Summer Daze

It may be these lazy, hazy, somewhat crazy days of summer, or the pain meds, as I recuperate from hip replacement surgery. Actually, I weaned myself off those nasty things ASAP but I am laying low and appreciating my backyard and the frenetic beauty of the hummingbirds, the cicadas and of course, our perennial echinacea plants.

Towards the Light

Towards the Light, 2018, Monotype on synthetic non-woven paper, 11.75”x11.75”

“Being an artist means forever healing your own wounds and at the same time endlessly exposing them.” –Annette Messager

July 27, was the day my beloved Mother passed, transitioned, died. All words that carry a different weight, but regardless mean the same thing.

We all have an expiration date. Mom knew hers was imminent. She had been battling renal cancer for about a year or so. Chronic back pain, for decades. She was ready. In fact, only a couple of weeks prior to, she was showing me where she kept certain papers and valuables she wanted me to be aware of, I asked if she was afraid. She was not. Ellen R. Hersh, was a straight shooter. I always knew how she felt about things. She had a strong moral compass and codes of ethics.

She was truly my North Star. Guiding me, a somewhat difficult, rebellious teen and young adult, pointing me Toward the Light.

When she passed, I recited Kaddish, the Jewish prayer for the dead for a full year. Finding comfort and solace in the ancient tradition, I also turned to the studio, where like the French artist Annette Messager says above, ““Being an artist means forever healing your own wounds and at the same time endlessly exposing them.” 

Released (# 1-4)

Released

Released #3

Released #2

Released #4

“Two things can happen to a person who lives on an island, either the shore confines them or the infinite horizon releases them.”–painted on the wall at Waialua Bakery, Haleiwa, HI.

Released, rejuvenated, and refreshed, thanks to a recent trip back to visit my beloved North Shore of Oahu. The quote above graces the walls of a favorite bakery and affirms what my heart has always known. I feel the release of the infinite horizon when on the sand or from a lanai above. The swirls and layered puffs of clouds weigh on the distant horizon continue to captivate my imagination and offer a sense of awe and innate peacefulness.

Each piece was created with watercolor pencils and crayons. Released #4 on the far right has collage as well. Oversized postcards at 8”x10”, they offer a message of endless possibilities when we follow our hearts and find our own piece of paradise.

Floats

Floats, 2024, Watercolor pencil on board, 8”x10”.

Traveling brings me home. Following what was quite a dark and challenging winter, thoughts of returning to Hawai’i felt like a calling and a dream I dared to hold onto.

And then, here I was. Basking in moments of grace and gratitude. Cloud gazing, beach combing, floating in green clear waters with color fish and honu (Hawaiian sea turtles.)

Staring out to sea, cloud gazing beach combing, appreciating the small ponds with tiny fish and delicae lilies where I was staying and the lovely Japanese glass fishing floats from a friend.

Moments of grace. Simple pleasures. Floating. Being.

Welcome to What’s in My Drawers

Here’s where drawings, prints, and other works on paper are tucked away in my studio flat file drawers are brought to light. It’s a place to share treasures and the story or snippet behind the work of art.

All of the art from What's In My Drawers  can also be found on our Collect page for $500. or less. Free shipping within US.

(leaving the) Nest #4

(leaving the) Nest #4, 2015, Charcoal, acrylic, spray paint on paper, 22”x30”. $500.

“One minute, they won’t get out of your bed, the next, they’re not calling you back.”–Bobby Cannavale

Roots and wings. Feathering the nest. All metaphors for home and family. The first an aspiration for parenting which serves as a gentle reminder. The very same toddlers we couldn’t get out of our beds are now young adults who may need gentle promptings to call or visit. An inevitable evolving of growth and change and one that can tug at our heart strings none the less. The second came to mind when I recently had the opportunity to put my finger in a small hummingbird nest that a friend had found. So soft and downy, a lovely home for Hummingbird babies long gone.

I created this drawing several years ago from shadows cast from a welded nest sculpture I created at a weeklong Marshall Bridge workshop with Stan Smokler. The rusted steel foraged, twisted, and heated to form a nest atop a pillar of found railings long ago abandoned.

Entangled ethereal shadows that convey the beautiful and impermanence of our lives.