My 1902 Victorian

My house was built in 1902. As Queen Victoria died in 1901, I suppose it is officially an Edwardian, but just on the cusp. Made from a kit, it is the mirror image of the house next door, although time and various paint jobs, add-ons and decorating schemes now create quite a dissimilar appearance.

With both a sun porch and a mudroom (a necessary little porch frequently used throughout winter for galoshes and dirty dog towels), it is cozy and filled with light:


The back door has a doorbell I believe used for deliveries by the local milkman from
the dairy that used to be down the block (now a gourmet grocery).

On the the front curb there are small rings used to tie up one's course whilst visiting neighbors. Our garage could have easily doubled as a stable.

The attic contains various worn leather suitcases traveled to exotic locales more than a century ago.

There are channels built in to house pocket doors used to open the parlor only for "company."

The kitchen counter has a bottlecap opener built in and our original full Victorian bar matches the formal dining area so nicely (moved to Portland from two different aparments in the San Francisco Bay Area including a third floor walk-up) and provides a shelving unit for a full two-turntable DJ setup.


This tribute to my home occurs as my roses bloom, my raspberry bush blossoms and my grape arbor buds. There's no place like home.

Pictured is my tribute to summer--bare legs and a skirt with cute shoes to match, Edwardian style. Maybe she walked through my house almost 100 years ago....

The Scenester

My sister is a scenester. A scenester is defined as one whom is always where the action is and whilst there, on the hunt for more. A friend recently sent a picture with a gal wearing a tee with the words, "I listen to bands that don't even exist yet" emblazoned across the front. A most fitting description of my sis.

Recently, our free alternative weekly, The Willamette Week, featured Portland's top ten local bands as voted by members of the music community. My sister, as one of the town's music bookers gave her two cents. As luck would have it the band she chose, The Builders and the Butchers, was voted number one thus her quote selected:

“The first time I saw the Builders and the Butchers was about a year ago at one of those free afternoon back-patio shows at Rontoms. There were these intense storm clouds above us, and we all knew that it would POUR any second. As soon as they started playing, big fat drops came comin’ down—a warm spring rain. Thunder was crashing, lightning flashing off to the east like a high desert storm. The more soaked all of our bodies became, the louder the chorus of wailing voices became—a religious fervor set in. The crowd flailed around, dancing, shouting along to the chorus, ‘When it rains!’ Truly a rock-’n’-roll baptism.”

The musings of a hipster. Tee hee.

In addition, two other bands were chosen in the top ten, Loch Lomond and Nick Jaina. A few months back I illustrated their CD release promotion concert poster. All the fonts are hand-wrought and the image in a French New Wave style.

Although not a scenester myself, (although I do love to go to the concerts of my favorite bands, I find I usually prefer an evening of Masterpiece Theatre and a pint of ice cream to the bars) I may live vicariously through both my art and my sis.

Queen of the Surface Streets

I spent the past week in decadence celebrating my beloved's birthday. One night spent swaying to the gyspy rhythms of Devotchka, the next dancing to the indie jams of Stephen Malkmus and The Jicks provided a much needed rock out.

Dinner at Le Pigeon, their chef voted by Food and Wine magazine as the top chef of 2007 capped the week off perfectly.

Interspersed therein was First Thursday, Portland's swanky art walk, skate show, and street party replete with large groups of revelers congregating in an open appreciation of culture and art.

I painted the above following the Devotchka concert. My favorite tune of theirs, Queen of the Surface Streets,

(I'll give my days to the Neanderthals
With the classic rock
And the wrecking ball
I'll go swimming in the wet concrete
And I'll cast my pearls at the unpaved streets),

inspired her, Art Deco style.

The Written Word

I sit here and write out this blog entry long hand with a fountain pen and a jar of ink. I have no cell phone, I do not drive and feel far more comfortable writing long hand. In college I used to write 40 page history term papers long hand and then transpose. I think better as I the cursive letters form quickly and smoothly, artfully transcribed upon my paper.

