The Palette's Dream

Dear Friends,

This is the first of my seasonal newsletters: Paint, Depression, Tulips! And summer. Thank you for supporting me early in my career.

Last January, I met a guy with a green beanie. He claimed he could see the future through the Holy Spirit. After two hours of waiting, he announced that he saw me unpacking all kinds of stuff from a suitcase and setting up in an office. Weird. I nodded politely, unsure if he meant an office or a studio.

Six months later, I rolled my pink suitcase into Sol LeWitt’s four bedroom office and studio. Inside, I carried molding pasta, watercolor ground, and Lapis Lazuli I had wrestled in from Zecchi Colori Belle Arti.

For a month, I lived in Spoleto, Italy, in Sol LeWitt’s original studio and a loft where three colored cubes floated over my bed and Morandi etchings watched me wake. I learned to paint without a crisis. No Thesis panic. No Pit Crit dread.

My work changed there. With no guilt, I abandoned figuration and began a new abstract series called The Palette’s Dream. I made a funky watercolor palette from ceramics and invited people to paint during open studios. It was my baby attempt at sculpture and I really wanted people to try watercolor.

On August 8, while eating Strangozzi al Tartufo alone at a restaurant called Barcaccia, the universe sent me an invitation to join a group show. I scanned the list: Agnes Martin, Sam Gilliam … and then me. My head spun. I staggered to ICOLA, a tiny bar with records and a live DJ, where a free glass of white wine magically cured my anxious head but not my jittery hands.

I left Spoleto with thirty-eight mosquito bites, a pink suitcase heavier with paintings, and a secret promise to the mountain that I would return.

⛰️

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