About me

I live in a small town, where wild deer gnaw at my Cecile Brunner rose bushes and the fog hurls in ghostlike from the Pacific, then suddenly withdraws just as quietly. There are twelve steps to the studio from my front door. No matter that it's stuck on the end of the house, a former laundry room about the size of a dove cote. It's lined with plenty of windows and my cup of coffee is still hot by the time I arrive inside. jkwhitmore@hotmail.com