As I record my thoughts to be broadcast to the world, there are children staring at me who have only written a letter on a keyboard. My handwritten record could be found three hundred years hence and be a part of a history rather than a random sampling of computer code stored onto an obsolete machine. Tangibility is vital to understanding character, reality and life view. Examining my hand-writing could tell you I'm left-handed, female and a practiced correspondent. A tangible record proves I exist, where I exist and my station in life. Will history understand us as we really were or rather as the virtual reality we now strive to create?

I yearn to provide a living record of my life through my art--how I live, why I live and whom and what I live for. It is that which we physically leave in our wake which proves our existence at all. Those whom we celebrate in our collective social memory are those who left physical tangible remnants for later generations to venerate. With such few examples left to date those that are existant are invaluable regardless of the life lived. In the digital age, a time of infinite information stored onto countless pieces of plastic, what will prove valuable long after our demise?

All of my images are now available as original paintings, ready to be hung. Each is painted in gouache onto Plywerk, a handmade substrate board created by my wonderful friend and colleague, Kjell van Zoen. Pictured is "Farewell Kabarista" painted in gouache on Plywerk and available through my Etsy shop.

This Old House

I was born and raised in the beautiful state of New Mexico. Hailing from this "Land of Enchantment," I believe, creates part of my need for space and time. I deplore the notion of being caged in by my surroundings; and the open sky and few people, endless desert and cowboy mentality allow me to breathe freely, openly and privately.

Everything is old in New Mexico. Not like in Portland where everyone lives in a Victorian, but rather old as in "old as dirt," literally. Many homes are built of mud and straw and many date back three hundred years and more.

The image pictured, done in the style of a 1940s postcard, is a piece commissioned by one of the members of a Boston knitting group that was screen-printed onto Eco-totes for use as knitting bags.

The retreat was held at her family home in Tularosa, New Mexico. This southern New Mexico home was an actual military fort used by the Spanish and has served as the family's private residence for three generations.

Listed on the National Historic Register, this centuries old adobe is essentially a fortress with walls three feet deep and window slats used to aim rifles through. The illustration pictured is based on this historical and architectural gem and is my first foray into architectural rendering, Art Deco style.

My First Album Cover Part II

First approached by Brian of Jive White Boy (don't let the name throw you) through my myspace page to illustrate his debut album, I held zero reservations as this has always been a dream of mine.

Part Eliott Smith, part Leonard Cohen, this local Portland singer songwriter's music is darkly folky, sweetly biting. A fan of Art Deco and Art Nouveau style, he felt my illustrations lended a classic yet slightly sinister quality to his indie rock musings.

The inspiration came from listening to his songs on repeat whilst sketching. The 1920s Jazz Age style image seemed an appropriate one and was also reminiscent of Brian himself. The CD should be available sometime this summer, hopefully in a wide release (or at least it may be purchased globally through the internet; I will provide a link on this site when it is released).



















I am most proud to present this illustration as well as the back cover song list (all fonts wrought completely by hand in the Art Nouveau style of the early 1900s and of my own alphabet, of course) as it has been long in the making. I can't wait to see it on the CD itself. A dream come true. Thank you so much, Jive White Boy.

A Most Tragically Hip Art Show

The blooming of the daffodils and tulips here in Portland signals the beginning of art fair season. This past Monday and Tuesday were spent inside one of Portland's largest office buildings as a group of independent designers, crafters and artists displayed our wares through the newly created artist group, HandmadeNW.

Friday and Saturday will be spent at the school of indie rock star's children (The Shins, The Decemberists, Sleater Kinney, Modest Mouse, Stephen Malkmus and the scions of other famous rockers), Buckman Elementary. The Buckman School Art Show & Sell on Friday, April 11 and Saturday, April 12 at Buckman Elementary School in Portland, Oregon benefits the Buckman Arts Focus Elementary School and will be featuring the work of more than 100 Pacific Northwest artists.

