The Desert Prepared Me...

Before the long conversations, the hospital rooms, the memories, the goodbyes.

There was stone.

A spontaneous trip to Red Rock Canyon with a new friend. Two days of climbing beneath vast desert skies. Hours spent moving slowly upward through exposure, focus, trust, and wonder.

Looking back, I realize the gift wasn't simply the climbing. It was the way those days gathered something inside me - strength, presence, perspective. The quiet focus. The way the world narrows to a handhold, a foothold, a breath - and somehow becomes infinitely larger at the same time.

I didn't know then how much I would draw upon that steadiness in the weeks ahead. My fingers smoothed by stone, my soul stretched by sky, I returned home to a month immersed in the beautiful complexity of family visits in Nebraska and Texas; tender conversations, difficult goodbyes, and the profound privilege of showing up for those I love.

The desert gave me something before I knew I needed it; a reminder that strength and softness can occupy the same heart. Sometimes the gifts arrive before we understand their purpose.

Laura has a beautiful eye for putting together a show that feels soulful, curious, refined, and alive. Assemblage became a rich conversation between materials, stories, textures, and perspectives - and it was a joy to participate alongside such a strong gathering of women artists here in Montana.

The hat was custom made for my Aunt Nora during her years in Texas. The first time I tried it on - decades ago now - she smiled and said it was meant for me someday.

Occasionally an artwork refuses to let you leave without it. Such was the case with this beautiful porcelain bird lamp by Kelly Stevenson.

Touched By Travelers

The obligatory Bison Bench photo before our quick trip to Seattle to celebrate our dear friend Heidi’s stage acting debut. I still smile knowing this o’l buffalo continues greeting weary travelers arriving home to Montana. I love the shiny places in his patina, worn smooth by the touch of countless passing hands.

There are so many stories tucked inside this sculpture - from carving the original in black walnut to the long journey into bronze. Watching travelers unconsciously wear parts of the patina smooth through touch reminds me how artworks continue evolving long after they leave the studio. Perhaps I should host small studio storytelling evenings to share some of the hidden journeys…

Fire Horse

There are moments when something opens… and there is no going back to the way it was before.

On stage…

Vú Ja Dè was one of those nights - an evening of artists gathering without script, creating in real time, held only by presence and trust.

“Paint and tears flowing - my edges felt edgeless - my heart soft, expansive and powerful.”

From my journal…

Painting while sharing energy, love, loss, presence…it felt like riding a Fire Horse bareback.
Gentleness. Power.

Moments barely hanging on - knowing I could be thrown, and also feeling the horse and I in flight.

I had to trust memory carried through lifetimes of making while immersed in the energy of the audience - the energy of my dear friends on stage and my own emotions.

Prayer and play.

I wasn’t just painting a horse - I was cracking something open in myself. The veil was thin. I became devotion.

Now I am back in the quiet of the studio. Back in the stable. Muscles still trembling from the ride.

The painting is here with me and I am listening for what it wants now.

Vú Ja Dè was a threshold night. An activation. A transformation. Holding intense presence. Feeling everything. No sense of time

Flow - and flowing.

Offering and receiving. Emergence and impermance revealed.

For those who feel curious to witness the evening as it unfolded, the livestream is still available here → Vú Ja Dè event photos courtesy of Yarrow Kranner

Unseen Currents...

I have been immersed.

There has been so much life between the last entry and now.
Mountains and ice climbed. Unknowns beckoned and stepped into. Soft fur and new life curled into the rhythm of home.

And beneath it all -
the unseen currents that shape us from within.
Frequencies felt in my bones.
Heart opening. Dreams deepening.

The studio has begun to beckon with new songs,
some of which feel familiar, yet older than this life.

For now, they’ve been held quietly. Tucked into handwritten pages.
Listening in the dark. Dancing in the light.

I can feel something stirring.
Strong. Tender.

I’ll share more… as it begins to unfold.

Glaciated Mt Baker

We arrived at base camp in the mist. That night a full moon eclipse was felt though unseen in the blanketed sky. The world felt hushed, holy and alive.

