.comment-link {margin-left:.6em;}
   Welcome to my blog! I'll be posting thoughts about art, photos, happenings, and other things that strike me--and hopefully my readers--as interesting. And please visit my website by clicking the link to the right--thanks!

   Also please check out my second blog, The Painting Archives to see older (pre-2004) paintings for sale.

Saturday, December 29, 2018
  our video story

As 2019 gets under way, a huge, exciting and long-term project is nearing completion. Cold Wax Medium: A Video Workshopmade in collaboration with my partner at Squeegee Press, Jerry McLaughlin, is in the last stages of editing and revision. Making this video has been our goal ever since our book Cold Wax Medium: Techniques, Concepts & Conversations (Squeegee Press, 2017) was published--it's another major stage in providing the comprehensive information that Jerry and I have been focused on since we began working together four years ago

In the big picture, we view the book, the video, and workshop attendance as unique and yet related opportunities. The book provides a wide base of information including topics we do not ourselves teach and is a hands-on studio reference many have found extremely valuable. In making the video, we acknowledge that artists are often visual learners, so techniques and other information are viewed as live action, as well as reinforced through on-screen text and is also ideal for people who cannot come to a workshop in person. At the same time, we know that neither book nor video can replicate the important interactions offered in a live workshop—so a combination of all three offers the most in-depth information. If this ideal situation is out of range, any of our resources alone will get you going with plenty of information.

on the set

Our professionally produced video was over a year in the making and is expected to be well over 5 hours in length. We're proud of its extensive content and quality--and for the latter are very grateful to our Bay Area, California production company, crushpix--with special thanks to its director, David Ronan. Our mission for the video has been to provide all the essential information conveyed in a five-day introductory workshop. We're aiming at a wide audience, including people eager to learn about cold wax for the first time, along with intermediate-stage artists who want a refresher, and experienced artists looking to expand their creative range.

Throughout the video we go into the "why" as well as the "how to" aspects of the process, because it's important for us to convey context and meaning as well as instructions for the techniques. We also want to present everything in a clear and concise manner. Like the book, the video can be viewed start to finish, but is most effectively used with a more holistic approach. Because most of the techniques can be used in any order, there is no one, linear way to view it. The video format allows viewers to skip around, watch sections multiple times, and gain personal understanding of how the various techniques may be put together.

Making the video has been an enormous amount of work--at times overwhelming. But in our years of working together, Jerry and I have built a relationship that is collaborative in all the best ways, and it's essential to accomplishing what we do. I love it that we work together without drama or ego demands--in spite of (or because of?) our very different personalities. After overhearing some of our online chat about the video, my husband said he appreciated that that we're able to operate with easy-going give and take and lots of good humor--but that we also freely disagree with no hard feelings. I'm so grateful to work with a person of Jerry's caliber--without his wide-ranging knowledge, intelligence, energy, focus, persistence, business skills, and friendship—none of this, neither the book nor the video (nor the tools, nor our ongoing plans) would be a reality. It’s been an amazing journey together so far, and things look bright for the future as well.

My own role in what we do goes back a number of years--seventeen to be precise, to the winter of 2001-2002, when I bought a small container of cold wax on impulse and started playing around with it. In those days of grindingly slow dial-up, I didn't use the computer much, and there was little information to be found anyway. I knew that the wax was a painting medium, but that was about it. I now know that artists had been using it for years primarily for its impasto effects--the body it adds to the paint--and to create a matte finish. Working on my own, though, my approach was original, without reference to what others had done. As the result of experimentation and trial and error--spurred on by satisfying results--the techniques I developed in those early years are the basic ones that are now so widespread in the cold wax community.

In working with cold wax, I learned its potential for layering, for the kinds of textures possible, and that solvents and scraping tools could selectively access the underlying layers. The color and textural effects that started to emerge in my work were very intriguing. At the time, my work was transitioning into abstraction from more realistic landscape painting, and cold wax opened up new ideas for this change. Instead of rendering organic textures, as I had been doing with straight oil paint, they now appeared as part of the process and had much more depth and authenticity.

