Bike on Top

My husband, Paul, loves to go mountain bike riding. He tries to ride 3 times a week: Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday. On Sundays, his fellow cycling buddies come to our house, unload their bikes and ride to a nearby state park. Once in the park, they hurtle down and pedal up root studded, narrow trails. I've tried riding those trails on my bike and its just too nerve wracking. I'm going to stick to riding my horse Mac. The guys, however, always have a fine time no matter the weather. They arrive back at our house, two hours later, sweaty and mud splattered, with big grins on their faces.

My husband, Paul (crazy man),
riding down the trails at Fort Ebey State Park.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, it's Paul who travels to the biking destination. A few years back he was returning from just such trip. He was driving our 1985 Toyota Corolla that we had purchased, used, from a retired high school english teacher (who happened to be his mother). Let me just stop and interject here, that Paul and I are not the types to buy a new car every two years. We prefer to buy used vehicles and drive the wheels off of them, hence the 1985 Toyota Corolla.

Anyway, Paul was returning from a bike trip with his bike mounted on top of the Toyota. He drove up our narrow gravel driveway, past the front of the house and pushed the remote control to open the garage door. Then he drove into the garage with....(wait for it)....the bike on top.

He heard a loud, scraping, crunching noise (you know, the kind you never want to hear) and he realized his mistake and immediately stopped. He got out of the car and inspected the damage and really, considering what it could have been, it wasn't too bad. The rack had slid back on the car which saved the bike from sustaining much injury. Aside from some scrapes on the roof of the car and a slightly bent fork on the bike, he got out of it relatively unscathed.

Determined not to repeat this incident, Paul thought of a clever way to stop himself and the car before entering the garage. He put the garage door opener in the trunk. Now every time he came home from riding he'd have to stop and get the opener out of the trunk before raising the garage door. His strategy worked great! He kept it up for a few weeks before he thought, "This is silly, I can get the same results by having the opener in the back seat." And sure enough, he was right, this new plan worked just as well as the old "trunk" method.

But, the funny thing was, the remote did not stay in the back seat. As if it had legs of its own, it migrated to the front seat of the car. Luckily, Paul noticed this as he was returning from a ride late one evening and knew he was in trouble. He was back where he started. "No matter," he thought, "I've got this." Then to remind himself of his predicament, he began to chant in his mind "bike on top." As he turned up our street, he thought "bike on top." And as he drove up our driveway the mental mantra continued, "bike on top." As he rounded the bend and headed towards the garage, our dogs began to bark wildly to welcome him home. "Dang dogs," he thought, "they're going to wake up the whole neighborhood." Then he drove into the garage.

Now he drives a little station wagon and his bike fits neatly into the back of the car.

Side note - after I read this to Paul prior to publication, I heard him mutter under his breath "lousy story."

ELDER GENTLEMAN
7x5 inches, oil on linen canvas, 2015
BUY THIS PAINTING AT AUCTION 
Click on this link to bid: http://ebay.to/1GkcXfG
Elder Gentleman - auction ends on Sunday, February 7th at 9:00am PST. 

My husband and I drive past this barn whenever we travel the backroad to Anacortes, Washington. Its a beautiful old structure that is sadly being reclaimed by mother nature. Someday, probably after one of our strong wind storms, it will lean down and melt back into the earth.

Oh the weather outside is frightful and I still get to walk the dogs!

I wake up still snug in my bed. The air in the bedroom is cold - just the way I like it. Next to me, Paul burrows deeper under the covers. I glance at the clock - 7:30am. That's sleeping in for us, it is Saturday after all. The sun hasn't risen yet. The light outside the windows is a murky grey; that's winter in the Pacific Northwest. My stirring awakens the dogs, who sleep in beds under ours. I hear the tell tale "click, click, click" of their toenails on our pinewood floors. "Don't make eye contact," murmurs Paul from beneath the blankets. Too late! Eye contact has been made and the dogs are officially excited. Its time for "walkies" and our day begins.

The dogs leap and cavort around us. If I'm any judge of dog behavior, this is absolutely their favorite time of the day. Paul and I change into our dog walking clothes (a.k.a. sweats) and head down to the garage where we keep the leashes. Once in the garage, Nellie, our yellow lab/mix, is all business. She sits, waiting patiently, facing the door which we will exit. Tucker, our brindle lab/boxer mix, is 80lbs. of goofiness. He tries to sit, but his wagging tail eventually takes over his entire rear end, thus rendering sitting impossible. It also makes putting on his collar and leash quite the challenge. Finally, we get the dogs all "saddled up" and head out into the crisp, cool, drizzly morning air.

