I spent last weekend covered in sawdust. By the end of it, I had an entirely new studio setup. Some of you who know me well, know that during the summer months, I move my home studio into my 3-season porch (although, living in Northern Minnesota, it’s really only like one season)…

The summer market season has come to a close but I have something very exciting to share with all of you and honestly, it feels like the perfect way to move into this slower and cozier season…

The new North & Shore Maker’s Spotlight exhibit is now up in the hallways of the Enger Lofts Marketplace. This exhibit runs from October through December of 2024, just in time for the holiday season! My work is being featured alongside the talented Sarah Kreuter’s Woodcuts, so you’ll see a combination of both her work and mine displayed together!...

Sometimes unexpected things happen and there is nothing we can do but accept them as gracefully as possible…

Of course I sent you a newsletter last week detailing how this market season has felt like a marathon and the last three miles were uphill… And then, in the middle of the night before the first day of The Lake Superior 20/20 Studio & Art Tour, I got sick....

I went out to walk the land this morning and I could see my breath. The dew was heavy on my boots and as far as my eyes could see, lush greens have been replaced by warm golds, umbers, and ochres. Though the mornings are growing colder, as soon as the sun finds her place in the sky, the earth feels warm once again.

This time of year always feels like this strange liminal world where we hang in between summer and autumn. The equinox marked our transition this past Sunday. We’re in harvest. Grabbing the last of the tomatoes from the vine, checking the weather reports for possible frost.

For me, life has become increasingly synonymous with seasonal living every year. Summers are abundant and bustling with markets and art fairs until the end of September when things begin to wind down...

This past weekend, Spencer, Rudder, and I were driving back from Trempealeau, Wisconsin after a weekend with family on the Mississippi River. I love riding up and down those rolling Wisconsin hills. The driftless area never ceases to take my breath away. As I was gazing out the window, I gasped, “Look at all the flowers!” There was an open field, bursting with daisies, buttercups, hawkweed, and the way the light was dancing over the field in the late afternoon sun made me want to capture it and take it with me forever.

It was in this moment that I realized something...

This past weekend truly surprised me in more ways than one.

I attended my second Blueberry Arts Festival in Ely, MN. This is a big show. It’s 3 days, which always feels like a bit of a marathon, and last year, my first year, I won first place in the arts category (the blue ribbon still hangs proudly in my studio), and my highest sales were at this event last year, so I went into this weekend with really high hopes…

I’m sitting in my porch this morning, the sun streaming in, gearing up to take on another “pack-up-load-in-setup” day. Soon Spencer, Rudder and I will be well into our routine of packing everything into the trailer and the Jeep to head up to Ely for my first three-day festival weekend of the season. I have a whole bunch of new additions to my booth and I’m so excited to put it all together!

This past week flew by. I received my first bulk shipment of unfinished frames and spent the majority of last weekend staining, sanding, and varnishing…

The Monday after a festival weekend always carries a very specific feeling — some level of exhaustion and this strange emptiness that arrives upon the completion of something that has taken much time and energy for which to prepare. Another event down, a few more to go. There is sometimes a feeling of gratitude and security and sometimes a feeling of disappointment, such is the artist’s life.

But today as I sit in my studio, sipping my coffee and admiring the piles of framed originals and plastic totes filled with prints and cards, I’m overflowing with gratitude. This past weekend filled me to my brim and surprised me beyond my wildest expectations…

I’m coming to the realization that in every artist’s journey, we reach a point where we get bored…

It’s March now, which means if you’re in the Northern Hemisphere, you might be looking forward to spring being just around the corner. For the second year in a row now for me, spring means market and art fair season is already creeping up rather quickly.

I’ll have to admit, I’m still new to this schedule, the ebb and flow of quiet time followed by what feels like pretty intense hustle. I don’t have the planning and business side of things very streamlined — I’m sure I will when I’m more seasoned. I usually make my print orders at the last minute, and I’m matting and framing pieces right up until we pack up the Jeep to head to wherever the next event is. Or I’ve decided that this particular piece has to come with me and now the night before we leave I’m making last minute adjustments.

Even though I’m mentally preparing myself for my first pop-up of 2024 this coming weekend, this spring feels a little different than it did last year.

It’s the end of February, which means I’m navigating my way out of the throes of winter and all that darkness and time diving inward has offered my creative practice. January through March have become an annual period of experimentation — mostly because there is nothing else to do. However, with experimentation comes new struggle. I’ve learned the hard way that before I could ever dream of becoming a master, I must first play the fool.

a poem

like swans on a lake, it arrives

unexpectedly

and takes with it my breath…

About a week ago, I was taking a walk in the woods as I do every morning. On these walks, I ponder everything from creative ideas to problems I’ve encountered, I pray, I proclaim all my desires to the trees and they listen lovingly. Sometimes I’m silent, sometimes I talk nonstop — if you know me well, you know if I get on a topic I’m passionate about that I can talk for hours. The trees and the river and the mud and the fields all hold space for my babbling. I’ve found that putting my body into motion helps put any stuck thoughts or feelings into motion too…

It’s the middle of October and a true change of season underway in my little home studio in Two Harbors. It’s the time of year where the radiators get flipped back on, and we clear out the furnishings in our three-season porch to tuck it all back in the house in preparation for the colder months. From late May to early October of each year I have the great privilege of having my studio in a space whose walls are mainly windows and am surrounded by hanging plants and natural light. That porch is the most wondrous place to create in, the spaciousness giving my soul room to breathe after a long winter spent indoors.

So, as you might imagine, the chill of October brings a change that I’ll admit, I’m not always thrilled about…

For the last four hours, I’ve been sitting at my computer, trying to find things to do to feel like I’m getting ahead on the business side of artist life. New prints? Greeting cards? Should I paint this? Paint that? Does my site need a refresh?

And yet, with my wheels spinning, my mind grappling for something productive to do, I can feel the rhythm in my chest whisper, “stop.”

I recently started reading a book called The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. If you’ve read it yourself, you’re smiling, because you know how powerful it is. For those of you who aren’t familiar, The Artist’s Way is a twelve-week, self-taught process of “discovering and recovering your creative self.” After only just reading the introduction, I knew this was going to be a game-changer.

I originally picked up the book because a friend of mine was doing the process with her partner and couldn’t stop raving about it. Then I saw another artist refer to it on Instagram, and then another person asked me if I had ever read it, so I finally took all of these as signs from the cosmos and gave in to see what all the fuss was about.

I was never prepared to be an artist. I think any of us could say this of any journey or venture in life — that we’re not really prepared for the way the road will wind and climb and fall and us with it. Any chance we take on ourselves, any instance of stretching ourselves or branching out onto a new path brings us face to face with our very selves, with truth. So truly, what I wasn’t prepared for, was how being an artist would force me to face me.

One challenge I’ve wanted to embark upon is painting every day for 100 days in a row. I started my journey on January 2, 2023 and I am already learning so much more than I had anticipated learning this early in the game. Whether you’re a fellow artist, or a fan of my work, I thought some of these little lessons might be applicable to any of us starting something new.

There is however, a time and place where a routine is not helpful… inspiration. I swear, as I’ve continued to pour myself into my artistic practice I’ve only found routines to be a murderer of any creative spark…