ART For The Soul

An NYC ART Museum Tour

The MET, Raphael Exhibit drawing.

Have you ever travelled exclusively to see an art exhibit? I just returned from an art museum weekend in NYC! I have travelled to see art exhibits in the US, but I have never been to New York. A good art friend called me and asked me to go with her to see the Raphael: Sublime Poetry exhibit at The MET (Metropolitan Museum of Art). It was a weekend of overwhelming visual art consumption! Our schedule was to visit the The MET, Neue Galerie and MOMA (Museum of Modern Art). 3 Museums, two days, many steps! 

The main attraction was the Raphael exhibition at The MET-- I was unsure of what to expect but it was phenomenal. The exhibit was larger and more comprehensive than I expected—room after room of drawings and paintings! The figurative drawings and portraits were exquisite. My first question was how did these over 170 artworks survive in such good condition these last 500 years? The next question was how did Rapahel become such a great draftsman? He was 37 when he died and his drawings are masterful.

Dutch Girl in White, The MET

The Met is a behemoth and their collection of art is vast, we strategically planned and mapped the areas we wanted to see because we could not see it all. My personal favorite rooms at The MET include the Monet room and the Rembrandt room—yes literal rooms of paintings by these artists! Amazing! My personal favorite paintings include the Robert Henri’s Dutch Girl In White, Rembrandt’s Self Portrait, Monet’s Water Lilies, Van Gogh’s Cypresses, and a new-to-me artist Schjerfbeck’s The Lace Shawl.

After the expansive and overwhelming grandness of the MET, it was nice to have an intimate setting in the Neue Galerie (a small private Austrian museum—in the news now for the MET just acquiring). The Neue Galerie was a short walk from The MET and is housed in a modest mansion. The star painting at the Neue Gallery is The Woman in Gold by Klimt (watch the Helen Mirren movie before you go). I loved Klimt’s unfinished portrait of Rita Muir, a lovely glimpse into his painting process. Sadly, we could not take photos in the Neue Galerie because I also loved Kandinsky’s boldly painted Murnau Street With Woman. I had never seen a Kandinsky landscape and it was bright and fantastic—I wish I had a photo of that beauty!

Rothko's Untitled, MOMA

The MOMA is a beautiful modern building and had many famous works and installations. I loved what I would call the Matisse room, as there were many paintings the that I had never seen before. My favorites included Matisse’s The Red Studio and The Morrocans (which I appreciate now that I have studied Abstract Art). I also loved Rothko’s No 1 (untitled) which is a large multi shape and color painting that seemed more Frankenthaler to me. Rothko is known for his color rectangles therefore I had never seen this style-- it is my new favorite of his, even if I wish It had a title!

This NYC Art Museum adventure has filled my heart with appreciation, joy and inspiration. Recently I read that just looking at art is good for the mind, body and soul. I wholeheartedly believe in the positivity of art in both viewing and creating. This summer I encourage you to go to an art museum and to search for the art that speaks to you and your soul. 

Monet's Water Lillies, The MET

Curious Exploration, Endless Fascination

I don't always share the abstract exercises that I work on but I want to pull back the curtain and share a glimpse of the daily evolution of what happens here in the studio. The reality is that I am at the easel Monday through Friday; I simply tend to lose myself the moment I remove the caps from the paint tubes. Once the palette is set, the room shifts into a space of rhythmic meditation. As the brushes move across the canvas, my analytical mind settles, and a quiet, focused freedom takes over. 

     

 

Lately, that energy has been directed toward abstraction. I am currently immersed in a dual practice of independent studio work and an abstract online course. To say I’m inspired is an understatement—I am captivated by the specific language of abstract marks. I’m in a season of seeking, learning how to translate internal vision into tangible gestures. 

For now, the physical boundaries are clear: the canvases remain small. While limited storage space dictates the scale, I’ve always had a soft spot for these "little gems." There is an intimacy in a small work that a massive canvas often misses. 

The current coursework focuses on Flexible Forms, and the fascination is endless. These exercises force me to let go and remind me that nothing should be too precious. Working on 9x12 panels with a limited palette of Payne’s Grey, White, and Yellow Ochre has been a revelation in simplicity. 

The next hurdle is color. I’m eager to introduce a broader spectrum, but the technical execution is a deliberate puzzle. When the process involves pulling a palette knife through wet layers, adding a stray pink or green can instantly result in mud. It requires a high level of intentionality and a steady hand.

Abstraction keeps the mind churning. Every session sparks a new set of possibilities: What happens if I shift the visual weight here? How can I incorporate this specific mark into my broader practice? In the studio, the questions are often just as valuable as the finished pieces.

Behind The Canvas: Beyond Brushstrokes

Framed and ready for labels

Most people see a framed painting on a gallery wall as a finished vision, rarely realizing the symphony of logistics and late-night decisions that that happen long before the first guest walks through the door.

 

The Curation Phase

As a working artist, my studio is rarely empty. When I was asked to provide 12–15 works for an upcoming show, my first thought was, "I have a plethora of paintings!" My second thought? "But are they show-ready?"

