I have struggled with why I paint what I paint. I have asked myself why; I have asked myself why bother, but through it all I just keep painting; I need to keep painting. I paint the glass I’m drinking out of; I paint my flowers when they pop out of the ground in the spring, and I paint the mountain views an hour from my house. I paint my daughter, myself, and sometimes fleeting glimpses of light reflected on the walls. There is something about the experience of painting what I’m seeing–something that I can’t capture in a photograph or in showing someone what I’m looking at. There is something about painting it. And there is a constant push to keep painting what I see, to keep looking and analysing. There is something about taking these things out of the everyday and elevating them above the monotony of life. It’s how I cope and it’s how I connect with people; this is where I find beauty.