Already written up in Pitchfork, the most popular online taste making music magazine, the Buckman Art Show and Sell is kicking off the event with a benefit concert by The Shins' James Mercer and Pavement's Stephen Malkmus held at the tragically hip Jupiter Hotel next to the tragically hip Doug Fir Lounge.

I am very excited for this event and for the rest of the summer art shows as well. Art fairs provide me with a sense of community, belonging and conversation. I enjoy chatting with customers and artists alike and come away feeling renewed and inspired.

Venus in Spring

Today my tulips bloomed and I finished a painting inspired by said tulips. Entitled, "Venus in Spring," it is one of a series that I am currently at work on. In addition to a full-size painting, each image is burned onto a screen to print from. The canvas is a Moleskine notebook, favorite of DaVinci and Hemingway. Each notebook is screen-printed with one of my Art Deco inspired illustrations (Grandpa Charlie and Venus among them) and then hand-painted. They are for purchase in my Etsy shop.

Last weekend friends visited from Williams, Oregon, a very small town in the Rogue Valley (a most romantic name for a locale). Living in the country they see little of civilization, thus the opportunity to shop at the garage sale going on across the street was of immense excitement. Filling two cars full with garage sale wares, they made their way home. I picked up a stash of 1980s movies and spent the day painting Moleskines whilst conducting my own personal Christian Slater marathon.

Unlike many artists, I usually do not listen to music whilst at work. Rather I have a little television and VCR in my studio and I listen to movies. The dialogue allows me to focus whereas music zones me out. Funny where inspiration lies.

Thus, four new Moleskine designs and nine new paintings are almost finished. I'm not sure if the '80s movies rubbed off as my usual fare are black and whites, Hitchcock or James Bond (the action keeps me moving quickly), but needless to say I most assuredly enjoyed myself (Mr. Slater in Pump Up the Volume makes me swoon. Sigh.).

A 1930s Gentleman and The Birthdays

I never knew my Grandpa Charlie. A tailor in the garment district of New York City's Lower East Side, he died two weeks before my little sister was born. She was named Caroline in honor of him.

My grandfather exists in my mind through Grandma Minnie's wedding pictures--quite the 1930s gentleman with a flair for fashion, a confident gait and a sly look.

Delivered in the hospital on my third birthday (yes, we are exactly three years apart), Caroline's birth is my first memory.

Aware it was my birthday and the importance of having one as well as the fringe benefits associated, one can imagine my devastation at the conspicuous absence of both my parents. Rather, my great Aunt Octavine celebrated with me. I received first a Fisher Price record player, and then a baby sister.

Forced to then share all birthdays following, every year "our" birthday celebration included all the neighborhood children. With the Fisher Price record player in tow, we endlessly played musical chairs outside. My mother dressed us in matching Victorian style dresses in differing colors and put our hair in ringlets. Great Aunt Octavine made a cherry cake (white cake with maraschino cherries in the batter and pink icing and maraschino cherries on top) and we would blow out the candles...together.

Most of the presents consisted of Barbie and Tracy (Barbie with brown hair--a favorite among us brunettes) dolls. My mother, not thrilled with the whole Barbie idea, only let us keep one each. My father then stashed the rest. To this day, hidden in the depths of some closet lie various late 1970s and early 1980s Barbie and Tracy dolls, still in their original packaging.

My sister and I are very close and live only minutes away from one another albeit not in our hometown. We still celebrate "our" birthday ever year together and sometimes even wear matching outfits. I think Grandpa Charlie would laugh.

Disco, My Mother and The Brazilian Stacked Heel

I love fashion. And I love shoes. When I was little my mother had a pair of Brazilian stacked heels. It was the 1970s and they were black suede with a cutout toe. I used to play dress up in them. They were so beautiful.

But my mother is not a packrat. She does not carry that gene which forces one to keep everything out of sentimentality or a need to hoard.

