I’m fortunate enough to live near the water, something I take full advantage of during the hot summer months. There’s nothing quite as wonderfully serene as feeling the warm beach breeze tousling my hair as I sketch a pair of seagulls, block in the edges of a portrait, or paint the sea in strokes of acrylic. As merry as the holidays so often are, I find myself longing during winter for the pleasant summer heat that will beckon me back to the beach, away from fickle sleet and cracked ice that coats the roads. I often find the wind off the ocean to be all the inspiration I need on hot summer days, and as the seasons change my frolicking deer and whimsical snowmen give way to other motifs. I have noticed that my summer works project a sense of serenity, a sort of calm that my snowscapes seldom do. It should be no surprise that our artwork reflects how we feel; no matter how much I tweak a painting of an angel, she will always have wings of fire if I’m in a low mood. My paintings weep when I weep, they rejoice when I rejoice, it should be obvious to me but I find myself caught off guard each and every time they get away from me. Art is an extension of ourselves, and no matter how we try to control it it has a way of saying exactly what it means, revealing a great deal about ourselves in the process.