The desire to paint her stems from my need to understand what I feel. Not unlike the wonderful women I have known, her sense of being is disarming. There is intent and a certain stability, with the lightness of mist which vanishes in the sun. There is the balance of a drink well served, teasing your sensibilities. There is an audacity of a crass joke, muffled by a sincere whisper.
She designs as an expression, links dots to create patterns of solid colors and those which intermingle just enough to be together. You have to hear her speak, every syllable is pronounced with certainty. You have to witness her art, every stroke exists on its own.