I love these two people. Even though I’ve known them my whole life, and have loved them forever, I can say for a fact that the sweetest they’ve ever been was when they came to Houston time and again to care for me when I was going through chemo and assorted surgeries for breast cancer. Dad shopped for groceries and they both cooked all of my favorite foods — anything and everything to bring me comfort when I was at my most desperate and vulnerable. 

The traits I’ve seen and appreciated the most from both of them is their gift of hospitality and acts of service. They really work well together as a team when they have a common goal of serving others — I’ve been on the receiving end too many times to count. Reese and I are grateful for their example. 

Thanks, Mom & Dad. 

This is 18″ x 24″, oil on linen.

On my website, in the about the artist section, I have this written artist statement —

Art is beauty in ordinary moments.

Subject matter for my paintings is propelled by my personal belief that common moments are beautiful and worth capturing in a two-dimensional format. There is a realistic quality to my work, but it is more about a moment, rather than focusing on details. Because my eyesight is bad, my work is slightly out of focus. Even so, the general impression is one of tranquility. I call my style “fuzzy realism”.

I love painting figurative work and portraits and prefer working in oils on linen.

It is always a privilege to be commissioned to paint a portrait of a loved one. Capturing delight, beauty, and emotion in an everyday moment is at the core of what I work to portray as a visual artist. 

For my most recent commission, we scheduled a photo shoot so there would be something fresh and current to use for reference photos. It was my first time to visit at length with the mother and I sort of fell in love with her. Which in a way helps, because of out of the dozens of wonderful reference photos from the photo session, four poses stood out above the rest, all of which resonated with beauty and charm. To select the pose to use for this painting, I cut out two 18″ x 24″ canvas sized pieces of cardboard, and sketched the four poses in thinned oil paint on the front and back of the cardboard. After studying each pose carefully, and weighing the pros and cons of each, I selected my favorite pose. 

Often, what looks good in a photograph doesn’t translate well on a canvas. Many times in the past, I have sketched (in thinned oil paint) on the canvas and wiped off repeatedly until one sketch prevails. Sometimes the sketches don’t completely wipe off, and then I end up starting a painting with a muddied canvas. By sketching on cardboard first this time, I was able to avoid the muddied canvas phase of the process and select the pose that stood out above the others — the pose that represented the sweetness of this mother and daughter relationship — and the pose that looked the best in an 18″ x 24″ format. This was that pose. 

A Mother and Daughter Portrait, oil on linen, 18″ x 24″

For this painting, I changed the color of the mother’s top from black to a red violet. Also toned down the distracting, busy background so that the viewer could focus on the subjects rather that darting all over the canvas to look at wrought iron fences and barren winter shrubs.

Edit: This is what the daughter in the portrait, Dovie, posted about the painting and her mother. 

This is a portrait of legacy that feels apt during Women’s History Month. Sarah Hazel recently captured this beautiful moment between me and my mom as my gift for her upcoming 80th birthday. I can’t stop looking at it.

A few months ago, I was asked to write about two people I respect or admire most. I wrote about my mother and my grandmother.

My mom – Helen Marie Vaughan Keprta – worked for the same company for 30 years, and would tell you today that her very best friends in life were made at work. She was trusted immensely by everyone from the receptionist to the CEO, often referred to as “Dr. Keprta” (as both a psychologist and as an quasi-MD who typically gave the real docs a run for their money when it came to diagnosing her colleagues’ ailments). My mom worked her whole life to give me every opportunity at a fulfilled, happy life. She made many sacrifices, only some of which I’m aware. She taught me my work ethic and the value of a hug. And, she learned a lot of what she taught me from my grandmother.

My grandmother was a strong woman in the prime of her life in the 1930s when she divorced her first husband (for reasons) in an era when that was not the done thing. After that, she made her own way by starting a boarding house business, where she met her future love, my grandfather. She taught her children to be independent, how to stand up for yourself when nobody else is standing up for you and how to love others well.

I am eternally grateful to them. I am humbly conscious that I stand on tall shoulders as I reach every new milestone or achievement in life, personally or professionally. And in this moment, I’m mindful that every life I touch through my own life and work is a product of their legacy as well, at least to some degree.

The Amazing Reese and I drove six hours from our home in Houston to Monroe, LA to attend the opening reception of Masur Museum of Art‘s 60th Juried Competition Exhibition a couple of days ago. 

Arriving at the Masur Museum of Art for the opening reception (!!!)

The juror for the exhibition was Jovanna Venegas, assistant curator at San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. She was well spoken and gracious, and took time out of her busy evening to chat about my work and visit with my sweet parents. 

Juror remarks by Jovanna Venegas to a well attended reception

My parents really enjoyed chatting with Jovanna.

One way that I can grow as an artist is to get better about talking about my work. The viewing public is naturally curious and want to know the inspiration behind the painting(s), and maybe it’s all right to say that I don’t even know why some images appeal to me more than others, and why I paint them. (?) Is it appropriate to say that maybe some of what I select to paint is based on intuition? Suffice it to say that talking about myself/my art is a work in progress.

Visiting with a new fan of my work

When talking with Jovanna, I wish that instead of me fumbling around for things to say, that I had thought to ask her what resonated with Three Girls that she selected this piece for this show. 

Maybe I could have said that I love painting all kinds of people in all walks of life (?)

THE #1 reason we drove 6 hours to attend the reception was to meet Jovanna Venegas of the San Francisco MoMA, meet the curator of collections of the Masur Museum, Stefan Nodarse, with the added bonus of meeting various board members of the Masur. It was totally worth it.

oil on linen, 16″ x 20″

Oh, the joy of eating ice cream — does life get any sweeter than this? This is one of those paintings that has been on the back burner for a while, that I wanted to finish before starting my next commission, kind of like making sure that my fingers, heart, and spirit are nimble enough to start the next thing. It is 16″ x 20″, oil on linen. 