As a small child, I vividly remember finding garbage bags destined for Goodwill containing her wedding dress (a red velvet mini later worn to my Junior Prom), various early 1970s formals and innumerable pairs of high heels. Apparently she no longer had a need for such things as a mother of two in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Salvaging what I could in the back of the car en route to the donation center, I managed to save much of the lot. But the shoes were lost; destined to exist only in my memory.

So I present to you my mother's Brazilian stacked heel disco shoes (now in red), a beret (from my great Aunt Octavine) and a Diane von Furstenberg wrap-around dress I remember my mother wearing when we went out somewhere fancy.
My tribute to fashion through my childhood self.

Maira Kalman, Mice and the Movie Star

Despite an ever present drizzle (I must remember not to complain however, as I am the one who chose to live in Portland), today was most sunny. I was on the front page of Etsy and read a most wonderful interview on Inspiration Boards with one of my most favorite illustrators, Maira Kalman.

My father first introduced me to Maira Kalman's work through her New York Times column. Her illustrations provide social commentary and speak to the mundane aspects of life which fleetingly take on great significance. I suppose I find her most inspiring as her illustrations are not comics nor cover designs nor pictures in a book but rather form a column, a consecutive series of thought meant to observe and comment, to titilate and anger, to provide a conscience and put forth an opinion.

And I found this painting entitled "Devasting: The Movie Star." (See her real identity revealed in the comments section thanks to a most observant reader!) It had fallen behind the bookshelf and forgotten about. Two others were found as well. I suppose having mice in my studio (the impetus behind the cleaning) has a sunny side as well.

Show Me Some Leg

When I'm totally broke (usually the case as a working artist) I cannot, I must not succumb to my most favorite of obsessions: impractical shoes.
As a size 35 European, my choices in footwear are limited to old lady loafers with tassels, children's shoes and couture footwear from discount department stores. I choose the latter most emphatically.

In my recently cleaned out closet(s)--I am also a clotheshorse as well--I found my beautiful Dolce and Gabbana black and white genuine cowhide slingbacks. Still in their box, I have only worn them once, but no matter. I own them to own them. To admire them. To create my own little shoe museum.

I have little occasion to don haute couture fashion. Usually in cotton leggings and my father's ancient oversize promotional tees from various marathons in the 1980s whilst in the house and only a pair of galoshes to spice up the outfit when I venture out, high fashion eludes my day to day activities.

Without money to spare, yet with an itch for couture, I draw. I draw the shoes I want to own, I paint the outfits I want to buy. Creating fashion through my imagination relieves a bit of my fashion anxiety and most thankfully saves my pocketbook from total destruction.

The Art Nouveau Wine Label

A year and a half ago I was approached by two wonderful young wine makers whom recently relocated from New York City to Walla Walla, Washington. Following their libatious dreams westward, they bought a large acreage, two German Shepherd puppies, and started their own winery. Fans of Art Nouveau style, the vinters approached me to illustrate the label and work together to design a concept for the winery itself.

Located on the North Fork of the Walla Walla River in the foothills of the Blue Mountains, Stella Fino winery pays homage to its Italian roots through both its namesake and old-world Italian wines similar to those found in Montalcino, Italy.

Pictured is my illustration of Stella Fino as she appeared in New York City in the 1920s. The proprietor's great grandmother, she arrived in the United States through Ellis Island in the early 1900s from Italy.

Perhaps my favorite commission piece thus far, I only last week saw the bottle for the first time. You can't tell in the photo, but all of the lettering and the image are raised. In addition, I also painted a 3' x 2' enormous painting of Stella to be framed and hung at the winery. Already reviewed by the San Francisco Chronicle, I think this amazing wine is on its way to greatness. I feel most honored to be a part of it all.

Indie Rock, the Electric Viola and Art Nouveau

My sister plays the electric viola. A member of multiple bands over the past decade, she has played in warehouses and for house-parties; for weddings and in street fairs. For the larger shows she asks me to do the poster art.