My memories of developing these techniques is hazy. How did I decide to try using a windshield squeegee to move around the wax and paint mixture? When did I first start playing with my old printmaking brayers on the painting surface? I only know that my ideas built up slowly, and that for a while, I collected a lot of tools, texture making materials, and other objects to see what I could do with them. I remember that once I tried to make a large, spongy soft brayer out of a dowel and a piece of a styrofoam pool noodle (this was not a huge success). I also remember accidentally spilling solvent on a semi-dry surface and being excited at how this exposed underlying layers--and then learning, gradually, how to repeat this process in a deliberate and more controlled way. Over the next seven or eight years, these experiments and explorations continued. At some point, I started keeping a few notes, and from there Iwrote an article for Dorlands (the first brand of cold wax that I used) at their request. As other artists became curious about what I was doing, I launched two websites to share my information, and in 2009, I began teaching workshops about the basic approaches I had so far developed. There were not many of these at that point and I wondered how I would fill the time in my first 2-day class.

Over the next few years of teaching, I kept learning and developing new ideas. My students would often say that I should write a book about my techniques, but I had no real interest or spare time for that. Then Jerry came into the picture, a complete stranger who asked me to collaborate with him on a book. The story of the book is one we've told many times--how I resisted at first and how he won me over with his vision, his skills and insights and detailed plans. Together we learned about how to give and take, define and refine, and keep each other going when things got hard. We were also energized throughout the process by the intense, growing interest in the project from other artists ...a very large and supportive community for which we were--and still are--very grateful.

With the book in its second printing in 2017, we began to think and plan seriously for the video; once we began, it took over a year to outline and write the script (70,000 words), hire a production company, figure out the materials needed, what we needed for each demo or informational segment--and lots of other boring but important behind-the-scene details. We wanted to be totally prepared when the film crew arrived--but of course, it was all new to us, so some things had to be worked out on the spot. Filming took place over five very long days in May and August of 2018—the August session was added after our originally scheduled three days was not enough for all that we wanted to include.

our script

The night before we started filming I dreamed I had a major role in a play--it was opening night, but there had not been even one rehearsal. Added to that, it was some sort of period drama, and I could not find my costume, and I was very anxious. Then a voice from someone in the dream said "Just wear your own clothes." I woke up with my heart pounding, but those words were comforting. To me they meant "just be yourself" and allowed me to relax just a little about the whole issue of being on camera. Filming was nerve-wracking at first, but it became easier with practice. Watching the crew at work was intriguing, and the whole process gave me a new respect for actual actors. On the downside, the process could be surprisingly tedious. We really appreciated our crew's attention to detail and the need to get everything just right, but sometimes it was hard to be patient. We often needed to repeat actions to get the proper focus, do re-takes of the script, pause while lights were adjusted, and figure out the best setting or angle for a shot.

A tired toast after last day of filming

Once we finished with filming, the task of putting it all together was left to Crushpix along with our input and suggestions. We have been awed by David Ronan's ability to shape the many different segments into a cohesive whole, working in an intuitive, insightful, and innovative manner--especially considering that the material was completely unfamiliar to him going in. Our own work in the post-production stage has included going over footage, deciding how to format the bullet points and other on-screen information, providing still shots, and creating the two power points that are included. We've also watched everything in sequence more than once to make sure it all flows correctly and is clear and well-organized.

And so, it is nearly done. Our pre-sale period is underway; more information and sample footage can be found by clicking here. There are still a few days left to take advantage of our $100 off discount on pre-sales. We look forward to 2019 with gratitude for our many supporters--as always, we're humbled and amazed by the confidence and trust placed in us in regard to our work. A Happy New Year to all!
Monday, December 03, 2018
  my work now

After several weeks in Mexico last month (teaching in San Miguel de Allende) I've settled in for the winter in our New Mexico home with time and intention to do lots of painting. My memories of San Miguel are steeped in light, color, the textures of old doors and walls, cobblestone streets, and flowers everywhere. Jerry and I taught an advanced cold wax workshop there, and my husband Don joined me afterward for a short vacation.The city has a significant art community and we met some friendly and welcoming artists, two of whom took us out on fun day trips to the surrounding countryside. The whole visit was rich in experiences and visually exciting.

Now I'm overflowing with impressions not only from the time in Mexico but also from the the month of September which I spent in northern Spain. On the best painting days I feel loose and open, inviting whatever impulses come to the surface as I process these experiences. As usual, memory has a way of distilling the most significant impressions--yet even with memory's help, there is overload. 

