On a beautiful weekend, we traveled up to the mountains of North Georgia to a city by the name of Dahlonega. This town conjures up in my mind the type of place it has become known: southern, quaint, and historic with rolling hills and mountains. …
I have always been drawn to still life paintings replete with an abundance of fruit, delicately-blown glasses, curious objects, loaves of bread, and dark or glowing light. Without realizing it, these images have molded my style.
I created a home where stands and bowls of fruit await little hands grabbing a snack or the casual passersby picking up a pair of luscious cherries or a crisp apple.
Will it surprise anyone that museums have always been my favorite places? When I would leave the museum in my childhood, I returned to a home filled with art, much of it made by my dad.
A recent visit to the Art Institute had me in one of my usual spots, the Cézanne gallery. I could look at these for weeks.
This month marks the third year of the Black Garden. Swiping through catalogs and exchanging seeds with friends, the possibilities are endless. Perpetually, predictably, unsurprisingly, I’m overwhelmed… until I’m not. I then remember that there’s not enough room for everything and there’s so much pleasure …
Over the weekend here in Chicago, my dad and I turned our gazes towards my mom as we watched her in action. She was negotiating something in her polite but determined way. With admiration in his voice, my dad said, ”Your mom is fearless.” “If …
