06/06/2026
Today I ponder the very first painting I did with my mentor, Charles Becker.
It was painted during a workshop at the Mendocino Art Center in June of 2014. At the time, I was still deep in the raw grief of losing my precious son. Life was shattered, and I had no idea where the path ahead would lead or if I could go on .
On the back of the canvas is a small sketch Charles made while talking about composition in still life. I can still hear his voice discussing the arrangement of objects and questioning the reflected light on my apple.
Such a simple moment.
Yet looking at it now, twelve years later, I realize it marked the beginning of an extraordinary journey.
What started as a small painting of fruit became twelve years of learning to truly see—to observe light, value, color, edges, and the quiet stories objects can tell. It became twelve years of growth, challenge, friendship, mentorship, and healing.
Now Charles is gone, and I find myself grieving once again. Holding this painting, I am reminded not only of where I began as a still life artist, but of how far the journey has carried me.
As I prepare new work for my Chisholm Trail series, I carry his lessons with me every day.
One phrase continues to echo louder than ever:
“You must have patience at every step of the process.”
Today I am filled with gratitude. For the art. For the healing. For the journey that began in a small classroom overlooking the Pacific. And for a mentor who opened a door that changed the course of my life.
Sometimes a painting is more than a painting.
Sometimes it becomes a marker of where healing began, where purpose was rediscovered, and where an unexpected journey first took root.
