The Kala Art Institute in Berkeley, CA is a touchstone for me; I have spent studio time there on and off for over 25 years, each time visiting my parents. While Kala has developed and evolved as an art center, its extensive printmaking facilities have stayed mostly the same. Each time I go there, I can reclaim the same glass slab; I see the same artists and they each say, “you’re back!” Because my family ties in California have dwindled, returning there now involves different associations, ritual, and memory. Familiar surroundings and the native flora are tied together within the practice of walking, looking, and documenting.

The Berkeley hills and terrain are such that most houses have been built around the optimum view of the San Francisco Bay. As a child, when I couldn’t sleep at night I looked out my bedroom window to watch the city lights reflected on the water. When I learned to drive, the sight of the Bay was the only way I could negotiate east from west and learn the configuration of the city. I went to college at University of California at Santa Cruz and lived in a house across from the beach, so that the sight, sound, and smell of the water were part of every day.

I am sure the coast and water - among many other amenities - are compelling reasons that native Californians stay in California, but I associate leaving California with my personal and professional maturation. However, wherever I live I am indelibly branded by my experiences with the coast and water, and fundamentally defined by them. I think that the landscape of our childhoods is a lens through which we observe all landscapes; it is the control factor. My studio practice revolves around comparing types, memories, and impressions of landscapes, and examining how a place can be translated into an abstract image.