The life of an indie rocker violist dictates a measure of flexiblity when it comes to performance locales. Venues include concert halls and ballrooms, but also smoky pubs and basement parties.

Below is my favorite such story:



I had yet to visit the venue in which my sis's band was to play. Next door to the indie-rocker hipster glam bar, Tube, I figured it to be similar--expensive drinks, skinny jeans: the typical see-and-be-seen Portland crowd.

I should have been clued in by the name, Food Hole. It just sounds gross. And gross it was. I could wax at length about the lack of decor, windows (except for one that was boarded) and utter filth, however many a dive bar fit that description. Food Hole out did even the nastiest dive bar.

The single toilet was behind the stage. Not in a room, mind you, simply just behind the stage there was a toilet. And that was the bathroom. Absolutely disgusting. But highly memorable.



Tomorrow my sister leaves for SXSW in Austin, Texas in both her capacity as a musician and as a booker for the Wonder Ballroom here in Portland.

Pictured is my Art Nouveau style illustration of her wailing away on her viola. Designed to be used on business cards illustrated especially for her SXSW sojourn and screenprinted by Julie of Handmade Julz, she is now ready to assume full rock 'n roll status.

Art Nouveau, Relaxation and Pretty Pictures

Last night my dog got out. Neighbors across the street sought to corral her back into my house lest she run into the street. Run into the street she did whilst a large truck approached. The truck stopped just in time, but poor Belle was so scared she ran right into the parked truck. She's fine, but I'm shaken up.

My nerves still in an uproar, I sit at the computer, drinking tea trying to calm down a bit. When in these moods, I hearken back to a simpler time by going inside my paintings, seeking solace through Art Nouveau styled organic lines, matte colors, haute couture fashion and pretty faces.

Pictured is one such image. I find her countenance peaceful, her expression calming. She has a certain nobility about her, yet no pretension; her life maybe less complex, less trying than her modern day counterparts. I pretend myself there, and somehow I feel a bit more relaxed.

The Sunbathers

February in Portland means heat wave parties. Donning your bikini, flip-flops and sunglasses in the middle of winter is only an activity those absolutely starved for Vitamin D will do.

Last night I attended one such party. My wonderful friend Neal turned the heat up to 85 degrees, queued up various surf themed LPs, and mixed pina coladas. February in Portland was never so tropical.

Pictured are The Sunbathers. I proclaim to be an avid sun-worshipper and have spent many a hot summer's day cooking myself to a nice golden crisp. I drew this picture in honor of us leather-chesters. Seeking to capture that perfect sense of gluttonous behavior, note the slight snarl on their beautiful faces. Thus I present
Hedonism and Vanity: the sunbathers.

1960s Mod Fashion, London and Me

London is perhaps my favorite city in the world (thus far). My deep connection to 19th century literature, my love for Brit Pop and mod fashion as well as pub culture, rain and a bizarre fascination with the monarchy, all make London feel like home.

I always stay at the same hotel near Hyde Park. A bargain at £55.00, it includes a full English breakfast (stewed prunes and all), a very small television, views of bustling Bayswater, but no bathroom.

As London is one of the most expensive cities and the pound worth twice that of the dollar, I spend most of my days walking or in the depths of one of their many incredible, free museums. Again, London serves as the focal point for all that I find interesting, and the British Museum its centerpiece and crowning empirical acheivement. I've been to Troy in Turkey (now a parking lot with a phony Trojan horse), but saw Troy in the British Museum. I have traveled to Egypt but saw a mummy for the first tme in the confines of the British Museum. In addition, the Elgin Marbles, Rosetta Stone and much of the Roman Empire lie in wait at the British Museum.