While I am an artist at heart, I am also an analyst and a planner. Since the exhibition runs from March through May, I wanted the collection to breathe with the season. I conducted a visual inventory, selecting seven existing plein air and floral pieces that captured that vibrant, awakening energy. But to truly tell the story I wanted, I knew I needed to create something fresh.

The Frame & The Flow

Curation isn't just about the canvas; it’s about the presentation. I decided on a unified "Spring" aesthetic using gold frames to bring a bright, sophisticated warmth to the collection.

Full table of works to be signed.

This sparked a game of artistic Tetris. I matched my existing works to frames, inventoried my empty moldings, and selected new canvases that fit the remaining "windows." With the technical constraints set, I returned to the easel.

The Final Push

There is a specific kind of magic in painting for a deadline. I spent weeks submerged in color—setting up fresh still-life floral arrangements in the studio and sifting through reference photos for the perfect, fleeting sunset.

By the end of the month, I had six new works. But a painting isn’t finished just because the brush is down. There is a "tedious" beauty to the final steps:

• The Signature: The final mark of ownership.
• The Varnish: Protecting the pigment and bringing out the depth.
• The Hardware: D-Rings, Wiring, Screws. My husband graciously spent two afternoons framing and wiring—a task that is as much about engineering as it is about art.

The Invisible Details

Then comes the paperwork. Titles often come to me in flashes—a line from a book, a lyric, or a specific pigment name—but the logistics of pricing, back-labeling, and coordinating with the exhibitor require a different kind of focus.

The Grand Reveal

Yesterday, I finally dropped off thirteen paintings at the venue. It takes hours to create a single piece, and dozens more to prepare it for the public eye. The life of an artist is beautiful and rewarding, but it is built on a foundation of bubble wrap, spreadsheets, and logistics.

I can’t wait to step back into the exhibition venue this week—not as the laborer, but as the viewer—to see the show finally breathe on its own.

 

The Infinite Canvas

 The Infinite Canvas: My Lifelong Apprenticeship in Art

Selfie with a Joan Mitchell painting.

These last twelve years I have been a student of joy, but I’ve learned that in the world of fine art, joy is often hard-won. The pursuit of artistic fulfillment isn't a destination; it is a relentless, beautiful, and occasionally maddening quest. It is a commitment to a curriculum that has no graduation date—a lifelong enrollment in the school of seeing.

Looking Back to the Past

In becoming an artist, I’ve learned that I need to learn more about art history and past artists, those beyond Monet. I’ve found myself captivated by the lively, elegant lines of Giovanni Boldini, the intimate and colorful domesticity of Bonnard, and the flat bright abstraction of Diebenkorn.

Then there is Joan Mitchell*. To see a Mitchell in person is to understand that paint is not just color, but energy. Her massive abstract works demand a physical response; her brushwork is a visceral record of movement. Learning the stories and sensibilities of these masters hasn't just added to my knowledge—it has fundamentally recalibrated my color palette and my courage.

The Artist’s Tools

Tools for an artist are much more complex than paint and brushes. There is an overwhelming world of bristle and steel, pigment and medium, canvas and varnish. Through a cycle of trial, error, and shared wisdom from fellow artists, I am finally finding the tools that work best for me.

Lately, I’ve been enamored with the oil stick. There is something primal and direct about holding a thick, pigmented stick of oil paint. It blurs the line between drawing and painting, allowing me to "write" in color directly onto the surface. It’s a reminder that even after years of study, a new tool can make you feel inspired again.

The Complexity of Light and Pigment

I have come to accept a humbling truth: I will likely be painting for the rest of my life and still feel I have not reached the summit. The "simple" act of color mixing is a rabbit hole of infinite depth. We are taught in childhood that "blue and yellow make green," but the artist knows this is a lie of simplification.

A dash of Ultramarine mixed with Cadmium Yellow Medium creates a green that is worlds away from a mix using Cerulean or Lemon Yellow. When you introduce white, or a neutralizing third color, the possibilities expand exponentially. I’ve spent hours meticulously crafting color charts**—inspired by Richard Schmid’s seminal Alla Prima II—treating them as maps for a territory that is constantly shifting.

One of my Color Charts, note the Cerulean and Ultramarine Blues.

The Language of Art

Art has its own vocabulary. It took me many hours of workshops and painting and reading to fully comprehend terms like half-tone, saturation, and temperature.

I find myself most at home in the world of Alla Prima—working "wet-in-wet." There is a high-stakes thrill in manipulating paint before the air claims it. It requires a presence of mind that is both exhausting and exhilarating; you are negotiating with the medium in real-time.

The Eternal Student

I am, by nature, inquisitive and I believe one needs that curiosity to thrive as an artist. I often feel as though I am enrolled in a self-directed, endless graduate program. My "professors" are the art mentors I consult and the colleagues I debate with, but the most profound discoveries usually happen in the quiet solitude of the studio.

