I grew up on a sheep farm in North-Central Minnesota,
left rural life for ten years and returned fifteen years
ago when my suburban boyfriend (now husband)
proposed and then shocked me by wanting to live in
the middle of nowhere Minnesota, yet in the center
of everything I truly need.
|At age ten, this was my first lamb, Pepsi.|
Will never forget those crunchy Spring mornings
when I would run down to the barn hoping to
find more newborn lambs.
I teach art to brilliant middle and high schoolers in a
small school, about 50 students per grade level. I am
a mom to two creative young girls, and that suburban
boy has transformed into quite a renaissance man. I
make art in the back of my classroom, in our century-
old farmhouse kitchen, outside in the summer, and
sometimes in the winter, when suffering from light
deprivation, I drag my work into the woods, suspend it
from trees and document how the elements deteriorate
it, as I slowly come back to life.
Having once belonged to an artists' cooperative in
Chelsea, Manhattan and flying to New York a couple
times a year, I had my ear on the pulse of the art world.
It was a great experience, but when I stepped away
from that artist cooperative six years ago, I began to
more clearly hear my own pulse and voice. Perhaps it
comes with age no matter where you are, but truly
listening to my own pulse means that I am no longer
drowning it out with the static of constantly seeking
far-away muses. I know what I am missing, and it
can wait so that I don’t have to miss out on nearby
subtleties--the everyday, heart-twinging beauty that
quietly begs to be heard.
To contact, call 218 371-5457 or email@example.com