Colonialism has made its mark in the museum world. At the end of the 19th century the study of archaeology began in earnest as various European empires scrambled for power, seeking to conquer and spread "civilization." Looting their conquests of national treasure (and thus depleting signs of native "civilization"), the British, Germans and Austrians among others filled their coffers nicely with what were essentially stolen goods. To visit Troy and see a parking lot or want to go to Tunisia and see Carthage only to find it exists wholly in Berlin is depressing, to say the least. Thus I lift my spirits and drag my thoughts away from quagmire colonialism has created by utterly enjoying myself with all London has to offer.

Pictured is my tribute to London: my illustration of a 1960s mod fashion plate, beautiful but a bit cold.

A Design Revolution

Last night I had the occasion to attend Design Sponge's Biz Lady Meeting. A workshop held by the wildy popular blog, Design Sponge, as local design success Amy Ruppel as well as a Portland independent woman business owner, a Mercy Corps representative and the founder of Design Sponge herself gave over precious marketing, business planning and PR advice.

As Portland is a hot-bed for indie designers from illustration to fashion to jewelry and everything in between, it was the largest event that the New York-based Design Sponge ever held. There's an design revolution a brewing here, I'm telling you.

For many of us artistic ladies, solitude is the norm. The opportunity to meet others in similar fields and discuss ourselves, our business, our concerns and our future is invaluable.

Thus, I dedicate this painting to Design Sponge. It is entitled Demeter, Goddess of Fertility.

Femme Fatale

One of my favorite movies of all time is His Girl Friday starring Rosalind Russell, in what is perhaps one of the greatest roles of all time, and the exceptionally charming Mr. Cary Grant.

Ms. Russell plays Hildy Johnson, a clever, sassy and beautiful reporter. Cary Grant is Walter Burns, her inescapably enchanting ex-husband. The premise of the movie concerns Hildy who will be happy to live a life where she will be treated like a real woman, not a newsman. Walter seeks to lure her back to the paper and the career-driven life they shared.

A sampling of the lightning-fast, searing dialogue:

Walter Burns: There's been a lamp burning in the window for ya, honey... here.
Hildy Johnson: Oh, I jumped out that window a long time ago.

Pictured is my tribute Hildy Johnson: professional, scorchingly intelligent, beautiful and, of course, well-dressed.

Calligraphy As Art: Hebrew, Font and The Invitation

The beauty of Hebrew calligraphy is its malleability. One can render letters to create a mood, atmosphere or theme.

Pictured is the cover of a wedding invitation. The graphic is the Hebrew names of the bride and groom interlaced with one another.

The design of a wedding invitation can be quite a process--possibly involving the bride, her mother, the groom, an aunt or sister or two, and, of course, a mother-in-law; quite a force to be reckoned with.

However, so many minds at work produces a work of art in which everyone has played a part. Feeling truly part of the festivities for this most important aspect, the wedding invitation, allows for the family to help the bride and groom begin their life anew.

But sometimes, I am given full artistic license (as in this case) and just go with a feeling I have about the couple; allowing my creativity to simply grow from there.

Beauty, Art and Therapy

My friend Dani is an art therapist. When looking at my work she always analyzes me, rather than my art. She pointedly asks, "What were you thinking when you drew this?" Or, "How does this image make you feel." I simply chuckle at her, smile and ignore telling her to stop shrinking my brain.

Her comment on this piece includes the psycho-babble that I love her for: "This is really a significant piece. I love the tension between the green and the diagonal red and wine colors. This piece must have come from deep in your subconscious..."

To be honest, I have no idea where my inspiration is derived from. Most of the time, I find a model--a photograph, magazine clipping or even a poem and start from there; my creativity a force unto itself.

The Black Heart Procession and Artistic License

This poster for The Black Heart Procession was illustrated on the floor of my mother-in-law's Berkeley house. Noting the bands rather dark leanings and thus using various funereal ephemera, I based the illustration on a 1920s burial announcement.

This was my first concert poster for a big-name band. Concert posters are perhaps my favorite illustration project as I usually have full artistic license. Artists themselves, band members tend to trust my vision of their music and allow for complete creative autonomy. Developing my own themes, fonts and color schemes provides the spark to develop a piece that is truly unique yet maintains the band's musical energy.

