I describe myself as a stone carver who also paints.

My work in stone began with a chance introduction to a member of the Northwest Stone Sculptors Association in 1998, who invited me to a three-day, hand tools only, retreat on Whidbey Island. Borrowed hammer and chisel in hand, I selected a 50# block of Indiana Limestone and began to carve some trim and textures into my smooth cube – I wasn’t going to start with anything too challenging.

On the third day, completely frustrated, I began knocking off corners and gouging out pieces of stone that “didn’t belong.”  And discovered a stumpy-legged, somewhat rotund wooly mammoth inside the stone.

I’ve since graduated to power tools, diamond burrs and more exotic stones, but the “discovery” is there with every stone I work.  Sometimes I live with a rock for months before I get a clue as to what might be inside and dare to begin to carve.  The joy of carving is allowing the stone to reveal itself, to free the figure within.

For all its satisfaction, stone carving is noisy, dusty, and solitary work.  So I began painting for the company of other artists. After a move to Texas I joined a group of women who met weekly with an instructor.  I had dabbled in watercolor, but these gals were serious about oil painting, so . . .

My only formal training was in architectural drawing, which gave me a solid foundation in perspective, but translating that rigid process into artistic representation is an on-going trial and error journey.  Sculpture will always be my first love and, I think, has influenced the way I render the three dimensional sense of my  painted subjects.

So I carve a little, and paint a little, and still attend workshops for the camaraderie as much as the education, and thus the journey continues.