About Me

My photo
This is my blog AND my website now. Click on the " my paintings" tab to view my paintings. Scroll down to read my blog.

Friday, January 27, 2006

This is a picture I just took of my friend and her new little baby. I think this is what motherhood looks like in heaven. It reminds me of when my babies were tiny little angels too.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006


Today I am featuring my favorite painting called "Angel". It was recently bought by some snobishly rich couple (making it my first non-commisioned sell), and then returned (for a full resentfull refund). It is now back on the market for $250 (I raised the price due to the heartache it caused me... and because it looks good in my bedroom). It is 24"X36".

Sunday, January 15, 2006

A poem about Rocket

He is a dinosaur.
He's fierce; he's naked; he's almost four.
He has sharp teeth, mangled hair, and a mighty roar.
He is a T-Rex dinosaur.

He is a fire man.
He's struggling to put out fires and save a life if he can.
He's the bravest one in the minivan.
He is a courageous fire man.

He is a fairy.
With his magic wand, he'll turn you into a donkey that's hairy.
He's unafraid to wear his sister's tutu, cause he's not ordinary.
He is a princess fairy.

He is an alligator.
All gators are great, but this one is even greater.
He's scaly; he's viscous; he's the supreme imitator.
He is a scary alligator.

He is a diver.
From the couch he jumps to save his sister and revive her.
He's a hero; he bumps his head, but he's a survivor.
He is a daring diver.

He is a boy.
He'll hug, he'll wrestle, he'll kiss, he'll annoy.
Everything is done with bounds of joy.
He is a tired boy.

Saturday, January 14, 2006

A Poem About Roxanne

Her head is the size of a cantelope but shaped like a pear
Atop her head rests a nest of slippery metallic hair
It is usually a mess, but she doesn't seem to cair

The best way to describe her eyes is "pure"
No wrinkles, crusties, or redness for sure
This is probably her most tempting lure

Spider leg lashes flicker when she winks
An auqua watercolored puddle disappears when she blinks
But nothing is sweeter than her birdy beek lips of pink

Occasionally out of her lips comes the sound of a guitar out of tune
But usually she just whispers like a butterfly coming from its cacoon
Light reflects off her wet puckers like the sun reflects off the moon

She knows she is beautiful but never strikes a pose
Cause she is protective of her beauty and it shows
I pray her luster wont become dull as she grows