Secluded #1, 14"x11" 

Fortunately I'm grounded by formal concerns--my focus on strong shapes and contrast and in some paintings, a renewed interest in color (after a long spell of using mainly a neutral palette). I'm playing with negative shapes, and defined vs. subtle, shifting edges. These explorations are not new--I've been pursuing them for about two years now--but I'm still learning, gaining more insight and fluency. I'm slowly finding new ways of approaching the panel that work, even as the outcome is unknown. 

Dwelling, 48"x36 ", oil/cold wax on panel
Compared to these aspects of form, the ideas behind my current work are harder to describe. But I don't mind that they are elusive--it's an interesting journey, processing the experiences of travel and searching out what has been meaningful to me, and how it connects to my overall ideas. This is an intuitive process; the results can surprise and intrigue me. 

For example, some images in my recent work have an architectural feeling, something that is completely new for me. Their shapes and compositions bring to mind the many houses in both Spain and Mexico with inner courtyards, worlds hidden behind gates and doors. Glimpses of windows and angles reminiscent of walls or corridors have appeared in the work. Since I've never abstracted from buildings before, I admit to some resistance at first. My painting has been about landscape and rugged, wild places for so long and I always describe it in that way. But what I've realized is that many of the old houses and other buildings in my travels evoke for me a sense of mystery that is not unlike certain rocky places I've been in nature. This feeling has something to do with enclosure and being surrounded by high walls--private places, childhood adventures in hidden forts. 

Other images in my work relate directly to the landscape and remind me of pathways, the Camino in Spain, and ancient sites. These images, like the architectural ones, feel like actual places to me but their spaces are ambiguous and dreamlike.

Where to Wander #1, 16"x16" oil/cold wax on panel

I often talk to my students about intentions for their work, and it may seem from these descriptions that my own are a bit murky. But intentions are based in simply knowing what moves you, what lies at your core, what you find visually exciting and emotionally compelling. 

For me that means painting about what I think of as my emotional home, or my soul-home--the core of me, the place where I am both most myself and most connected to others. When a painting is working for me, it's like I'm bringing some aspect of this place into being. Yet any one painting is only ever a fragment of the whole. My paintings often, to me, embody a feeling of longing, or of nostalgia for a place never fully experienced. 

I've written and talked about my intentions in various ways over time. Perhaps as we advance in our work, our intentions come into focus and can be thought of in simpler ways, while at the same time, they open up new ideas. For now this explanation of painting my soul-home seems as close to true as I can express, and gives me an expansive feeling of possibility. 

Sunday, November 04, 2018
  knowing/not knowing

Yesterday I posted this photo on Facebook with an invitation to guess where it was taken and of what. There were lots of replies--most people made guesses ranging from the ordinary to the exotic, while others said they simply appreciated what they saw and preferred not to know the answer. The range of responses was intriguing to me. I had posted the photo as a kind of fun "mystery" but reading these comments led me into deeper thought.

There's an interesting tension in looking at an abstract photo, at least one that is direct (unaltered digitally or in a darkroom). We know that it originates in a literal, real-world source. But it also invites us to loose that identifiable source, to let go of the need to label or figure out. It's an intriguing dichotomy of knowing/not knowing. 

In contrast, an abstract painting, drawing, or print is clearly an invented form. The ideas or impressions at its source are many-layered, nuanced, hard to identify. Whatever we see or don't see in the work as viewers, we do realize that the artist alone has brought the image into existence. The knowing/not knowing tension is different than with an abstract photo--even if the viewer "knows" that there is an elephant in the painting (something I was once told about one of my own) it is clearly an act of imagination to claim that.  

But I think there are also similarities, due to what abstraction is about, no matter the media. While considerations of color, value, texture, shape, and line are needed to make both good realist photos and paintings, abstraction asks for another step, a shift in perception. To lose concrete labels, to enter a world where we see and respond to other factors--to pure visual experience, to expression of emotion, to unusual interpretations even when the source can be identified. 

Just now when I looked at my sofa, I saw this instead of a piece of furniture. 

And yesterday, as I walked toward my dark blue car, spattered with road mud and salt, I saw an intricate pattern of texture reminiscent of a Japanese woodcut...the source of the photo at the top of this page.  
Wednesday, October 17, 2018
  memories: spain
Near Mount Teleno, Maragatería, Spain 

The night I came back from my month in Spain, deep in jet-lagged sleep, I had a vivid dream. It was a dream without action, plot, or characters, and only the vaguest suggestion of place. I did have the impression that I was looking out over a landscape that was mostly arid and flat, with some mountains in the distance. So it reminded me of where I had been staying in the Maragatería region of Spain, but everything was veiled in radiant light--bright and glowing faintly gold--and no features of the land were distinct. 

