ;-).

Peach Still LIfe Painting by the artist, Mary Ahern

Still Life with Peaches, my second oil painting which was completed in 1973

Along with the small tubes of Grumbachers, some brushes, canvas boards and mediums, we were instructed to bring some pictures from calendars or notecards that we could use to copy. My first calendar photo was of a brilliant orange sunset with the silhouette of a house at the bottom. I still have these early paintings, some on walls, some tucked away.
The second oil painting I ever did I copied from a placemat that I had borrowed from a neighbor.

I so loved the image, not knowing at the time that it was representative of the golden age of Dutch still life painting from the 1600s. I had no formal knowledge of art history but, being Dutch, and having spent time in Holland as a child I had been exposed to the art hanging in the homes of my extended family. That still-life image spoke to me in a way I didn’t understand at the time. It spoke to me of family, of my history, of roots, of connection. It is also part of my art journey, not just another painting but the beginning of a 50-year adventure with all the ups and downs, zigs and zags. An adventure that, I’m happy to say is still unfolding!

This is my studio wall from some years ago with artwork covering a piece from many decades. Some are now in storage, some have moved to different walls. All of them speak to me of my life and artistic journey of these exciting 50 years of creativity.

Studio wall in 2019

One of my studio walls in 2019 with work from before college, during college and after college. Various mediums from oils to pastels to needlework to watercolor.

 

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My Brush With Wolf Kahn

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Over the years I had a thin but important relationship with the famous artist, Wolf Kahn who passed away in March of 2020, just when the Covid lockdowns began. His wife, the artist Emily Mason whom he was married to for over sixty years, had died three months earlier leaving me with romantic undertones of love and commitment.

When I was studying art at Queens College in the late 1970s, my painting professor Robert Birmelin, invited Wolf Kahn to our painting class as a visiting artist. With an explosive personality quite opposite from each other, Wolf let us up to the roof of the building and gave us a very short blast of time to capture the sunset, perhaps fifteen minutes or so. We then returned to the studio for the intense critiques that followed. Apparently, my sunset painting with quick bold brushstrokes and vivid color moved Kahn enough to use my painting as the model for all the other paintings that he eviscerated. I felt rather proud of myself, to say the least.

Mary Ahern - Queens Village 1

Queens Village 1 – 1976 -Oil on Canvas.

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Changing My Mind About Genre and Purpose in my Art

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Over the last few years, my art has shifted away from painting what I think will be popular. Selling lots of prints, in lots of sizes both online and offline, I knew I could make piles of money in my sleep. What fun!

That thinking is no longer my goal for making my art. Don’t get me wrong, I love selling, it’s in my blood. It was my career for many years. But times have changed for me. Circumstances have changed too. I’ve stepped out of the rat race. Out of the business world strictly speaking.

I stopped painting for cash. Stopped picking the most popular flowers, in the most popular colors, in the sizes that sell the most.

I’ve turned inward. I’ve begun writing about what matters in my life, in my world. I care more now about my work being a form of meditation. An opportunity to ponder our place in the universe.  My flowers are to me a symbol. A microcosm of the universe.

Since my art starts in the garden, I’m now seeking to translate lessons I’m learning there that inspire my work. I’m learning to write the stories, the messages, the ideas that motivate me to dedicate a painting to them. I care about what the painting will symbolize for me and perhaps for others.

Writing is helping me to find the language to express my thoughts. These thoughts are embedded into the artwork I create. Each painting is a manifestation of these ideas. I am now working towards a deeper interpretation of my work beyond just the visual.

In thinking about my art I had always labeled myself a floral or a landscape painter. My work was very realistic, the more realistic the better. I loved creating the details.

However, the work I’ve begun doing over the last few years has changed. My mediums, my style, and my thinking. For the past 30 years I’ve been a digital painter, (yes, before Apple, before Photoshop). Now I’ve returned to my roots and I’m painting again in oils. There’s no $20,000 digital system between my work and my body. I am again, up close and personal.

This change in medium, this physical closeness to my work, this reawakening has given me an opportunity to re-evaluate what it is that I’m trying to do. To say.

As my forms become more simplified, more minimal, more stylized, my thinking has gone deeper. Richer. More meaningful. So this is why I now relate less to floral painters but more to meditative, more minimalistic painters, more abstract painters. It’s not really just about the flower. The colors. The form. It’s about what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling, what I’m learning. The garden is my tutor. These are lessons we can all learn if we pay attention quietly to what’s around us. The lessons carried to us on the wind.