Nellie waits patiently for us to get our act together and head out the door.

Tucker waiting not so patiently. Note the blurry wagging tail.

This is my favorite part, getting outside and moving. Its made even more pleasant because I also have my husband and two trusty dogs for company. We'll take our usual route, waving to any other intrepid souls out enjoying their morning constitutionals. After our walk, we'll feed the dogs and have a hot breakfast, possibly waffles! 



If beginning an exercise regimen is on your list of New Year's resolutions, please consider the humble neighborhood walk. Its pretty much a free activity. There's no gym membership needed. All you need is a sturdy pair of walking shoes. Bonus - you will make your dog love you even more, if that's possible. No dog? No problem! Grab your spouse or a friend and head out the door. Happy New Year and Happy Walking!

CLOUD COVER
7x5 inches, oil on linen canvas, 2015
BUY THIS PAINTING AT AUCTION 
Click on this link to bid: http://ebay.to/1GkcXfG
Cloud cover - auction ends on Sunday, January 10th at 9:00am PST. 

My husband and I found this barn in Northern California on a trip to the town of Taylorsville. We were visiting Taylorsville because I wanted to show my husband their grange hall with the bouncing dance floor. Its still there and its pretty cool. This painting is currently for sale at auction.

A Pony for Christmas - The gift that kept on giving

Yes, I admit it, I was one of those lucky kids who received a pony for Christmas. My brother and sister both had horses during that time and the equine bug had bitten me too - hard. When asked what I wanted for Christmas, that year, I mentioned I'd like my dad to either build me a life-size hobby horse (he was one of those dads that could build anything in the shop) or a get me a real pony. My parents chose the real pony route. Unbeknownst to me, they went pony shopping, taking my older sister Susan along as a test rider. They found and then purchased a nice little pony named Dolly. When she was delivered, about a month before Christmas, my parents arranged to have her stabled next door at the neighbors and told me she was their pony. I bought it hook, line and sinker. They even had me feeding and mucking out her stall, telling me the neighbors were short handed and they needed the help.

That Christmas eve, neither my sisters nor I could sleep very well (what kid can?). We spent the night playing Go Fish and speculating on what might be under the tree. Occasionally, my Dad would growl up to us to "Be quiet and go to sleep!" We'd quiet down, but I don't recall much sleeping. Beginning at about 3AM, one of us (we'd probably send the youngest because they would meet with less resistance) padded down the hallway and knocked on my parent's bedroom door to inquire if we could go downstairs to open our presents. Not surprisingly, the answer was an emphatic "No." My parents held out until about 5:30AM before finally consenting to our request.

We waited upstairs, while Mom went down to make the coffee and Dad turned on the Christmas tree lights. We were told we had to have our robes and slippers on before we could come downstairs. We were absolutely beside ourselves with excitement. Dad gave the all clear and down the stairs we galloped. The sight that greeted us was magical. A brightly lit Christmas tree with ever so many colorful packages underneath! It took a nine year old's breath away. We paused just for a moment to take it all in and then dove for the presents. On this particular Christmas, there was a medium sized, white box with a large red bow with my name on it. I unwrapped the bow and lifted the lid. Inside was a beautiful white, flocked model horse with a flowing mane and tail. There was also a note which told me that Dolly, the white pony in our neighbor's stable was mine for keeps! I was astounded. I had a pony of my own! Such an amazing gift. After thanking my smiling parents profusely, I immediately got dressed and ran over to the neighbor's house to bring Dolly home to our barn.

