Drive east along the river and you come to our next destination, Snoqualmie Falls, maybe you've heard of it. With Salish Lodge perched at the top you can't beat the view or location. I have stayed at Salish just twice, but the feeling you get when you're there is amazing. You feel taken care of and farther away from life than you actually are. Depicted inside a bear because, like the falls, they are unapologetically visible around here.
How do you feel when you finally get something you have waited a long time for? Especially if it’s something you have gone through a lot to get and maybe waited longer than you expected? Here I show Hannah with her first son, Samuel. She is soaking up that baby smell, feeling his heartbeat against hers and hearing those little grunts that make us all turn our heads and smile. What is it about a new baby? And what is it about the way a mother holds them that is different? I’ll be honest, more difficult than seeing a pregnant woman was a mother holding her new baby. This taunted my heart because there seems to be no greater bond of love. I’ve heard people say “I didn’t know I could love another human this much” and that is what I feel when I see this. A love so great, so fiercely protective and yet incredibly gentle. Hannah was able to have more children after Samuel and, although there is only one first, I have a feeling that she held each of them as if they were her first or her last. And I have no doubt that in the back of her mind was the pain and grief she endured. But as hard as that was, moments like this made it all worth it. Made it worth the wait.
So let me introduce you to a woman named Hannah. If you aren’t familiar with her story she lived many many years ago. She too was unable to have children. She too had a husband that loved her very much but didn’t quite understand why she was upset all the time. I can relate to her feelings, her bitter upset and feeling like she was isolated in her sorrow. This is where our stories veer. You see Hannah’s husband had another wife and he had children with her. Not only was this second wife unkind to her, but Hannah saw children running around playing, and when she looked at them, she saw her husbands eyes. That’s where my heart goes. For years she saw this and for years she was reminded of what she didn’t have. Yes Hannah would have liked to have many children, but even just one would have been enough for her and she aches and sobbed and prayed for that one chance. Here, this painting is how I see her first chance. It was finally her turn. Soaking in every moment and feeling that deep sigh of relief that all the grief and waiting was worth it.
Guilt, anger, bitterness, brokenness, shame, yes. But mostly sadness. The crying, the constant crying. Usually on my way to or from somewhere. Usually alone in my car on my way to work, everyday, for years. Some days I'd be rounding the corner for home and I'd need to drive up to the trailhead above our house just for five more minutes to pull myself together. My brain would be shouting "Just get over it!" and my heart would quietly respond "I can't." The best quote I've heard to describe grief is this: Grief is just Love with nowhere to go. I was never able to think past this until I painted this picture. However now I see great beauty in grief. You see grief would not exist without love. The more you loved, the more you grieve. And love is such a beautiful thing. I share this for the women who go through this or something else entirely their own. The women functioning, going on, showing up, doing what you need to do and yet crying all the time when no one is looking. I see you and I'm sorry and I'm so proud of you.- Out of stock
We buried her ourselves , six months ago today, in December’s darkness. Our tears were soaked by the rain. Our hearts simply trying to take a breath. She was our baby for 13 years, our sweet little doggie, Desi. Grief has a process, and it rolls a little different with everyone and every loss. I was grieving our Desi while she was still with us, and now, I just miss her. I don’t cry everytime I say her name, but memories don’t always make me smile yet. I am in that gray zone. I’m actually okay, some days I’m really good. I just miss her, and I wish she were still here. Tell me about someone you miss, and something you would do with them if they were still here. This painting is part of an ongoing series highlighting the emotional experience it is to be human. I affectionately call it the “Hannah” series. - Out of stock
Sometimes things just feel different. Things are the same, yet a switch has happened. A change in attitude, appreciation, awareness. The way I’ve been feeling lately is much like walking a well known path…at night. You know it’s still the same, it’s familiar, and yet it feels so different. You can still see but the colors are muted. You can still hear, in fact, sounds seen louder. You can still feel your feet move and yet you’re more aware that you may fall. Life has been reminding me lately of what is important. And it’s not that I didn’t already know what was important, it’s just that now it feels real. At any moment…all it takes is just one single moment and everything can change. Like going from sunlight to moonlight, daytime to night. To me, this painting is a reminder to stay focused on what is most important. To be in the moment and soak it up. To watch where you step and always keep going. And to see the light in the darkest of hours. - Out of stock
Life is funny. One minute things feel like you're at the beginning of everything. Like your life is just starting up and you have forever to do all that you want. The next minute, you're in the midst of it. You're in the thick of everything you've started and worked hard for. Life often gets compared to a journey, or a path. One that you start thinking you know each turn and bump and yet you don't. There are always unexpected turns and little bumps that make you trip. But isn't that also the reason that we like taking a walk in the woods? We like a little surprise, we like to be awed by something we weren't expecting. This path is much like how I am feeling these days. In the midst of the forest, no beginning or end in sight, just surrounded by the life that I have carved out for myself. 