In the dream I was just being there, just looking and observing, surrounded by an atmosphere of air and light. I had a feeling of an ancient place, of simplicity, peace and spirituality. When I woke up, I knew that the dream was a gift from my subconscious--a beautiful distillation of my time in Spain. 

I loved that gift because re-entry into ordinary life after from a deeply experienced trip tends to be overwhelming, and when I woke up that first morning at home, I had something powerful to hold onto. It seemed to me I felt less confused than I often do in the first few days because of that. The conscious mind remembers so many events, locations, people, and visual impressions, as well as the accompanying feelings, thoughts, and ideas. That's a lot to bring home, in addition to dozens of photos, artwork, maybe a rock or two--so much to process, especially if it's left to the conscious mind. Memory(and if you're lucky, a dream) can do a better job of making sense of things. 

small works on paper done in Spain: graphite, earth pigments, gouache

As well, painting intuitively, without pushing particular ideas, allows you to access your personal feeling of the essence of a place. I value the small, intuitive works on paper that I did in Spain as fragments of experience I was able to capture. They remind me of the simple buildings of the stone village, of the rugged terrain, of colors and textures of the region. But I know that for more developed work, it will take longer for the process to unfold. Over time, some memories will stand out as more meaningful, more powerful in their combination of visual impressions and emotion, and become part of my visual language. It's also true that even a very important experience may come through only in small and subtle ways, in mere glimpses of the stronger truth held inside. 

The dream I had about Spain was very powerful, but also ineffable; it will take time to express anything of what it offered me. Memories are a bit more accessible in the meantime. The painting below, which I finished after I got home, seems in its minimalism to embody the feeling of simplicity and calm I associate with the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route, which is a constant presence in the region. I also sense the aridity of the environment and the simple geometry of many of the local buildings in this painting. 

Liminal, 48x36" oil/cold wax on panel

Soon I am off to my winter home in New Mexico, to be followed by a few weeks in San Miguel Allende for teaching. There will be new influences as a result--which is good, but I worry a little about losing the the connection in my heart and mind to this special place. Yet I can't believe that my time in Spain will not shape what lies ahead in my work. It was too powerful an experience not to do so. So we'll see what evolves...
Thursday, September 13, 2018
  thoughts from spain
Just over a week ago I was on a plane to Madrid. So much has happened since then it seems it was longer ago, but travel has a wonderful way of concentrating experiences and stretching the sense of time. I am sharing this trip with my dear friend Janice Mason Steeves, and after meeting up at the airport, we got our jet-lagged selves onto a train to León, a city not far from our ultimate destination, Castrillo de los Polvazares, in the northern part of the country. 

León was a perfect place to rest up and enjoy our introduction to the culture of the region, which for us involved a lot of great food and wine, wandering all over the historic part of the city, attempting small interactions in Spanish, visiting the Saturday market, and soaking up the beauty of the old buildings. As planned, we got our rental car on Saturday at noon, and made our way to Castrillo. 

market in León

Here at Flores del Camino, our home until the end of the month, we've set up our studios and are getting to know our gracious hosts, Bertrand and Basia. They established this retreat center to serve pilgrims walking the Camino several years ago, and manage the nearby village albuerge, or pilgrim accommodation, as well. Bertrand and Basia also make stained glass and hold retreats on subjects such as Sacred Geometry and Rose Windows. They are extremely knowledgeable about the area and generous in the sharing of their insights into its history and culture. Along with their two little boys, they have provided us a warm welcome, and have taken us on a few short trips into the countryside. 

The village itself is very beautiful, with stone buildings dating to the 16th century (the location goes back further, but the original town was destroyed in a flood.) Everything is built of similar iron-rich quartzite, creating a unity of color that glows in the sun, accented by weathered doors in shades of blue, green, and gray. 


The ancient pilgrimage route across northern Spain known as the Camino de Santiago runs nearby, and many people on its path take the side trip into Castrillo. A few mights ago we had dinner with three of them, from Québec, Paris, and Germany. They talked about why they chose to walk the 500-mile Camino and what they are learning along the way. Later we shared a ritual bonfire into which we dropped personal messages. 

