I love this time of year in Reno. The light sneaks under eaves, making exquisite still lifes out of everyday clutter. It rakes across leafless cottonwoods, casting into stark relief their furrowed bark and stout trunks. If you’re out early enough, the light will shimmer as it passes through frosty rabbitbrush and cheat grass. The hawks, grateful for the return of the morning sun, will bask in the warm light, showing off their fluffy, buff breasts and sleek, banded tails. All feel justified in lingering in the light, as it is brief this time of year.

On Monday of this week, I celebrated my first harvest of flowers from my home pigment garden. I cut moonshine yarrow, purple pincushion (Scabiosa), coreopsis (Tickseed, two varieties), and buckwheat flowers. Lots of yellows and a little purple, as that’s what’s abundant in my early summer garden.

It surprised me how difficult it was to cut the flowers. I felt like I was stealing nectar I had promised to the pollinators and cutting foliage I had pledged to the beneficial insects. A few of the larger bees buzzed my ears as I cut, a gesture I took as a warning: we’ll share, but don’t get too greedy.

Reflections on some mid-winter explorations of color in my own backyard.

Soon I’ll have a new hand-stitched postcard for you, but first I thought I’d share a bit about my process. I’ve talked through this with collectors in person, but I’ve never documented it. Here’s a first stab at that…

I spent much of October looking for studio space and stitching vintage postcards. Here I reflect on both activities and connect them to themes that run through my series Why Was the Sky Blue?.

Welcome to my new website! Please have a look around.