After relocating to Texas in 2006, the work I'd previously done during my twenty-year stay in New York City radically changed. I stopped making organic, exterior, site/specific, linear sculpture installations. An odd move for me as this work had already been seriously funded and celebrated, having received two Pollock/ Krasner awards, later an Adolph Gottlieb Mature Artist Support Grant, two National Endowment for the Arts awards, an International Art Critic Award (AICA), a Puffin Foundation award, and an
Empire State Craft Alliance Award. But instead of continuing with more sculpture based installations, I found myself focusing on abstracted landscape paintings loosely based on the horizon—big sky/low ground— delineated by line, my trademark.
I'd noticed twilight's mirage always creating a visual waffling line against a back field's
defining edge. This line was so like the moving shoreline I couldn'ttell where I truly was. And so I began painting evening beaches that were based on the nearby fields.
Ah, the marvel and magic of site/sight.
With my work's attention focused on that phenomenon, I painted and I painted. But eventually even I —the why change something if it works girl— grew tired of calling attention to the field's visual mystery. I began looking at other things, searching for another voice, looking for something else to say, something else to call mine, something other than the big sky, evening dusty cloud and ambiguous, vacillating ground line.
In that pursuit I swam so far out "to see" it seems to me I abandoned artistic branding along the way—sloughed off the skin like a snake, outgrown and no longer necessary. I started really looking at the land bounding out before me: its lay, its curves, its life, its color; its form like the hypnotic rhythm found in insects' buzz and the distinct lack of motors' sound.
To me this approach feels fresh— honest—a journey to make.
A clear artistic path is a gift. It is a truth to oneself.