Before dawn we geared up, roped in, and began the slow, steady climb. Crevasses opened around us - luminous layers of blue and white, breathtakingly deep. Steam rose from the crater’s edge; the living pulse of the mountain.

We stood on the summit - small and smiling. Endless peaks stretched across a sea of clouds, beckoning with quiet invitation.

Memories carved in ice and light.
Our friendship woven stronger in the sacred rhythm of challenge and grace.

View more images on a short 20 second reel here

Saying Yes to Mt. Baker

While at Sculpture in the Park, a dear girlfriend asked if I’d join her for an expedition on Mt. Baker. I said yes.

Livingston Peak with Tala

Decades ago, I’d followed a boyfriend in a whiteout up Mt. Rainier, blissfully unaware of what glaciated mountains really meant. Mt. Baker, as it turns out, has less elevation than Crazy Peak (which Raymond and I had just summited before the show) - but it starts 5,000 feet lower.

The guiding company recommended six months of training.
I had three weeks.

So, I traded studio time for trail time - stuffing a pack with 30 pounds and hiking daily with Tala up our mountain and summiting three local peaks (with a lighter pack) to prepare.

Summers are short in the Rockies, and guiltlessly “training” was the perfect excuse to be outside. I swaped bronze dust for wild air and deadlines for ridgelines. Saying yes can lead to the most extraordinary adventures.

Bringing Jake to Life 🔥

Jake receiving his patina - the final breath of fire before bronze becomes forever. Grateful for the gifted hands of artist Joe Wayne, whose eye for color and touch with flame bring warmth and soul to metal.

Grounded in Stone and Sky

After the whirlwind of Sculpture in the Park, the feel of granite beneath my hands and sun on my face grounds me.

There’s something about trading the hum of crowds for the steady pulse of stone. My friend and I climbed high into the quiet, our laughter echoing across the canyon walls.

Up there, surrounded by silence and sky, I could feel my creative rhythm returning; each breath a reminder that inspiration doesn’t only come from doing, but from being.

With paws on rock and heart wide open, this too is part of my art; grounding, breathing, becoming.

The Joy of Connection

One of my favorite things about attending shows is witnessing the reactions and connections people have with my work.

Raymond and I always invite visitors to touch and hold the sculptures. You can easily see how much they want to. There’s something special about that moment of contact - when bronze, story, and spirit meet in a pair of small hands or a curious heart.

Sculpture in the Park

There’s a special energy in the air each year at Sculpture in the Park; artists, collectors, friends, and families gathered in celebration of creativity and connection.

One of my favorite parts is simply being there - surrounded by bronze, laughter, and stories - reconnecting with familiar faces and meeting new kindred spirits.

Grateful for the opportunity to share my work and heart under the big Colorado sky.

Cold Mountain Medicine

I slip into cold mountain lakes with intention and ritual. A breathless moment when water meets skin and heart meets spirit. Humbled. Stregthened. Connected

Each plunge feels like prayer, a return to presence - to trust, surrender, and belong within something vast, wild and kind.

I feel similar during moments of creation - enticed to the edge between resistance and release, when the mind lets go and Spirit moves through my hands.

Whether in water or in art, the invitation is the same:
to breathe, to soften, to listen - to let the mystery shape me.

Whisper of Porcelain, Echo of Bronze

Meet the newest incarnation of Munch - a long ago sold-out bronze reborn in porcelain, thanks to a collaboration with my dear friend and master ceramist mold maker Jeremy Hatch. He created a plaster replica, which I brought to my studio before it had fully dried.

Moist-yet-firm, the cool, aromatic earthen form spent several days in my loving hands as I joyfully chiseled new details into every curve and crevice of this beloved sculpture.

Now, Munch has been remastered - not as a replica but as a new expression. Still nestled in quiet repose, still wrapped in the soft curl of leaves and fur - luminous, elegant and timeless.
👉 You can watch a short video of me carving the porcelain here

Crazy Peak Magic

Raymond and I ventured deep into the Crazy Mountains - a range that never fails to live up to its name. A bold sun hung in a blue sky when we left my truck at the trailhead. Forty minutes later we were in a rather epic hail and rainstorm. We hiked a blown-out trail layered in nearly four inches of hail. The storm was wild, humbling, and beautiful in its ferocity.