Sleeping by the Fishes

My father loves fish. One day, when I was little, he decided he wanted a fish pond. Telling my mother of his vision of a backyard oasis replete with two fish ponds brimming with enormous Japanese koi, she quickly dismissed this notion as a passing fancy; another one of his ridiculous, destructive decorating schemes.

He waited until she was at work, borrowed a jack hammer and went to town on our backyard. Twenty years later there are indeed two fish ponds in their backyard (I have long since moved) brimming with small to medium-sized koi, a fountain and two benches; his dream fully realized.

I painted "I Pesci" in honor of my father. A tribute to the fish for a man obsessed.

Hebrew Calligraphy, Watercolor and The Ketubah

The Ketubah pictured was commissioned by a bride and groom from Los Angeles. The wedding took place in June in Bel Air; just the picture of springtime. Creating a forest of flora and fauna, I sought to capture the beauty of blooming California flowers.

The Ketubah is a Jewish marriage contract dating back 2000 years. Although traditionally written in Aramaic, in Hebrew the word literally means "it is written."

The Ketubah is one of the first legal documents securing financial and legal rights to women.

The calligraphy is executed by my own hand. The font chosen is modern and informal. Hebrew calligraphy is done with the same calligraphy pen as one uses with English. As a left-hander, Hebrew calligraphy suits me well as it is from right to left. When executing English calligraphy, I must constantly take care not smear my work with the side of my hand. When writing Hebrew calligraphy I do not have this problem so my work is actually faster, more fluent.

The illustration, design, calligraphy and watercolor of a Ketubah is quite a large job. Poster size (16" x 20"), each inch is detailed, every centimeter given care. Meant to hang on the wall for life and be kept for generations to come, the Ketubah is a work of art meant to capture a specific time, place and the love of two very unique people.

The Feminine Mystique

My images are primarily based on haute couture fashion portraits from ages past. I would love to have beautiful women posing for me in high fashion, but this is just not the case. Thus I settle for the glamour shots of Edward Steichen and other 1920s and 1930s photographers from which to derive my inspiration.

I sit with a photograph I fancy for hours. Studying the curves of the body, the lines of the dress and the expression of the model ignite a creative spark within. I begin to draw. I may alter her nose, fill in her lips, add a dress bow, change her hairstyle in order give her a bit of a modern sensibility and make her my own. Then I paint. Using gouache, I first see the painting in my mind's eye. I must have a complete visualization before I can paint. I mix the colors using whatever subconscious force brought me there to begin with.

Painting quickly so the gouache dries evenly, the most time-consuming process is the thinking, the visualization. The actualization is rather hurried as I have learned over the years not to over think; to use that inner-drive that forces my creativity.

This painting was executed as part of a series of wine labels for Stella Fino Winery in Walla Walla, Washington.

Art Deco and The Rock Star

When I was seventeen my ten best friends and I (all of whom I am still in close contact with, strangely enough) saw Tori Amos on her Little Earthquakes tour. She was so beautiful. An ethereal red-headed song fairy with a punch not easily missed.

Fifteen years later, Tori is still touring. Now with four other personae to accompany her (I chose the blonde 1920s Art Deco jazz-singer beauty, "Santa" to portray in this concert poster), she has matured--no longer so tortured, no longer as angry.

When asked to execute the illustration for this concert poster at the fancy-pants Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall in Portland, Oregon, I put an enormous amount of pressure on the design of this poster: my expectations too high, my thoughts too grand. I wanted to recreate the excitement I felt as a seventeen year old girl, to encapsulate my adolescent tragic sense of self, yet make for an eye-catching poster.

I must say, I no longer listen to Tori, except for a few songs (Leather, Silent All These Years, Cornflake Girl) that take me back to another era entirely.

The fonts are hand-wrought and of my own design and the illustration based on Tori herself (but not as herself).