What is clear in this place is the power  of the Camino, its long and sacred history, and the passion of those who walk it-- whether for specific religious or spiritual purposes or for their own inner desires. Many people seem to walk the Camino at a time of transition in their lives  and the long, rigorous journey often brings clarity and a sense of possibility for moving forward. 

In this amazing setting, we've been working for several days now. A few days ago Basia brought us some lovely red dirt she had collected nearby as well as a small amount of ground verdigris from corroded copper. She uses both in her own work, mixed with gum arabic as a binder.  Since then we have also collected and ground stone into pigment and filled  jars with the colorful soil of the area, and have found that clear gesso also works well to mix and spread these natural pigments. 

making natural pigment from stone

Here is one of my works on paper using natural pigments:

We are looking forward to the time ahead, to more adventures and lots more painting--and to the arrival of our students next Friday. 

Saturday, August 04, 2018
Longing, 42"x 42" oil/cold wax on panel

When I was looking for a title for the painting above what came to me seemed exactly right--Longing. I feel that there is a sense of longing that comes through in many of my paintings, and for some reason, this one seems to get at that feeling more than most. To me this longing is a strong yearning for something yet to be experienced. A sense of nostalgia for something that hasn't yet happened, if that makes any sense. It comes to me during both the painting process and in contemplating the finished work. On some level, I've been aware for years of this longing in relation to my work. With this painting, though, that feeling came into focus. I don't know why, but it touches my heart. 

The longing I'm talking about is hard to define. In terms of the painting itself, it's not for any preconceived result; inside, emotionally it's not for any particular person, time, or even place--though wild places do play a strong evocative role in my work. Instead I can only call it a spiritual longing. It seems inexpressible in words...painting on the other hand can be a perfect form of expression for what is ineffable. 

This sense of longing accompanies me in the studio, pulling me along toward an elusive perfection, a point that would hold the deepest possible soul connection. It keeps me coming back over and over to a painting-- adjusting the color, adding a line, shifting a shape. For me this isn't overworking. It's more like inching toward an ever shifting sense of completion that goes beyond the physical form of the work--looking for a path to a feeling of wholeness and connection that is tantalizingly close but always slightly out of reach. I'm happy when I find a meaningful stopping point in any one piece, but the bigger, more encompassing search continues.

As I write this post I worry about seeming grandiose or pretentious in trying to explain what is difficult to put into words. But this is not just about me--I'm also sure that this sense of longing is far from unique. In some form it's the engine that drives the work of every creative person. 
Friday, June 29, 2018
  clearing out

Among Stones, 16"x12" oil and cold wax on panel, 2018

Back in January I posted about the role of memory in my work, the intriguing way that certain visual memories, strengthened by full presence in the moment and shaded with emotion, become part of my creative source. 

I'm thinking about memory again as my husband and I tackle a massive clearing-out of the house we've occupied in Wisconsin for 40 years. It's time for this project for many reasons--among them discovering that we like the more minimal lifestyle that we have in New Mexico, where we now live for half the year. There, we have the only the clothes, tools, and household things that we actually need and use. Even my small New Mexico studio is a spare version of what I have in Wisconsin. We both notice a lighter feeling when we're living there in simpler surroundings. In contrast, our Wisconsin place has become heavy, weighed down by decades of accumulation.  

Overall this de-cluttering is a good thing, and I love the transformation of new space and organization in closets, drawers and rooms. Yet dealing with the stuff of our lives--old photos, papers, kids' books and art projects, things from my parents' home--has been more emotionally draining than I would have guessed. 

The process triggers many memories, of everyday moments and of bigger events--some mundane, some wonderful, some difficult and painful. And all of it, the good and the bad, jumbled together as bits and pieces surface from different eras--the stages of our kids' lives, family documents, numerous pets, friendships, travels, enthusiasms, health issues, jobs, times of financial stress, and our parents' illnesses and deaths. Even if I only glance at the stuff I'm going through, the act of moving from one memory to another makes me feel scattered and exhausted. It's also sad to realize that so much of life is forgotten over time, even though in many ways we are no longer the people we were, and it's necessary to move on. The remnants of so much of my past and my family's, the many old versions of who we were, are now on their way to the thrift store, the recycling center or the dumpster. I'm pleased to have new space and simplicity, but there is nothing easy about getting there.

