A studio in Indiana, a garden in Provence.

I paint the things I love to look at — and the things I want to keep looking at long after the morning light has moved on.

For more than thirty years I have circled the same small subjects: tulips on the windowsill, a glass bottle on the kitchen counter, the wrought iron of an old garden gate, lavender drying upside-down in a mason jar. They are not, strictly speaking, important things. But they are the things that quietly furnish a life, and I think they earn the time it takes to see them properly.

My work is representational and unhurried. I paint in oil, acrylic, watercolor, and pastel — whichever medium the subject seems to want. Watercolor for the days when something needs to stay light; oil when there is shadow to chase down. I work mostly from life, sometimes from a photograph of a garden I once walked through and have not quite finished thinking about.

A few of my paintings travel from cottages in the South of France or the Mediterranean; most travel only from my windowsill to my easel. I am as interested in the way afternoon light falls across an iron table as I am in the architecture of an old Provençal door.

If one of my paintings ends up in your kitchen or on a quiet wall in your bedroom, I hope it gives you the same small pause that the subject gave me — the feeling that something ordinary is, on closer inspection, not ordinary at all.