My Christmas pony Dolly

She was a wonderful pony and quite a talented jumper. I wasn't experienced enough to jump but my older sister, Susan, would occasionally take Dolly over some obstacles after my ride. We rode her like that all through the spring. As so often happens to school age children, I came down with a cold one morning later that spring and Mom sent me to back to bed. Back then, when one of us got sick another sibling had to take over the chores of the invalid. That particular morning, Susan went out to feed Dolly for me along with her horse Princess (I know, those names make me wince now too - but, I suppose they could have been worse). I was lying in bed listening to all of the weekday morning sounds our family made: my mom down in the kitchen packing lunches and making breakfast, my dad in the bathroom shaving, my brother stomping around overhead in his attic bedroom as he got ready for school, when all of the sudden I heard a door bang open and an anguished cry come from Susan downstairs. My Dad heard it as well and he stopped mid-shave and hollered down to my mother "What's happening down there?" We heard more crying only this time it came from both my mother and my sister. Fearing the worst, my Dad, clad only in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, wiping shaving cream from his face, along with my brother and I clambered downstairs. We were met by my Mom and my sister Susan crying hysterically. "What's happened?" my Dad asked Mom. She could only look at him and cry. He turned to my sister and repeated the question. Finally, she blurted out between sobs "Dolly had a baby!" They were tears of happiness and not sorrow. We all rushed out to the barn. When we looked into Dolly's stall she was calmly chewing her hay. Then we saw it, a small tan face peeking around from behind Dolly's rump. The mare moved to the right and revealed a perfect, beautiful fuzzy foal. Dolly had done this all by herself without any help and surprised us all. We didn't even know she was pregnant! We thought she had a "hay belly." Which, if you knew anything about our family and our lack of equine knowledge, its pretty par for the course.

My sister jumping Dolly with baby Brandy inside sailing along for the ride.

We named the foal Brandy, after my mom's favorite cocktail at the time a Brandy Alexander (his coat was the same creamy tan color). Like the other animals in our lives at that time he brought us many years of great joy. He was a gift within a gift. So I guess it just goes to show, while you should never look a gift horse in the mouth, you may want to check what's inside it's belly.

This is the only photo we still have of Brandy. He's peeking out of the stall window on the left.
You can just barely see Dolly through the lilac tree, doing the same on the right.

BUFFALO BARN

7x5 inches, oil on linen canvas, 2015

BUY THIS PAINTING AT AUCTION Click on this link to bid: http://ebay.to/1GkcXfG

Buffalo Barn - auction ends on Sunday, December 13th at 9:00am PST. 

This barn is located south of Oak Harbor, Washington on Whidbey Island. I think I had mentioned, while working on this piece, that the fencing was giving me fits. There was just so much of it. But I persevered and eventually completed this painting of a “home where the buffalo roam”.

Just in time for those holiday parties - Horse and cow trivia

Have you ever attended a holiday gathering and been at a loss for words? It's your spouse's employee Christmas party or maybe its a family affair and you would much rather be at home watching "Its a Wonderful Life" than trying to make small talk. If this sounds like you, then this is the perfect time to stock your conversational arsenal with answers to that age old question "What's the difference between a horse and a cow?" for use at those impending soirees. After all, who doesn't like Horse and Cow trivia?

1. To begin with, cows can have horns or not while horses are strictly a non-horned animal. I realize that this is pretty obvious, but you never know what types your going to meet at these parties you'll be attending.

2. The tail of a horse is comprised of many long hairs that start from the base of the tail and grow to the ground. The cow's tail switch is long with a little tuft of hair on the end. Both are useful for keeping flies at bay. I can also tell you, from personal experience, that horses are especially adept at using their tail to whack any pesky human cleaning out their hooves. 

3. Horses have a uni-hoove (or single toe). Cows have cloven hooves with dewclaws. Humans should beware either variety because neither animal is very mindful as to where they place their feet and trying to push a 1000 lb. animal off of your foot is never an easy task (again personal experience).

4. Horses have incisors on the top and bottom of the mouth. A horse will grasp the grass tightly with his front teeth, close down and then jerk his head towards his front hooves snapping the blades off at the roots. A cow, on the other hand, has incisors only on the bottom of her mouth. After she grasps the grass, she jerks her head up and forward to break off the blades. Interestingly, the person who brought this fact to my attention was my dentist. In addition to running a successful dental practice, he is a cow rancher. Upon starting to dabble in cows, he had no idea they were totally without upper incisors. He only noticed a month later during his daily interactions with them. I had no problem pointing out to him the irony of his discovery. You would think that being a dentist would make him especially aware of teeth regardless of the mouth.

5. The hair of a horse slopes back toward the tail, while on the cow the hair slopes forward toward the head. In cold weather, you will see cows standing with their rump into the wind. If their hair grew backward, the wind would dig under it and give them a chill.

6. When horses raise up after laying down they lift their front end first. Cows lift their hind quarters first. I'm kind of biased, but I think the horse method is the more dignified of the two.

