When I was little, I would blame things on the clouds. “Who scribbled on the walls?!’ my parents would demand. “Oh, the clouds did it,” was often my reply. I always loved looking up to the sky and imagining how sponge-like the clouds must be, enough so I might use one to wash my Big Wheel trike (I was a bit disappointed the first time in fog when I realized how intangible a cloud is). I became lost in the forms and loved most the high and wispy cirrus clouds which my mother told me were “mares’ tales” and I would imagine wild horses on the wind. When I finally left Seattle for Minnesota and other flatter landscapes, I would like in fields on my back, watching the weather roll in and out.

I’ve just begun a wonderful book that has sparked my interest again in learning more about the sky, “The Cloudspotter’s Guide, the Science, History, and Culture of Clouds.” It’s inspired me to paint more clouds and I’d like to bind myself a small book to be a cloud journal and pay more attention the daily changes in the sky. I’ve included a small paintings I did while experimenting with oil bars. They were challenging for me as the tips were broad and I’m not accustomed to how they mix. I used the end of my brush to scribble in some marks and detail. Check back soon for more new work! I just reorganized my studio and am delighted with my new set up.