They say a dog is mans best friend. If you have ever been lucky enough to have a friendship like this with a dog you know what a hug like this feels like. Hugging a dog. It may just be the most unjudged feeling ever. They know what you are feeling but they don't know why. They seem to be there anytime you need a hug like this. They're there when you need a walk to let off some steam. They're there when you need a buddy to bring back that ball. They're there when you need someone to talk to, to laugh at or to simply have around. And then one day, after days and days, years and years, of them loving you and being there for you, it's your turn to be there for them. They don't know why they hurt or why you cry. They don't know why they fall down or walk slower. All they know is that you are there. Once again you came home to them, fed them love them and hugged them. The love of a dog is such a gift. It is an honor and privilege to have one in your life. And one day soon mine will be gone and I know my heart will hurt, more than the tears in my eyes will allow to show. Until that day I will hug every hug, allow every bad breath kiss, and give her every ounce of love that I can. Desi, I love you and I always will!- Out of stock
I see this mountain almost every day. There is stands, tall and confident, yet gentle and comforting. Its been here for so long I sometimes wish I could talk to it. What changes has it seen in our valley over the past hundreds of years? Has it seen the elk cross that road hundreds of thousands of times? Has it seen cars replace horses and houses replace fields? How many storms has it weathered? A few months ago I saw it like this. The sight took my breath away. Another storm was blowing in its face, taunting it with its icy power. Yet at that very moment the sun set its warm hand on its shoulder, reminding the mountain of all the storms it had already endured. The endless amount of torment it gone through only to give it more strength and character year after year. It was a moment of light and darkness, of strength and gentleness. It was a moment so incredible captivating it pulled me in with it's alluring breath. 
We all want to feel safe and loved. To feel important and special. I have a feeling this little girl here is feeling all those things. Safe enough to fall asleep, and trusting enough to be carried to bed by her daddy. I look at this tender scene and although that dad is most likely tired himself, he still loves his little girl enough to carry her to bed, probably tuck her in, and kiss her goodnight. The love of a parent is so self-sacrificing, and yet so many moments of giving don't even seem like it to a parent. They just love and give without even thinking. I've never gotten to see my husband do this with a daughter, but I do remember my dad doing this with me. He'd have to carry me up the stairs and I remember having to hide my eyes in his neck because the lights felt too bright. I remember when I was really small a song he'd sing. "I got my Lala, she's my little Lala, she's the cutest girl around, da dum dum dum.." And honestly that's all I remember. But I loved painting a scene like this, getting to realize now, as an adult, how special that selfless act was.
So this is where I am today. Feeling exposed, vulnerable, arms empty. I stand as a woman wanting to be a mama, but can't. If I were to name this painting it would be called Empty Arms. Wanting something like this so much feels like a nutrient you need but cannot eat, like you're cold but cannot warm up. Winter. Your everyday looks different, from the moment you wake up to the time you crawl into bed at night, it's not what you thought it would look like. Your whole future has now changed. The fact that this grief is so hard to let go of is because there really is no end. There is no end, just a slow drip of a dream until one day you decide it's gone. You need to decide when to let go and you don't want to... Having now accepted this I am in a better place. I can feel happy without sad tears falling and I feel incredible grateful to be here. But my arms are still empty, and sometimes they feel heavy so I'll let them fall as colors onto my paper. I will not be sharing the his faults, my faults, losses, have you trieds, why not justs, as least you's...no. This series is to give you a little background so when I paint scenes of children running around carefree or mothers and babies you know where it's coming from. It's coming from a happy place that I'm making for myself to go. To create moments and pretend they're from memory.
I call this one Alpine, but it really should be called Picturesque. This is Picture Lake which shows off the amazing Mt. Shuksan that sits behind it. This spot is a photographers dream no matter what time of year it is. Sitting just below Canada and right by Mount Baker it is everything the PNW is known for: Mountains, Trees, and Water. I painted this and thought of my dad a lot. Something about the scene and the colors I used just felt like him. He used to be an avid hiker and mountain climber. It wasn't my intent but it reminded me of an old painting he had in his office while I was growing up. I sent him the video of this painting and he immediately knew the location. In fact he has pictures from this exact spot and said he used to hike the trails and ski that area all the time when he was younger. My dad now owns the original and I couldn't imagine a better hands for it to be in. However, for 99 special people, you can have your very own copy of this very special print.