 

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Painting Process – Painting the Edges

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Today I painted for four hours on a painting that everyone thought was finished but I hadn’t yet signed. Everyone loved it but me. I really liked the composition, a rounded peony in a square frame. What’s not to love?

But the edges weren’t working for me. Not the edges of the outside of the canvas, the edges where paint meets paint. Where does one color transition to another? Is the edge hard or soft? Does it blend? Does it pick up color from the adjacent color? Does it offer a stark contrast in tone to the color next to it?

Is that color warm or cool that it’s bumping up against? Warm colors advance, cool colors recede. Is one petal in front of the other? Where is the light coming from? Is there a shadow? If the petal of the flower is warm, the shadow would be cool.

Subtle Exhuberance - Tree Peony: Detail

Subtle Exhuberance – Tree Peony: Detail. Oil Painting on Canvas. To see the finished painting click here!

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Living and Painting in Layers

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Last week we had temperatures in the 30’s every day. The clocks changed and now it’s dark by 4:30 where I live. That may sound pretty grim but for me, it signals the opportunity to go into my studio to paint without the tugging and nagging feeling that I should be out in the garden, planting, weeding, pruning, and planning. Now, guilt-free I’m in my studio creating the paintings of the flowers from summer.

And guess what? Yesterday, today and for the next few days, the temperatures have returned to the 70’s. So the sunshine has seduced me back into the garden. Finally today I finished planting the 100 plus bulbs I bought on some wild spending spree a few weeks ago. The daffodils, the oriental, martagon lilies are in. The bearded iris have been planted in the little nooks and crannies where there is some sunshine. And all the five different kinds of alliums are finally in the ground.

Alliums, you may or may not know are onions, these are ornamental onions. Not the kind I cooked dinner with tonight. I made a new recipe with spanish onions, turkey sausages, grapes, cumin, vinegar, roasted potatoes, and some of the meager crop of tomatoes I grew from seed this year.

As I cut up the onions I thought about all their layer upon layers. Which led me to think about my paintings. I paint in layers. Layer upon layer of thin transparent paint. As the painting comes into existence it reminds me of my darkroom days and watching the photograph begin to arrive in the chemical baths. I tend to work all over the surface so the entire painting emerges pretty much at the same time.

My paintings are very much like me. Like you. Like everyone. We’re all layers upon layers of information, experience, emotion, and intellect. Interest and drive are hidden in there too. Hopes and dreams also come to mind. Many people don’t like to look below the first layer of who they are. I, on the other hand, dug deep into the bone marrow to find the core of what makes me tick. Then I covered it up so the rest of the world wouldn’t find it easily. Keeping that core wrapped in swaddling clothes held closely, is one of the mysteries I keep safe and protected from the seasons of change.

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My Seasonal Studio

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Throughout the year I spend time immersed in my garden in the warm summer sunshine and the deep winter snow. The myriad of colored petals, the exquisite architecture of a flower’s anatomy, the subtle shifts of green inspire me throughout the seasons.

Mary Ahern in the Camellia Garden

Here’s me in my spring garden with the camellias in bloom that inspired the original painting that is behind me in an aluminum print. The aluminum hangs outdoors all year long whether the camellias are in bloom or not. You can buy them on my website here.

There are seasons I’m with my flowers in the garden and seasons where they enter my studio as inspirations for my paintings and drawings. Each art form is dependent on the other to continue my seasonal shifts of creation.

All winter I paint flowers. The bright happy flowers of my summer garden follow me into my studio and surround me with their joy and inspiration during the short dark days of winter. In my studio, they help me to wind down the hectic whirlwind of gardening in the bright sunshine.

But each year the same joy of being in my studio creating my Art begins to take a turn into claustrophobia when the daffodils spring forth with their joyous yellow heads as they entice me outdoors. It’s the beginning of the push and pull for me to be in my studio or to be in my garden. Both are my creative forces. Both get my creative juices flowing. Without either the other would be that much the poorer.

The balancing of time subsides somewhat in the mid-summer when the heat and humidity drive me back to the cooler breezes in my air-conditioned studio. Another burst of art flows from inside the walls during those hot weeks of August. When the humidity subsides the gardening resumes.

Inevitably when the nights begin to provide good sleeping weather, the transition from new expectations of growth in the garden turns instead to senescence and the decisions of what to preserve commences. Choices of what to overwinter, what must be sacrificed take precedence. Mulching, raking, clearing debris marks the bedding down of my outside work.

Then comes the time in the fall when the garden is put to sleep that the joyful season of painting and drawing begins again within the walls of my studio as I create my winter garden of work surrounded by my summer flowers.

Work in Progress in the Winter Studio

Visit my website to see what appeared in my winter garden!

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