Iceland was so inspirational: the changing terraine, whimsical light and sense of antiquity. 

I photographed my husband as he walked away ... the sky opened up after the sudden rainfall.

 

 

 

 This piece is a combination of my original photography and sculture using a multilayered technique.

 "Lost and Found"

This piece is titled, "Lost and Found". With this found box, I added my sculpted pieces, photos, and other found objects. It is the story of three generations of women: my grandmother, mother, and myself. I treasure this one.

 

 

                                                            "The Star Gazer"

Since I was a little girl, Grand Central Staition was my wonderland.  It grew to be etched forever with happy hellos and sometimes tragic good-byes.  I photographed a man gazing above in what seemed to be his own world of the stars. This painting was my venture into monochromatics and it remains one of my favorites. 

                                                     

                                

                        

Too Many Good-byes

Farewell

This is an oil painting I did of my Mom saying goodbye to her dog, Casey. I titled it, “Farewell” because it was the last goodbye. She bent down to kiss his old dog face and told him a secret. I noticed how white Mom's hair had become and her once beautiful hands bore the price of sun and hard work. I painted her sadness and my own. The bright Florida colors under the harsh sun seemed to mock the grey we felt inside...

Back then, she was still living at her house in North Palm Beach and would insist on driving me to the train station. Even though she said train whistles made her 'sad”, she always waited there until my train was just a speck in the distance. Then eight years ago, she was faced with the difficult transition to “assisted living”. (This is a woman who once was the Director of Public Health Nurses and continued to work well into her 80's.)

When she could no longer drive, she sat downstairs with me to await the taxi. Last year, Mom no longer went downstairs, but I looked up to see her waving from her terrace. 

Then, this June, I looked up and her terrace was empty. 

So was my heart... 

Vintage 47

This is the story of a young woman who loved to dance with abandonment. In spite of a knee injury, she never lost the joy of moving to beautiful music. She kept a journal and within it contained her dreams, forgotten loves and some tears. As many , many years passed, the world only saw her aging face and growing lack of grace. She joined the society of forgotten souls. The invisable women of “a certain age”. But within, always within, still lived this passionate spirit.

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The Process

Within an antique film viewer, I layered several transparencies. Included are my xrays, an old poem, and photographs of my original sculptures. Unplugged, one sees merely a worn wooden box from which some weeds are growing. When lit, the dancing figures ignite.

Sins of the Father

 I needed to create this mixed media piece after watching the heart wrenching documentary,

"Deliver Us From Evil".   It follows the destructive path of Father Oliver O'Grady as he

continuously molested children while many of his clerical superiors did nothing to stop him. The
most chilling part for me was when this priest spoke detachedly about his crimes without
any sign of remorse nor recognition of the lives he destroyed. Which was worse : the obvious

sickness of Mr. O'Grady or the deliberate cover-up by the Catholic Church ?

The above work was a very emotional one and became more abstract as I progressed. Materials used:  found objects, recycled tea bags, tissues, acrylics, ink, pencil, photos and typeface. There are pictures of the victims embedded/ buried under the decay. Here and there are glimpses of white for the loss of innocence battling with slashes of red for the violence.   Some words are emerging to break the long reigning silence. You may find a Christ-like image deeply hidden in the chaos.

Or, then again, you may not...

Soul Cages

 Back in 1995, I visited the Cork City Gaol in Ireland.  The ghosts of long gone political prisoners still lingered amid the scribblings on the walls. I captured the words of one haunting poem with my camera.  Years later, I found a place for it...
(Materials: tea bags, photography, acrylic paint, and paper)

Bloody Sunday 1972

    This work is a memorial to those massacred in Londonderry, Northern Ireland. I remember finding photos of all the victims, (most no more than 17 yrs. old).  I tried to focus on each face; carefully arranging the lines and shadows that somehow would combine to represent a unique individual.   Each  life cut short by politics;  by religious ideology;  by misplaced imperialism, etc.  I thought of my son at 17 yrs. old and thought what a bloody waste...

 Materials: tea bags, charcoal, ink, acrylics and type face.