What is a pod?  A vessel for seeds, a group of dolphins, a storage unit, a group of students...?  I view a pod as a collective of women brought together by lineage, geography, and/or a shared vision.  When I learned the National Association of Women Artists, South Carolina chapter was issuing a call for art inspired by the beautiful Brookgreen Gardens, I knew my focus would be on the collective aspect of the space, the founders, and  NAWA itself.

Brookgreen Gardens founder, Anna Hyatt Huntington, by some accounts, had a vision to create “a pod” of sculptures by women artists at a time when female voices in the art world were overlooked.  My own life has been shaped by similar “pods” of women- sisters, college friends, fellow moms, and an ever-evolving art tribe.  These women are the bedrocks of my person.  The sculpture that resonated most with me at Brookgreen Gardens was The Saint James Triad, by Richard McDermott Miller.  As one of three sisters, I was drawn to its interplay of three larger-than-life forms, languid figures leaning into a quiet, but powerful support.  Inspired by Archer Huntington’s statement that Brookgreen “is a quiet joining of hands between science and art,” I created a piece that celebrates the intertwining presence of a shared history.  Ultimately, my art is a reflection of my own evolution—an ongoing inquiry into how we form connections and define the spaces we occupy. 

Brookgreen Inspires: Women Create is on view from May 3- July 20, 2025 at the Rosen Galleries, Brookgreen Gardens, Murrells Inslet, SC.

Home.  It's funny how the definition of this word is fluid.  For the first half of my life "home" meant Oklahoma.  It's where I grew up; where my family lived; where I learned to drive; and where I learned to love art.  My studies took me to Kansas and then Chicago, but my home base remained the same.  I got married and we settled into careers, buying our first house in Ohio and starting a family of our own.  We were only in Ohio for 5 years and although we loved our house and made great friends, it always felt like a place we lived, but not home.  Our next move was to Georgia where we stayed 22 years- longer than either of us had ever lived in a single place.  Deep connections with lifelong friends who saw our kids grow into young adults; marking many milestones in our personal and professional lives; and entrenching ourselves in the community made Georgia a home.  The realization of this snuck up on me!  My Georgia home is where I reimagined my art life- taking classes, leading workshops, participating in exhibits, and serving on the Arts Council.  I learned a great deal about the business end of being an artist; how to hone my practice; and found my art people, The Well.  Interestingly, when I first went back to my own art I started by tearing up pieces from my past to create new works.  I think I needed that touchstone of home base to find the confidence to push myself forward.  

We recently made a big change and moved "back home" to Oklahoma.  It is a curious thing to return to your childhood space after being away longer than your time there.  It is comforting and strange to be in this time warp of things that are simultaneously familiar and so very different.  Being close, literally down the street, from family is a true gift that I am incredibly  grateful for.  If I'm being honest, though, I have lost my studio footing.  Perhaps I should say I have misplaced it in the move!  I have been slow getting back into a creative groove, but am determined to sort this out.  I believe that's why I started with a self-portrait- redefining myself in this new/old space.  I do notice my lines are bold and show a confidence on the page, but the work is slow-going and I think that's ok.  I am redefining myself in this community, no longer the high-schooler tentatively striking out on her own, but a middle-life woman making new marks.  I have always loved when things come full circle and this is about as perfect a circle as I could imagine.  Home.

It's a stormy weekend here in Tulsa and I have been pondering how the dramatic weather here is mirroring my settling in.  One day it's 80 and sunny; the next it's 50 and cloudy; then the swirling gray skies open up to drop inches of rain.  All these actions are necessary and each comes with pros and cons.  For me, one day is filled with progress and inspiration, quickly followed by tedious chores and paperwork.  That's life, right?  

Last week I got to have a ZOOM session with my gals, The Well.  The Well is a small collective of artist friends who gather to support, inspire, and empower one another.  We are not competitive and are genuinely rooting for each other's success.  In this last session, the word "duality" came up- happy/sad, opportunity/anxiety, safe/stagnant, you get the idea.  2 of us (exactly 1/2 of The Well) have relocated, or are relocating to entirely new communities, which brings duality to the forefront.  The excitement of starting fresh in a new space opens so many possibilities while also letting in the fear and isolation of starting over.  I have been tumbling "duality" around in my brain all week and have come to the conclusion that it's just a part of life.  I do acknowledge how trite that sounds, but duality has been part of my art vocabulary for a few years now.  You see, I created a piece called "The Nest" that speaks to the duality of a nest being comforting, yet confining and the internal struggle that arises when leaving said space.  I love this piece.  I am proud of this piece.  She was juried into my first national show (A Sense of Place); then juried into the Southeast's most engaging art competition (Artfields); and was part of my portfolio that earned me entrance into the National Association of Women Artists as a Signature Member.  Embarking on this new adventure in a new community is a leap of faith much like stepping over the edge of one's nest.  So as I sit and listen to the rain pounding down once again, I will think how happy our new plants will be and try hard not to think about the flooded patio!  Duality.

This is a very weird day...I am sitting among boxes, wrapping paper, miles of tape, and organized chaos.  It's a bit like Christmas morning only without glitter and an overshadowing hue of cardboard tan.  You see, this is our packing day.  When my son was little, he would get so excited for upcoming trips he would begin the countdown too far ahead to make sense.  Then, the day before departure he would enthusiastically declare it "packing day"!  Packing up 22 years is a chore, both physical and emotional.  Our children were 1 and 4 when we moved to Augusta, GA.  All of us were just starting our lives and many "firsts" occurred here.  I won't get into that list since this is an art blog, but I will share my art firsts:  art retreat travel, workshop leader, art sisterhood member, art sales, gallery representation, arts board member, artist residency, group show, juried show, solo show...whew!  It feels impossible to say goodbye to a place that presented me with with so many enriching opportunities, so instead I will just say thank you.  Without this foundation I would not have the chutzpah to start making a new list of firsts in my new community.  Look out Tulsa, here I come!  Keeping it short for now, after all, it IS my packing day.