These are a few (but not all) of the differences between horses and cows. Now that you are armed with these interesting equine and bovine facts you are ready to head out into the seasonal party fray. Picture yourself dressed in your best holiday outfit, sipping a nice glass of Merlot, standing among your friends or coworkers and you drop this conversational gem "Did you know that cows do not have upper incisors?" You will be the life of the party.

HIDDEN GEM

7x5 inches, oil on linen canvas, 2015

THIS PAINTING FOR SALE AT AUCTION Click on this link to bid: http://ebay.to/1GkcXfG

Hidden Gem - auction ends on Sunday, November 15th at 9:00am PST. 

If you travel the backroad between Deception Pass State Park and the city of Anacortes, Washington you may spot this barn. Its obscured by some trees if you’re traveling northbound but if you turn around and back track you’ll catch a glimpse of its majestic beauty (that is, if you’re a barn geek like me).

Feathers Falling Autumn Calling

It's the time of year when the weather turns windy, cold and rainy sending all of our leaves and pine needles falling to the ground and (much to Paul's dismay) into our gutters. Curiously, our hens (a.k.a. - the girls) also choose this inclement time to molt. It's autumn, and the floor of the hen house and yard looks as if a pillow fight broke our overnight. Molting is the shedding of old feathers and growth of new ones. Chickens typically stop laying at this time and build up their nutrient reserves. We like to think they are changing out their wardrobe before taking a well earned vacation.

"Miss Red" in the midst of molting.

"Blondie" all dressed and ready to go.

But wait, you say, there are eggs in the stores year round. How can this be with all of those chickens purging their feathers and then heading out on Caribbean cruises? Well, the truth is, most chickens work year round like the rest of us. There is a little cheat that makes this possible. Darkness is the main reason egg production slows in the late fall. It is those shorter days that are the culprits. Chickens lay best when they receive 15 hours of daylight. Simply hang a nine-watt compact fluorescent bulb at the top of your coop to spread the light. Plug the light into a timer and have it come on early enough in the morning to give the girls 15 hours of daylight, and egg production will continue through the shorter days of winter.

But in our little corner of the world, we like to give the girls a break. Paul and I (mostly Paul) eat eggs like crazy the rest of the year. Its a challenge to keep up with the girls when they really get rolling with their egg production. So I guess the break is nice for all of us. Plus, I like to think of the girls sitting out in their warm little coop, possibly knitting or playing Bunko enjoying a cup of Darjeeling tea awaiting the warmer days of Spring. Egg laying time will come soon enough and when it does our girls will be dressed and ready.

LEE FARM BARN

7x5 inches, oil on linen canvas, 2015

THIS PAINTING IS CURRENTLY AT AUCTION

Lee Farm Barn - auction ends on Sunday, November 1st at 9:00am PST. Click on this link to bid: http://ebay.to/1GkcXfG

My husband Paul and I were enjoying a Sunday drive a while back when we came across a farmstead located north of Oak Harbor on Whidbey island. We drove up the driveway and knocked on the door of a small house. The owner, a very gracious woman, opened the door and consented to our request to walk around her property so I could take reference images of her barn. While, I was photographing, an extremely elderly, grey horse followed me around occasionally obscuring the image through my view finder with it’s nose. When I returned, Paul had learned that we were on the Lee Farm which had been in this location and in the same family for over 100 years. And the barn was beautiful! 

Scarecrow Diaries

This past Saturday, Paul and I ventured into our hometown of Coupeville to visit the last Farmer's Market of the season. It had been raining pretty hard all morning and we waited until the clouds took a break before heading out. The Farmer's Market ended at 2pm and we left the house at 1pm figuring we'd have plenty of time to take in all of the festivities after all we only lived 5 minutes away. But by the time we arrived all of the vendors were packing up. They had had enough of the rain and were soggy and cold to boot. We didn't blame them. We did get to see the winning entry in the giant pumpkin contest, which weighed in at 978 pounds. Now that's a big pumpkin! But truth be told, it really resembled a giant deflated basketball. Still, I really admire anyone who can grow a vegetable that big.

Since our day's entertainment had been cut short, we decided to check out the entries in the scarecrow contest that lined Main and Front Streets. This years's contest must have had a musical theme because we spotted Elvis and Elton John scarecrows as well as a few others clutching guitars. It's a tough competition because the scarecrows have to be up for the month of October. They need to survive our harsh northwest weather and if damaged they need to be repaired to keep them looking presentable.

