11/10/2025
…on when the echo of an empty nest begins to sing… with bird calls
Can you believe it’s been 2 years since I closed my studio space? At the time, I knew I needed to focus on wrapping my my 35-year “career” as a full time parent. Addie was going to be graduating high school and heading off to college and for the first time since I graduated college, the runway would be clear for me to take off, as well. In any direction I chose. As I began to back down my design career, I had many question that decision as they said it was my “calling”. Yes — it had been successful. That career was a lifeline at times - it kept me fed - physically, emotionally and creatively - connecting me to people and places that still fill me up spiritually. But — I wasn’t sure it was ever a “calling” as in my purpose in life. It’s what I did, not who I was.
Motherhood was a calling, for me, and in successfully doing my job on a daily basis for 35 years, I was now out of a job. But that’s right… and just like I could pick out my child’s voice calling out for me in a room full of other children, I knew that my ear had simply been trained to the sound of their voice. In this, I knew that what others said was my calling was simply a result of my being trained to answer when they called. In the quiet of my house with the silence of my phone, I began to listen. What I heard were the birds that my ears and eyes and the camera that was an almost constant companion always seemed to notice. I have photographed them for many years. I have felt guided by them in times of sorrow and joy. I have documented them in my journals as moments of clarity and brilliance. And so it made complete sense to follow through on an internal nudge to paint a hummingbird from a photo shared with me by a friend.
While I have spent my life in creative pursuits, I have only been oil painting for about a year and a half. I sought out local teachers to learn from, travelled to Scotland to combine a bucket-list visit with painting lessons and devoured online sources to develop my skills — but when I decided to “paint the blur” of the wings in this one photo I was given, it suddenly felt as if my brush was remembering rather than learning. In the peace and quiet of my own back yard I heard the vibration of the wings of the tiniest birds as they darted all around me and they echoed the beat of my own expansive heart.
So, now I’m sharing this endeavor with you. I have been painting and painting and painting a variety of subjects and I will begin posting those photos, too. Some have been for my own enjoyment, many have been given as gifts — but because I want to continue doing this, I will be offering many pieces for sale, either directly or through my booth at the Romwebber Marketplace. If you see any you would like or if the ones listed as NFS inspire you, just message me to discuss a purchase or commission.
This first piece that I am sharing, entitled Magnanimous I, is the beginning of a series that highlights the radiance of these tiny, delightful when they are at rest - heads tilted, as if listening for their own calling. Set in the deep, dappled leaves of the magnolia tree that sits right outside my studio, the series serves as a reminder that in the ongoing chaos of life, we all need a moment to perch and ponder.
In a full circle moment, Addie recently texted me following a college career-direction class, excited about discussing a concept presented by author Elizabeth Gilbert about “hummingbird people”. Characterized as those who move from interest to interest, creating a rich and varied life and who bring fresh perspective to different fields by cross-pollinating ideas. Presented with a world of possibility, she had felt pressured to choose a path or a major, like we all do. In that moment, she felt validated in her outlook on life and her choice to embrace the freedom of choice, knowing she, like me, and a hummingbird, even mid-flight, can always make a new choice.
Magnanimous I
Oil on boxed canvas
20 x 20, NFS
