Available Work
THE SPEED OF NOTICING · 2026
Paintings from a season of slowing down, looking closer, and keeping what might otherwise pass us by.
The Barn
Watercolor and ink on paper · 2026
22 × 30 in.
$350 · artwork sold unframed
The Old Barn, with its somewhat ominous presence, has no doubt seen some things.
As we emerge from the cottage, it is one of the first things we see and has become a landmark to our adventures. The bamboo blows every which way, and the ivy continues to become one with the old structure.
So many times I’ve stood and stared at this barn, wondering what it was used for first and how many stories it might have to share.
Just below where the bamboo cascades to the ground, I once watched a mother deer with her two newly born fawns as they took their first wobbly steps. More recently, I’ve watched hundreds of swifts gather there, the bamboo becoming a roosting place and safe haven.
It is old and overgrown and a little mysterious.
And it is so very special to us.
Blenko
Watercolor and ink on paper · 2026
22 × 30 in.
$350 · artwork sold unframed
This piece is for my mother-in-law, and for my children.
On our walks to “little school”, B and I collect leaves, flowers, and whatever else catches our attention. We talk about anything and everything and nothing, hand in hand, only breaking apart to pick up a new discovery. Just as Davis and I did before her.
The Blenko vase was a gift from my mother-in-law. Blenko holds a special place here in West Virginia, and having this one come from her means more to me than I can quite put into words.
Grateful.
Christen’s Flowers
Watercolor and ink on paper · 2026
22 × 30 in.
$350 · artwork sold unframed
SOLD · PRIVATE COLLECTION
These flowers were grown and arranged by my friend Christen, who came into my life during a season when I learned what it feels like to be quietly supported by another mom.
Our sons became friends through preschool, and later played t-ball together during a particularly difficult time for our family. Daniel had lost his father and was away with his family, and I was doing my best to keep things moving at home.
Christen seemed to intuitively know when I needed an extra set of hands. She would play with Bertie Lane so I could tend to Davis, watch him play ball, or step away to talk with Daniel. She and her husband were simply there—hugging, listening, smiling, helping with Bertie.
I’m not sure they know how much that kindness meant to our family.
So when Christen shared these flowers she had grown with me this summer, I knew I wanted to paint them.
This one is about the flowers, certainly. But it is also about friendship, caretaking, and the people who quietly show up when you need them.
Misha’s Flowers
Watercolor and ink on paper · 2026
22 × 30 in.
$350 · artwork sold unframed
SOLD · PRIVATE COLLECTION
This arrangement was created by my friend Misha for the very first Blooms & Brushstrokes workshop.
Before anyone arrived, she had filled the studio with flowers from the farm and made this incredible arrangement for us to paint. Misha is a florist and an artist, and watching her put flowers together is its own kind of magic. She sees shape, color, movement, and allows for the little unexpected moments that make an arrangement feel alive.
That first workshop meant a lot to me. I was stepping into something new—teaching people to slow down, notice what was in front of them, and trust what happened when they put brush to paper.
And there at the front of the room was this.
Something Misha had made with her hands, waiting for all of us to interpret it with ours.
I knew I wanted to paint it again afterward—not as the arrangement we were all studying that day, but as the way I remembered it.
Honor’s Garden
Watercolor and ink on paper · 2026
22 × 30 in.
$350 · artwork sold unframed
Something is very special about our neighbor Mrs. Honor’s front yard. Her garden has become a favorite stop on our adventures about town. As we wander by, we always slow down to see what has popped up.
Mrs. Honor is often outside tending to what feels like a little pollinator haven, and she always greets us with a smile. D & B look forward to seeing her, and so do I. They stop to smell the flowers, look for butterflies and bees, and see what has changed since our last visit.
I watch them light up a little more each time we wander over. And in my parenting heart, I’m so grateful for the kind of neighbors who make children feel noticed and welcomed in the world around them.
This painting came from one of those ordinary stops—the flowers, the butterfly, the garden spilling toward the road.
Mrs. Honor tending her garden, and in her own way, watching out for our little butterflies too.
Blessings
Watercolor and ink on paper · 2026
22 × 30 in.
$350 · artwork sold unframed
This painting began with another painting.
Earlier this year, my watercolor and ink piece Golden Hour and Purple Thistles was included in the Art in Bloom showcase at Skull City Studio, hosted in partnership with Windward Blooms. Each participating artist was paired with a florist, gardener, or botanical enthusiast who created an arrangement in response to their work.
My painting was paired with master gardener Carrie Blessing.
Carrie took the colors, movement, and feeling of my painting and translated them into flowers. Seeing something I had made interpreted through another person’s hands was incredibly special—the painting had inspired an arrangement, and then that arrangement began inspiring me right back.
Golden Hour and Purple Thistles has since found a home, but I kept thinking about Carrie’s flowers.
So I painted them.
Blessings is my response to her response—a painting born from a painting, transformed into flowers, and returned to paper again.
Poolside
Watercolor and ink on paper · 2026
22 × 30 in.
$350 · artwork sold unframed
This season has been one of hardship met by the unexpected kindness of friends—and the little moments of relief they bring.