I know all of this because we once participated in the contest. I thought it would be a fun-filled family event. The boys, who were in grade school at the time, were enthusiastic. Paul was more skeptical. We were busy with soccer, school projects, cub scouts and all manner of things in which young families are involved. Never the less, I obtained an entry form and we charged ahead with the project. At that time, there was no theme for the entries. You just had to build a sturdy scarecrow and keep it looking nice for the month of the competition. I really wanted our scarecrow to be different, to stand out among the other scarecrow entries and I racked my brain for an idea. The boys were really into superheros, so I thought "Why not make a superhero scarecrow?" and "Crowman" was born. He was kind of a cheesy interpretation of Superman. Fortunately, I love cheesy interpretations of anything, just ask Paul.

All entries to the scarecrow contest were assigned a location on either Main Street or Front Street. Our spot was on the corner of Main Street and State Route 20. It was a prime spot, situated at the principle entrance to the town. There was even a stop light so people would have to pause when admiring our entry. But the best attribute of our spot was that it was located right next to a sturdy 6 foot chain link fence and there was nothing in the rule book that said we couldn't use the fence to help anchor our scarecrow. As soon as I saw that spot, I knew how we would display Crowman. We would make him fly!

With our plan in place, we commenced with construction. Crowman would fly with arms stretched overhead "Superman-style." To achieve this illusion we would need a rigid, wood armature. Paul and the boys started on the framework while I went to the thrift store to purchase scarecrow, superhero clothes (overalls and a flannel shirt) and a bale of straw for stuffing (never mind that we only used about 1/10th of the bale and we were cleaning up straw for weeks afterwards out of the garage). An old piece of burlap was sewn into the shape of a head and stuffed with straw. We attached this to the "head" area of the armature and then finished dressing and stuffing Crowman in the thrift store clothes. A pair of work gloves and rubber boots served as hands and feet. Yarn became hair and wool felt became eyes, nose and a mouth. I cut out a giant, yellow felt "C" and sewed it onto the bib overalls and finally I fashioned a cape out of an old sheet that I had dyed blue. We carried our straw-filled, caped crusader to our assigned spot and wired him to the fence with his cape spread out behind. As a finishing touch, I made a sign which read, "Look, out in the field, it's a cornstalk, it's a crow, no it's Crowman!" I thought it was incredibly clever. Surely, we would win one of the prizes.

We kept a close eye on Crowman and inspected him carefully everytime we were in town. He had to remain presentable the whole month if we were to have a chance at the prizes. I must admit, I felt a bit smug when I saw our scarecrow strapped tightly to the fence, he seemed indestructible. What I hadn't counted on was the annual Homecoming parade. It was an unusually warm night for the Coupeville High School Homecoming parade and game. There were lots of folks, young and old, out and about enjoying the festivities. Many people walked by Crowman that night and sometime during the evening someone tried to remove his face.

We discovered the vandalism the next day. To say we were dismayed would be an understatement. How could anyone harm a defenseless scarecrow? Fortunately he could be repaired. We drove home and retrieved the sewing kit and then returned to the scene of the crime. Paul and the boys waited in the car nearby while I stitched up Crowman's features. Cars were coming and going as I worked away and at one point mid-stitch, I heard a young, rather angry voice cry out to me. "Leave Crowman alone!" I turned around just as the light changed to see a young boy glaring at me from the window of a retreating minivan. I was stunned. I didn't even have time to protest my innocence, much less let anyone know this was, in fact, our scarecrow.

I finished my repair job and Crowman never sustained another injury. He held up great for the rest of the month. We ended up winning third prize, a free pizza from the local pizzeria. Not too shabby! But Crowman was the real winner. We may have gained a pizza but somewhere out there he gained a friend.

Across from the Drive-in

7" x 5", oil on linen canvas, 2015

The painting below is currently for sale at auction. 

Click to view Auction  (auction includes detail and framed views)

 This barn is located just as the title says “across from the drive-in”. We are fortunate to have a teriffic drive-in theater here on Whidbey island, the Blue Fox Drive-in. It is 2 miles south of the city of Oak Harbor off of Monroe Landing Road. For a price quite a bit cheaper than a regular movie theater, you can see a double feature of currently running movies. Plus there are great go-carts and an arcade. Their food is pretty tasty too. I love their Philly Cheesesteaks. You can check them out at http://www.bluefoxdrivein.com/index.php/en/

It all started with a horse

This isn't Jonquil. Unfortunately, we don't have any
photos of her. But I imagine she had a sweet face
like the horse pictured here.