In other news, yesterday was the opening of Masur Museum’s 60th Annual Juried Competition exhibit in Monroe, Louisiana where one of my pieces, Three Girls will be on display until May 6th. Of the 1300 submissions for the competition, Three Girls was one of 72 works selected for the show. It was juried by Jovanna Venegas, assistant curator for the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. (!) The opening reception is on March 9th from 5:30-7:30pm. The Amazing Reese and I will be there for the opening reception and welcome anyone to join us if you happen to live anywhere near Monroe, Louisiana. (I’m so delighted that my precious parents are going to drive over from Jackson, Mississippi to attend the opening!)

Three Girls, oil on linen, 24″ x 36″

Every now and then, a friend will post a photo on social media that I’m sure will make for an interesting painting. This was one of those photos. My friend Lorna with Atlas Adventure Trips took the pre-pandemic reference photo several years ago while on a trip in Purmamarca, Argentina. She graciously let me use her image for this painting. 

The monochromatic colors in Lorna’s original photo intrigued me. The dirt and rocks in the mountains surrounding the town (according to Google images) are these same colors. It’s almost as if the old man is made of the same clay and rocks, which of course reminds me of the latter part of Genesis 3:19….for dust you are and to dust will you return, which, incidentally, is why I don’t dust — it might be someone I know. 😉

The painting is 16″ x 20″ oil on canvas. 

The Neighbor

As I’ve been cleaning house and going through old files and documents, emails and photos,  I rediscovered this photo taken at a friend’s wedding over 10 years ago, which had been saved to use for a painting some day. Our friends have three kids now and a middle schooler to boot, so it’s safe to say that this painting has been sitting on the back burner for a while. Honestly, this would never have come to fruition had I not been going through dusty old files and throwing things away left and right. 

It’s 14″ x 18″, oil on linen.

It is with great pleasure and delight that I officially repeat what my oncologist said at my appointment earlier this week. Without going into the nitty gritty, after initial pleasantries, she said, “It’s been five years and your cancer hasn’t returned. You’re cured.” I was like, “What?” (Did I hear her right?) She then explained that with my type of cancer, HER2 positive, if it hasn’t returned within the first five years, that there’s a 99.9% chance that it will never come back. She then pointed out that it has been five years (as if I didn’t remember – ha!), and that for all intents and purposes, even though they can never say 100%, she repeated that 99.9% is pretty good odds, and therefore, “You’re cured!” 

Amen! Halleluiah!

As the oncologist was leaving the exam room, I shouted, “I’m alive!”, to which she quickly replied as she turned around at the doorway, with a smile on her face, “and thriving!” Then she came back into the room, gave me a big hug, and said, “You’re a different person than you were five years ago. I’ve seen you grow a lot. I’m really proud of you. Congratulations.” 

Me: 🙂

(Shout out to my therapist for helping me learn how to deal with the trauma associated with a breast cancer diagnosis.)

After my appointment, I told everyone at the grocery store — “I’m cured!” All week long, coming and going, out and about, I tell people, “I’m cured! I’m cured!” There are smiles, congratulations, and high fives galore — all over the city. 

It has been a long five years, full of hardship and pain. Just this week, saying “I’m cured” out loud, everywhere, all the time, even at home to the dog, (“I’m cured, Daisy!”) is further helping to change my psyche back from a place of uncertainty, to one of peace. Words are so powerful!

As we enter this season of Thanksgiving and holiday (and my 59th birthday) celebrations, may I be so bold as to ask y’all to offer a prayer of thanksgiving on my behalf, as I celebrate being cured and “recalled to life”. 

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Sailing in Terherne, oil on linen, 24″ x 36″

The Amazing Reese and I had an adventure last summer — to the Netherlands and France! (It was our first time in Europe.) We were completely charmed by the old world, welcomed with open arms by everyone, and found friends on every corner. We toured museums and churches, ate like locals, and walked everywhere. At the tail end of our trip, we stayed a few nights at our friend’s sister’s home in the Friesland province of the Netherlands, which is where this painting gets its inspiration. It’s a wonderful place and I’m ever so grateful that we got to go there. 

This painting was a bit of a struggle to complete — it was very complicated to do. The light is somehow subdued and brilliant at the same time that far north, and, well, different from what I’m used to painting here in Texas. It was on and off my easel for months as I tried this and that to get it just right. It’s always a good day when the people for whom the place is significant actually like the painting, and I’m happy to report that that is the case here. 

The phrase “never give up” always reminds me of the movie Galaxy Quest. The title character in the film, who is a parody (homage?) of Captain Kirk in Star Trek and played with great enthusiasm by Tim Allen, when faced with seemingly insurmountable odds in the quest to save the galaxy from destroyers of the universe, often in the form of space aliens, always uses the catchphrase, “never give up — never surrender”. What is more invasive (insurmountable odds) to the human body (our personal galaxy) than treacherous (space alien) cancer cells? May we all be reminded to never give up — never surrender! 

The magic five year cancer free mark is coming up for me in December! (After that I only have to see my oncologist once a year until I get to the ten year cancer free mark.) In spite of the struggle, I’m grateful every single day to still be alive. Never give up! Never surrender! 

Now, to the announcement — in conjunction with October being breast cancer awareness month, Chemotherapy Self Portrait was selected for and included in an online group exhibition called Cancer: Never Give Up 2022 with Gallerium Art. Also, this is probably the last time I will submit this work for exhibition because it’s such a vulnerable piece. 

Here’s a link to my artist profile affiliated with the exhibit.