I might as well just come out and say it—I just signed a lease for my dream office space! I now have a public studio in the Arts District at Liberty Station, a location I hand-wrote in my “goals” journal five years ago.

For tens of thousands of years, women have gathered in circles, working together on shared crafts—needlework, bread making, floral arranging, weaving, and more. In earlier times, many of these crafts were tied directly to survival: clothing for winter, food for the table. Yet beyond necessity, the act of creating and communing was always present. Today, most of our survival needs are met through industry, and our daily efforts often fall under the umbrella of capitalism—make money, spend money.

Art can come alone. Individual artworks appear because the spark struck and their creation became inevitable. Yet sometimes entire groups of artworks, visually intertwined, are born together. I thought I would share with you my process for the latter—how and why I create a collection of artworks and what that looks like inside my mind and studio.

The day before my family and I left for an 11-day road trip across six states, I (in my sound mind) decided to commit to a 30-day painting challenge called 30 Days of Presence. In this practice I hoped to gain mindfulness through repetition, but I also knew that committing to “work” before “vacation” was an interesting choice, to say the least.

On the road, or in any form of travel, it can be challenging to use that time as a way to express yourself. Often when we get away, we also want to get away from us—not be seen, to disappear into the new land we are entering, as if this whole “me” could just blend into the city, sea, or mountain range we’ve found ourselves in.

"Can we ever truly put a price on art? A recent dream made me reflect on the value of creation—both from nature and human hands. Explore the meaning of art, ownership, and the delicate balance between giving and receiving in this thought-provoking piece."

Every artist will tell you—some paintings take longer than others. And honestly, no painting ever feels fully finished. A still, two-dimensional image is always evolving, shifting with time through its journey—whether that’s in the hands of collectors, the artist’s history, or even unexpected additions (looking at you, two-year-olds with crayons).

Some paintings, however, take longer not just in their journey, but in their creation. And this one? It took two years.

The garden in late/winter early spring requires you to look closely. Unlike the bold colors that will come later, this moment is about small changes—green shoots breaking through the soil, the first leaves unfurling, and the light stretching a bit longer in the evenings. It’s a time of noticing the little details before they turn into something grand.

As a little one, you could always find me looking under a shrub for fairies, wrapping seaweed around my ankles to look like a beached mermaid, or telepathically speaking to the crows. Somewhere between twelve and twenty, that veil to my dreamworld went opaque, and magic was lost to me.

My DNA may not be of this land, but my heart is. San Diego is my home, and the shorelines of Mission Bay and Pacific Beach are ingrained in my soul. I will always make art of San Diego because I will always be San Diegan. This city is special, and my art is a reflection of that admiration, a tribute to childhood memories of growing up in America’s Finest City.

I have been writing and sketching all summer. Usually at dawn, but somethings the words find me at other hours. I thought, perhaps I could share the occasional poem, here, with you. This one is a personal favorite, about the end of summer, fittingly. Happy September!

There’s something magical about the way certain objects can transport us back in time—whether it’s the softness of a well-loved quilt or the smooth edges of a shell worn down by the ocean. My latest collection,

Quilted Treasures, is a love letter to these everyday charms, blending the warmth of home with the serenity of the sea.

I am from San Diego, and these are three of my favorite beach spots...

Before I get too deep into telling you which places I love and why, know that pretty much ANY beach in San Diego is a good one, a GREAT one! San Diego truly is America’s Finest City. The following spots are not necessarily the most picturesque or critically acclaimed, but they are beaches I find myself going to repeatedly as they speak to my soul.

Welcome to the inaugural edition of our weekly blog dedicated to the art of plein air painting around the beautiful city of San Diego! Each week, I will be exploring a new part of our vibrant city, capturing its unique charm and beauty on canvas. I'll also be sharing my experiences with you, along with tips and insights into the wonderful world of plein air painting.

In our busy modern lives, finding a bit of nature might seem challenging for most. Even if we have access to vast spaces, we can often forget to enjoy them! For us city dwellers, even small green spaces can spark creativity and provide a refreshing break from the urban hustle. Whether it’s a nearby park, a community garden, or a green rooftop, these pockets of nature offer more than just a pretty view—they can inspire new ideas and enhance our well-being.

I'm so thrilled to share something very close to my heart with you all. As an artist, I've always believed in the power of blending the surreal with the tangible, and my latest art collection is a true manifestation of this vision. Imagine stepping into a dream, where the natural world intertwines with the whimsical and the fantastical—a place where your imagination can roam free. This is the essence of my newest MULTI series, "Dreamworld”.

The thing with artists is, we are always toying around with new ideas in our minds. Sometimes they come in the middle of the night, or while picking up the kids from school, or ingesting someone else’s art in an entirely different medium! Regardless of the time and place, the ideas never stop, at least not for very long, because often these ideas are a slow burn. A spark that whispers for years, growing with you.

Thinking about taking or hosting an online art class? Here are some key insights I've gathered from teaching and participating in online courses over the past few years…