By dawn, the world had quieted. We woke to a sunrise so tender it felt like grace itself; light spilling gold over the still lake beside our tent.

Crazy Peak’s ridge was raw and steep, nearly every step a dance between grit and awe. As we climbed, I thought of the young Chief Plenty Coups, who at just eleven years old spent several days and nights alone on that rocky summit during his vision quest. His courage and communion with Spirit are still felt in the stones.

We carried that reverence with us - hearts full, humbled by the mountain’s power and the stories it holds.

The mountain remembers every prayer whispered to its stones.

Opening Night: Zen Rabbits

A handful of my Zen Rabbits hopped into the world for this show. Quiet companions born from charcoal, breath, and the stillness between thoughts. Each one carries a whisper of calm, a moment of pause in a complex world. I drew them during mornings wrapped in silence, when my mind softened and the hand simply followed my heart. Seeing them on the wall - simple, tender, unguarded - felt like watching peace take shape.

The Art of Feeling Alive

Trusting me to be her guide, my dear friend Brianne flew in for a mountain adventure. Did you know that one of the many jobs that put me through college was serving as the first female wilderness ranger in Montana’s Taylor-Hilgard Wilderness?

I’ve often felt less lonely alone in the wilderness than in moments surrounded by people in a city.

And oh, did the mountains deliver! Wildflowers in riotous bloom, star-splashed nights, cold plunges in alpine lakes, and view after painterly view.

We laughed (a lot), breathed deep the thin wild air, and soaked up the kind of magic only the high country can offer - where friendship, wonder, and a hearty dose of glee meet off the beaten path.

"Freedom Found"

Carved from a split tree, this reliquary holds the story of rising.

A horse mid-leap. Wild and unbridled the horse bears scars of turquoise tears and triumph.
She leaps toward a window of stars; a portal carved into time.

The red feathered ribbon swirls like breath and blood - like the prayers we whisper
when we’re ready to return to ourselves.

This piece is for the moment the soul remembers:
you are not broken.
You are breaking free.

From Rodeo Roads to Rock Walls

Tala joined Raymond and I for a camping and climbing trip to Wyoming in the Wrangler - our jaunty little pickup camper. Once a gritty rolling rodeo locker room for Raymond, it’s since retired into a sweet, clean, cozy home-on-wheels - full of character, stories, and the scent of freedom.

The Things That Hold On

I’ve claimed old “Cliff things” over the years and woven them into my studio and life - at first as a way to move through grief, and always as a way to honor his presence.

Cliff had so many tire chains draped from the stout branches of the trees around his cabin, it was as if the forest itself wore his handiwork. I’ve since used those chains to adorn not only my studio, but also his cabin (now a vacation rental) and his old sawmill which is slowly being transformed into an office and workshop for Raymond.

The curvy tractor wrenches are a collection of my own. Gathered slowly over time, but with new devotion during the quiet solitude of Covid.

Crystals and rust. Stones and glass. Spirit and steel.

But the most precious tradition of all - is the springtime hanging plant.

Every spring, Cliff used to bring a plant to brighten the front of my studio; one of his many quiet way of showing up, of tending. He’d hook it onto the frilly, wrought iron hanger outside my door, like clockwork.

The first spring after he passed, my mother-in-law arrived with a plant in hand and a card that simply said the plant was from Cliff.

I cried. Hard.

That spring, I gently hung the old timber sling hook (one Cliff once used) onto the frilly one. Then I hung the “Cliff plant” from it.

Some gestures are more than tradition.
They’re echoes of love…

Love Under the Big Sky 🤍

June gifted us this tender moment at a wedding Raymond officiated beneath Montana’s wide-open heavens. He’s married more than a dozen couples now, each ceremony laced with laughter, love, and more than a touch of wild grace.

Once upon a rodeo, a bull was named “Reverend Ray Ray” after him. So fitting for a man who’s spent a lifetime standing between danger and devotion, courage and tenderness.

I love how life loops its stories - how the same heart that once stepped into the dust and dirt of a rodeo arena to protect bull riders now blesses unions beneath that same big sky… and how lucky I am that he shares such a big piece of that heart with me. 🤍