A friend who knows I’m on the lookout for painting locations recently told me about a spot he thought had good potential. He described an intriguing hidden cove on the seaside well below the roadway.
Looking for positives over the past 12 months has been challenging for us all. About this time last year, I was following the rules — staying in the studio rather than going out to paint on location. In some ways perhaps that isolation enabled a kind of enriching focus on my work and family. Like adding seaweed to your compost beds, we hope fertilising will give us a better harvest when the time is right.
I was born in the old Bethel Deaconess Hospital in Newton, about a half hour north of Wichita. At the time, my family lived in a sweet little house my father had built for my mother. He’d winched up its concrete walls all by himself with a rope and pulley. When I was seven, we moved from the small city of Newton to a wonderful home in the country—another one of my dad’s creations—beside Sand Creek, about a mile north of town. I spent my early years roaming the fields and pastures around our place.
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