I didn't always paint barns. Way back when, my favorite art subject was the horse. I didn't use paint, pastel or even crayon. I used a plain old pencil and I drew with abandon. The horses poured out of me, down my right arm and out through the tip of my #2 pencil. This equine infatuation began with an old, white mare named Jonquil.

I had never really met a horse, that I can remember, prior to Jonquil. I have a vague memory of a family trip to California via a "woody" Country Squire station wagon and a "Scotty" travel trailer. We made a stop in southern California somewhere (maybe San Diego?) and we visited some people who owned some donkeys. They offered to let my brother and sisters and I ride on the donkeys. Everyone else rode but me, I was terrified. That all changed when I met Jonquil.

I was five or so when Jonquil entered our lives. My family had moved to an old farm house in rural New Jersey. My parents wanted their kids to grow up in the country. After a long search, they found a two acre piece of property with an old house and a barn. My mom convinced my dad that kids growing up in the country needed animals. We already had a dog ("Snooper") and a cat ("Cat" - my folks had enough trouble remembering the names of me and my four siblings. Who had time to think of a name for a cat?). The next obvious choice for an animal for the kids would, of course, be a horse. Never mind the fact that neither of my parents had prior equine experience. I don't even think we had a book about horses nor did they know anyone who owned a horse. Still, they plowed (no pun intended) ahead with acquiring a horse.

My Dad agreed to this new venture as long as it didn't cost a lot of money as there was not a lot to spare in those days. My Mom did him one better in that regard because Jonquil was FREE! Not only was she the right price but she was guaranteed to be gentle and wise. She was 28 years old or approximately 80 in human years. My folks thought she would be perfect horse for their young family.

Her former owner delivered her to our barn where she was placed into one of the new stalls my Dad had built. Jonquil was to be my brother Stephen's horse, he was around eleven at the time. It was his job to feed and care for Jonquil morning and night. One day, not long after she arrived, Stephen came running into the house quite alarmed. Apparently, Jonquil was laid out flat in her stall and would not get up. We all rushed out to look, and sure enough Jonquil was down in the stall, although now instead of being on her side she had rolled up onto her chest (not unlike a cow in a field) and she had a mournful look on her face. There was nothing to do but call out the vet.

Now let me just stop here for a bit and tell you that our local vet, Dr. Loemeyer, was not the jolliest of fellows, in fact, he was a rather humorless man. He also did not like to waste time as he had a lot of clients and a lot of territory to cover. Nevertheless, he came out promptly when we called, and after hearing our list of symptoms for Jonquil: refusing to get up and looking mournful, he marched out to the barn to take a look for himself. Unfortunately, upon entering the barn he neglected to duck (in addition to being humorless he was very tall) and he whacked his head on the door jam. Ignoring, my parents efforts to offer assistance or maybe an ice pack for his head, he went into the stall to access the patient. He took the halter my brother handed him and put it on Jonquil and with some gentle persuasion encouraged the mare to get to her feet.

We all stood in silence as he made his examination. He listened to her heart, looked into her ears and eyes and finally grabbed her mouth, pried it open and peered inside. Slowly, he turned and gave his diagnosis. "Mr. Graffweg," he said "you have a very old, tired horse here and she was sleeping." With that, he told my Dad he would send him a bill and he left. It was then my Dad probably realized, there is no such thing as a free horse.

Of course, being so young, none of that mattered to me back then. To me, my parents were experts in everything, equines included and Jonquil wasn't some tired old nag, she was a beautiful, amazing  horse. It's only with time and experience do I realize how naive we all were. But I'm kinda glad for my parents inexperience and the fact that they jumped right into horse ownership without looking. Because they introduced me to an animal that fascinated me so much I would spend countless hours teaching myself how to draw it. So much so that not only would I come to love, know and appreciate horses but I would also come to love the act of drawing and creating. My artistic life began.

Penn Cove Barn

7" x 5", oil on linen canvas, 2015

The painting below is currently for sale at auction. 

Click to view Auction  (auction includes detail and framed views)