Work is a funny thing....when it's something that interests you and you enjoy, it seems...less like work and more like an adventure. That happened to be the case when I traveled in Italy. My muse asked me what I would like to see when we went to Rome and I said "there's this chair shop..." "Really? What about the Coliseum, the museums, the architecture?" "Sure! After we go to the chair shop..." Prior to my trip I had spent a few months seeking out connections on my social med

"scritch" "squeak." What would you call the sound of olive wood being meticulously lifted from the confines of its neatly cut rectangular block, now being revealed as the artist's inspiration unfolds. Years ago I found solace through woodcarving when I was caring for my terminally ill father, who stayed awake late at night, afraid to go to sleep. I would carve into the early morning hours, chipping away at what would eventually be a carousel horse, the first of 3 carousel cha

“Here”, he said, handing her a small striped cotton backpack with drawstring straps. “Put your camera in here, you won’t look so conspicuous…less like a tourist”. Would she really stick out like an outsider by appearance? “Ok” It was his home away from home, his winter retreat in the mountains of Calabria. She definitely was an outsider but used to carrying her camera slung on her shoulder, not scurried out of sight. But it was a small town of about 1700, 4,000 feet up in the