Interior Spaces

My best memories are inextricably linked to houses and interior spaces. I guess that makes me an “indoor kid.”

My great aunt’s large open attic room had a bed in every corner under sloping ceilings —each one with a pair of handmade Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls. We could reach the attic by going up a narrow staircase set in the middle of the large house made of field stones. And through the small dormer windows we could see the rolling Missouri hills dotted with horses and cattle.

The small living room where I spent hours practicing piano was in the house my parents built, set back on a busy street in Dallas. There was a field across the street and on cold fall Saturday mornings I could hear whistles blowing and parents cheering for their kids playing soccer.

There was a forgotten farmhouse in the middle of Austin’s Clarksville neighborhood. The wide central hall, screen door and porch swing harkened back to an era long past while the college students who rented it looked to the future.

When I think of family, first and last moments with the people I have loved the deepest, I remember the sounds inside a house. The way voices were muffled by curtains and furniture or the way they echoed over hard floors. The tv hummed with old familiar shows in the background while we talked over each other and laughed our way through old stories we’d told over and over again.

Whenever I paint or make collages, I’m drawn to the image of a home. And with each piece, I’m striving to capture the essence of particular houses and the sweetness of the people who filled its rooms.

My studio walls are covered with paintings and collages I’ve made and a dollhouse I’ve decorated. I’m always happy to have visitors and hope they enjoy a glimpse of the memories that are important to me.

Guests are always welcome.