The first drawing was on a piece of scrap paper - an exercise in capturing the quickly passing sky out the studio doors. Despite it's simplicity, this drawing captured me.  As I studied it I was brought back to my childhood, when my father would bring home armloads of scrapped paper from his office for my brother and I to draw on. Being a petrophysicist, these would be print outs of geological logs and topographical maps of the area. I didn’t know what these were at the time, but we adored them and would color them in and make them our own.

I began going through pictures of the sky I have taken over the years. Memories of our farm, and hikes by the lake and in the Flint Hills flooded me. The simple contour drawings of clouds and trees and lakes became maps from our explorations. They are the passing of time. The recollections of all the spaces I have passed through. 

Because of their simplicity, it is difficult to tell what they are exactly. They also read as topographical maps and geological logs. My son has asked numerous times if he can color them in, and I often let him. He makes them his own. I embraced my own childhood and my father seeping into these.  We are mapping new territory now. 

They are meditative to make - I am lost in the contour lines without care or thought as to how they turn out. There is no difference in the lines that represent clouds, land, water, trees or sky. They are all the same, and all bleed into the next.