This painting is in honor of afternoons spent swimming with the kiddos at a friend’s beautiful little safe haven this past summer. For a few hours, I could sit beside the pool, take a breath, listen to the birds, and watch my son practice the swimming skills he had worked so hard to learn.
There was something about those afternoons—the flowers around us, the water, the kids swimming, and a friend giving us a place to simply be—that felt like exactly what I needed.
Poolside is about that kind of pause. A small pocket of summer when, for a moment, everything felt a little lighter.
Little Offering
Watercolor and ink on paper · 2026
22 × 30 in.
$350 · artwork sold unframed
SOLD · PRIVATE COLLECTION
This little offering came from my childhood home in Mississippi.
My parents still live there, and every time we visit, their two acres become a treasure trove for the kids and me. We wander around rediscovering the flowers, trees, insects, and little corners of the property that helped form so much of my own appreciation for nature.
On this visit, my dad picked these flowers with the kiddos. We brought them inside, tucked them into a tumbler, and they stayed there beautifully throughout our visit.
I can't rightly put into words what these moments mean to me.
There is something about watching my children hold my dad's hand just as I once did. Hearing the familiar way his voice softens when he tells them something about wildlife or a plant he's noticed. Knowing my momma is somewhere nearby, laughing and smiling in that way only she can.
For a little while, the place that helped teach me how to notice the natural world gets to do the same for them.
And I get to stand there and watch it happen.
Down River
Watercolor and ink on paper · 2026
22 × 30 in.
$350 · artwork sold unframed
SOLD · PRIVATE COLLECTION
We sat looking out at the Potomac, talking about the journey that had brought us here. When my eyes met Daniel’s, we were both teary.
There was so much inside those tears—relief, exhaustion, excitement, fear, love—but no regret. None.
We had said goodbye to the Sierras, to friends and family, and to a life we had known for years to begin again in West Virginia. What waited for us here was green, the river, family, and friends who became the village we had always dreamed of.
Down River is for that enormous, life-changing decision—and the moment we sat still long enough to realize we had made it home.
Tiger Lilies
Watercolor and ink on paper · 2026
22 × 30 in.
$350 · artwork sold unframed
We saunter around town these days. We don’t go anywhere fast, and I do not complain. This is the speed of noticing—of soaking in the moment, aware of each leaf and every new seasonal bloom.
It’s an awareness I think I’ve been searching for my entire life. It just took becoming a mother, and entering the world of a tiny human, to quiet the endless checklist of to-dos and future needs long enough to notice: the tiger lilies are back.
After we moved into the cottage, Davis and I began this beautiful sauntering about town. We still make our way down the same neighborhood path, stopping to see these impossibly tall orange lilies when they return.
Something to behold, I thought. Something to paint.
And so I did.
A Threshold
Watercolor and ink on paper · 2026
22 × 30 in.
$350 · artwork sold unframed
A change of season. A threshold.
This painting was actually the one that began this whole wave of noticing—and painting.
The vase was a gift from Saint Gwendolyn, my sister-in-law, and a treasured vessel it is. The flowers are lovingly referred to as “Naked Ladies” around here. They arrive near the end of summer, which means something very particular to my other sister-in-law, a teacher. She loves to hate them. Their arrival means summer vacation is almost over and another school year is just around the corner.
They’re only here for a moment.
And then one day, Bertie handed me a freshly picked bundle.
Their soft pink and purple petals reminded me of her—delicate, but formidable. Growing and seemingly changing by the second. Getting bigger far too quickly.
But for now, I get to cherish this stage.
These flowers. This beautiful gift. Her tiny hand placing them in mine.
Another fleeting thing I am so thankful I thought to preserve.
What We Keep
Watercolor, ink, and collage on paper · 2026
22 × 30 in.
$500 · artwork sold unframed
An ending? Perhaps. But this collection is about just that—the door remaining open.
The thought for this final piece flashed into my mind in the middle of another night missing Daniel while he worked away, as I snuggled my darlings into their peaceful sleeps. I could suddenly see exactly what it should be.
It sounds a bit unhinged typing it out, but perhaps pushing myself to complete an entire collection while beginning to teach, and doing much of it while solo parenting more than ever, has all been a little unhinged.
Which brings me to this one.
This piece is made from the paintings I tried things out on and scratched. The discarded ones. The ones I didn't pause for. The ones that felt too chaotic or not quite right for what I wanted to say—but still held power and energy and beauty.
So I tucked the kiddos in and quietly made my way into the kitchen, a.k.a. the studio.
I grabbed the scissors and, with a precision I feel was on par with that of a surgeon, began cutting tiny vessels from those old paintings.
And I kept cutting.
The stubby ones. The tall ones. The biggins. The littlins.
They all belong.
I arranged them one by one, then lovingly—and painstakingly—drew their flowers, leaves, and wandering vines and glued each little vessel into place.
And there they were.
Nothing discarded after all.
Maybe that's why I love this one so much. Every little vessel carries something that came before it. A mark, a color, an experiment, a painting I thought hadn't worked. Something I was willing to let go of became part of something I couldn't have imagined without it.
What We Keep.
The end, perhaps.
But maybe also the beginning of something else.
Stop and look a little closer.