I am a storyteller. For much of my life, I told stories with words. These days, I tell stories not only in words, but in collages of paper, ephemera and glue, paint, ink and graphite. I use whatever materials help propel the tale. I find joy immeasurable in surprise and in creating layers of meaning. More than anything, art, like writing, is a process of discovery. Always. When I settle into my studio (our kitchen table, a family heirloom where generations of storytellers have gathered), I typically don’t have a plan for my art. Sometimes I have a vision of what I’d like a piece to represent and the story it should relate, but most of the time my aim is play. So I play. I laugh. I sing. I lose myself in a flurry of paper and paint, and the space I occupy spins into a whirl of color and hue with an infinite array of pattern, texture, shape, discovery, and story. Always. I am a storyteller.