My art teachers are Trevor Geoghegan at the Burren College of Art in Ireland and Mary Giammarino of Provincetown and Brian Kiernan of Springfield, MA. and my mother, Glory Wheaton. My mom would not have called herself an artist but she made art. Her found-art mobiles hung everywhere around the house. She collected driftwood, beach glass, seed heads, gnarled wood, and feathers that she would then wrangle into perfectly balanced hanging sculptures. All through my childhood she took me along on her woods and beach walks where she collected the unique detritus she found beautiful.

As a Plein Air painter my work is about the spirit of place, and also, occasionally, it’s about bulls in fields who are curious about painting, startling owls and scaring bears and chasing the mad earthly blessings of changing color. Colors like the sinuous glitter of light on water, sun turning leaves into transparent lime, electric orange sunsets or blankets of blue night skies overseen by a buttery moon. Getting the color right once in a while is enough to keep me chasing this fool’s errand of transcribing the indescribable.

It’s like falling in love. 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 rejects you or worse, you get bored. But through our endless foibles and tribulations may we all find heart for our imperfect journeys and may we all find light love and laughter in the ephemeral beauty of this world.