My work moves with me. Each year, I shift between two very different studios, one in the warmth of Sarasota, Florida, and the other tucked into the Laurentians, in Quebec. Both are special to me in different ways, and both shape how and what I paint.
My northern studio, in Canada, is where I find my rhythm. It's an outbuilding nestled in the woods, filled with southern light and the quiet hush of nature. There’s a wall where I hang my paintings as I work, to look at them, live with them, and decide what needs more. It’s where I dig deep into a series, and often where the real momentum builds.
The Florida studio is much smaller. I can really only work on one or two pieces at a time. The light is softer, the space more compact. But it’s still a productive place. Just in a different way. When I’m there, I often begin new ideas, explore lighter color palettes, and sit with thoughts that haven’t fully formed yet. It’s the space where seeds get planted.
These two studios reflect a question I keep circling around in my latest series, LINGER: What is home?
For me, home isn’t always a fixed location. It’s a state of being. A feeling of presence, calm, and clarity. But I notice how physical space, light, and climate all influence how I work. In Florida, pastels seem to naturally find their way into my paintings. There’s more air and softness in the work. Back in Quebec, the palette deepens. My colors become earthier, sometimes moodier, often richer.
This ebb and flow between two studios isn’t always seamless, but I’ve come to appreciate it. Each space offers something different, and the transition between them makes me more aware of the passing seasons both in nature and in myself.
I’m learning that home can exist in more than one place. And that perhaps the truest sense of home is found in the work itself in the act of painting, wherever I am.