On the other hand, in the de-cluttering process I've also gone through a lot of stuff from my art life--writings, files, sketchbooks--and there, rather than feeling scattered, I see how one thing has led to another in the growth of my work and career, and evidence of pleasure and pride in my painting from early days. With the exception of a few bad gallery situations and a fair number of rejection letters, the memories evoked by my art records are positive ones. 

I love that the artist part of me seems consistently "me" over time, throughout the various stages and changes in my work. In the big picture there is a sense of clarity and purpose, and of connections to past and present. An anchoring sense of self that has not shifted in the same way as other aspects of life have inevitably done. 

I've found plenty of detritus in the art stuff to toss out, of course--multiple copies of old show announcements, hundreds of old slides (remember slides?) and bad photos of my work, inventory sheets from defunct galleries and that file of rejections--but what I am keeping amounts to an interesting (at least to me) and forward moving story.

Thinking again about my post in January, it seems to me that my personal art history is another aspect of the creative source that is fueled by memory. There are threads in my work that go back decades--the influence of the landscape, the importance of  intuition, interest in rich and textural surfaces; these have been kept alive through both memory and continual practice. And even further back are memories of a childhood connection with nature that are at the very core --the "me"-ness-- of my work. 

I know that this feeling of continuity in my art life is not unique--perhaps everyone who has practiced art for years has their own version, each a fascinating story--a combination of memories and a consistent sense of self that feeds the work. 



     September 2005 /      October 2005 /      November 2005 /      December 2005 /      January 2006 /      February 2006 /      March 2006 /      April 2006 /      May 2006 /      June 2006 /      July 2006 /      August 2006 /      September 2006 /      October 2006 /      November 2006 /      December 2006 /      January 2007 /      February 2007 /      March 2007 /      April 2007 /      May 2007 /      June 2007 /      July 2007 /      August 2007 /      September 2007 /      October 2007 /      November 2007 /      December 2007 /      January 2008 /      February 2008 /      March 2008 /      April 2008 /      May 2008 /      June 2008 /      July 2008 /      August 2008 /      September 2008 /      October 2008 /      November 2008 /      December 2008 /      January 2009 /      February 2009 /      March 2009 /      April 2009 /      May 2009 /      June 2009 /      July 2009 /      August 2009 /      September 2009 /      October 2009 /      November 2009 /      December 2009 /      January 2010 /      February 2010 /      March 2010 /      April 2010 /      May 2010 /      June 2010 /      July 2010 /      August 2010 /      September 2010 /      October 2010 /      November 2010 /      December 2010 /      January 2011 /      February 2011 /      March 2011 /      April 2011 /      May 2011 /      June 2011 /      July 2011 /      August 2011 /      September 2011 /      October 2011 /      November 2011 /      December 2011 /      January 2012 /      February 2012 /      March 2012 /      April 2012 /      May 2012 /      June 2012 /      July 2012 /      August 2012 /      September 2012 /      October 2012 /      November 2012 /      December 2012 /      January 2013 /      February 2013 /      March 2013 /      April 2013 /      May 2013 /      June 2013 /      July 2013 /      August 2013 /      September 2013 /      October 2013 /      November 2013 /      December 2013 /      January 2014 /      February 2014 /      March 2014 /      April 2014 /      May 2014 /      June 2014 /      July 2014 /      August 2014 /      September 2014 /      October 2014 /      November 2014 /      December 2014 /      January 2015 /      February 2015 /      March 2015 /      April 2015 /      May 2015 /      June 2015 /      July 2015 /      August 2015 /      September 2015 /      October 2015 /      November 2015 /      December 2015 /      January 2016 /      February 2016 /      March 2016 /      April 2016 /      June 2016 /      July 2016 /      August 2016 /      September 2016 /      October 2016 /      November 2016 /      December 2016 /      January 2017 /      February 2017 /      March 2017 /      May 2017 /      June 2017 /      July 2017 /      August 2017 /      September 2017 /      October 2017 /      November 2017 /      December 2017 /      January 2018 /      March 2018 /      April 2018 /      May 2018 /      June 2018 /      August 2018 /      September 2018 /      October 2018 /      November 2018 /      December 2018 /

       Rebecca Crowell