I grew up under the spell of vibrant and whimsical beauty. Born on the other side of the river, I suppose I am not a "real" Vermonter having arrived in this enchanted land as a five-month-old interloper with no claim of lineage.
My home for 23 years was a boarding school for young men on the cusp of civility. As a female child I was exempt from all related matters. My memory casts me back to forests of trousered legs and penny loafers, down empty stairwells, under bleachers, through softwood groves skirting the campus, and into the magic of woodlands and my gypsy soul.
I have lived and attended schools out of state and continents away, but have always returned to these gentle hills. I have settled in an 18th century dwelling that rests on perfectly placed stones stable enough to welcome the roots of an ash tree I have grown with over the last 20 years.
I consider myself to be a feral artist as a matter of survival, and express myself through visions, melody, dance, poetry, fiction, and all manner of storytelling with or without others, seen or unseen. If nothing more, I have made peace with longing to touch the kaleidoscopic mystery where art and nature are inseparable.