This pursuit is a paradox: it is frustrating, fascinating, and frequently daunting. But more than anything, it is a life lived wide awake. There is always one more shadow to understand, one more harmony to find, and a lifetime of learning left to do.

* This photo was taken at the Phillips Collection, Washington DC and is of me and a Joan Mitchell painting. I highly recommend a trip to the Phillips Collection Museum.

**Richard Schmid's book, The Alla Prima II is a highly revered must-have book for many painters. One chapter encourages artists to create color charts of their palettes (I have done this twice and with each of the 11 colors on my palette).

Art & Subject Matter

The Art of the Choice: Why I Paint What I Paint

Choosing a subject is just the first of a thousand decisions that land on a canvas. While I drift between portraits, landscapes, and abstracts, each discipline offers a unique challenge that keeps me sharp. Here is a look behind my easel at why I choose the subjects I do.

The Human Connection: Portraits

Every Wednesday, a living, breathing costumed model sits before me. There is a specific magic in capturing a likeness—the puzzle of skin tones, the architecture of features, and the spark of an expression. It is a lifelong study in empathy and proportion, fueled by the camaraderie of my art group.

Chasing the Light: Landscapes

In 2016, I fell in love with the challenge of the Great Outdoors. I am a self-proclaimed "fair-weather painter," chasing the lush greens of summer, the gradient of a shifting sky, or the reflection of water in the parks in summer. Throughout the year, I gather photo references so I can keep the warmth of the landscape alive in my studio all through the snowy months.

The Freedom of Form: Abstract

Abstraction was my bridge out of a creative rut. I used to think it was just "slapping paint on a canvas," but I quickly learned it requires a disciplined mastery of color, value, and shape. Now, it is where I feel most "me." There are no models to pose or photos to reference—just my favorite palette, expressive marks, and the pure joy of starting with nothing but an instinct.

The Controlled World: Still Life

My journey began with the deliberate beauty of still life. I remember the hours spent arranging lemons against a copper pot and teal cloth, obsessing over the way light hits a curve. It is a slow, meditative genre. While my focus has shifted toward more fluid subjects recently, the foundational lessons of shadow and form I learned there stay with me in every stroke.

The Bottom Line

My week is a rhythmic dance between these worlds. I might spend Monday and Tuesday longing for Spring trying to paint a vase of winter flowers, Wednesday studying a face, and the rest of the week lost in the layers of an abstract.

Subject matter is the spark, but consistency is the flame. Regardless of the "what," the most important thing is simply to show up and paint.

 

Loving the Holidays, Missing the Studio

The holidays bring a special kind of joy. I love my family deeply, and I treasure the time we spend together. Because we don’t all live in the same state, these gatherings are rare and important opportunities to connect, host, and share traditions. Yet, alongside that love is a quiet longing for my creative space.

From Studio Habit to Holiday Hosting

Most weeks of the year, my life is centered around my studio. Painting has become a solitary habit and a necessary part of my daily rhythm. I am used to the steady flow of thinking, organizing, and making.

During the holidays, my time is redirected toward:

• Preparation: Cooking, baking, shopping, and wrapping gifts.
• Travel: Moving between homes and attending gatherings.
• Presence: Being fully available for social obligations and family time.

The Restlessness of an Artist

While these moments are precious, being away from my work for days at a time creates a sense of restlessness. There is a specific feeling that comes from missing my art—a mental pull back to my paints and my process. It can be overwhelming to balance the social requirements of the season with the desire to retreat into the quiet of my studio.

Looking Forward to the Return

I understand the need to accept this temporary pause, but my mind is already back at my easel. I have cherished the dinners and the time spent with those I love, but I am more than ready to return to my work. The studio is calling, and I cannot wait to get back to the practice that sustains me.

Gratitude For Art Friends

 

Abstract limited Palette

The artistic journey often requires solitude. Most of my creative work happens in the studio, a space that can sometimes feel isolating. In these moments—whether celebrating a success, working through a frustration, or developing a new idea—I need connection. My artistic fulfillment would be greatly lessened without the support of my art community.

My art friends are truly the best people I know: kind, generous, and supportive. They form a unique circle that offers encouragement without jealousy. They are the kindred spirits who uniquely understand that my career is "Artist" and that making art is my central purpose.

I am deeply thankful for their guidance and expertise. They are an essential resource, offering invaluable advice and critiques on every aspect of my practice: from selecting the right supplies, recommending books, and finding workshops, to indulging deep conversations about color mixing, theory, and brush types.

This network of support is vital:

• I rely on my monthly critique group for thoughtful corrections that help me break through creative blocks.

• I have a friend I can call for immediate assistance and a fresh perspective when I am stuck.

• I am inspired by the friend whose studio focus motivates me during our chats.

• I have companions I can count on for shared plein air painting adventures.

• I cherish my weekly painting group, a space to gather, share ideas, and simply escape into paint.

To every artist in this circle, I offer my sincere gratitude. Knowing I can reach out to them when I feel lost or stuck is the greatest gift to my creative practice.