I inherited my love of the natural world and love of art from my mom, who dragged me through the woods my whole life looking for cool seedpods, cones, etc. for her intricate mobiles. She didn’t call herself an artist, but she made art.

Painting is like falling in love with someone. You can’t wait to get through the drudgery of everything else until you can paint again and there is the fear that you have fallen hopelessly vulnerable and what if painting doesn’t love you back?

Still, I foolishly chase glitter on water, buttery moons and electric orange sunsets using gloppy paint while meeting curious bulls in fields, startling sleepy owls and scaring bears, getting paint on all my coats, mud on all my pants, and once, dumping my painting in a pond, accidentally, I swear.

So, on this fool’s errand, tangled in prickers, mad at mosquitos, we plein air painters want to paint the stars in indigo waters, and mostly it’s all just baffling. Here’s to all us painters, and non-painters alike as we ride on this madcap journey together. May we find the crazy light show, and love and laughter everywhere we can.