The transition between late summer and fall is my very favorite. It’s not a strictly cheerful time, but rather a season rich with complex emotions, tinged with nostalgia.
Children are heading back to school, the peak of summer has passed until next year, and the bustling tourist towns begin to settle into their quieter routines. During this time, though almost 40, I still feel a relief that I’m no longer a child returning to the unknowns of the first days of school. I find comfort in the shorter days and cooler nights. I savor each warm September swim with a kind of understanding of what’s coming. I mourn the end of summer. I mourn leaving Michigan. I miss returning to my fall vegetable garden in Norway, curious to see what has grown in my absence.
Now, we’re back in Virginia after nearly two months in Northern Michigan. Just as the seasons begin their shift, I’m adjusting—from my beloved Petoskey to the quieter woods of Virginia, and to the all-too-frequent traffic every time we leave the base.
I loved doing the art fairs up north. I felt like the love and care I pour into my work was truly seen and appreciated. Now, it’s a shift—from the joy of in-person connections and lovely conversations with customers, to the solitude of the studio.
I’ve always gotten wrapped up in my feelings during transitions. I suppose I fit the artist stereotype there. And yet, I seek them out. I love to feel deeply. I love to grow and expand (hopefully).
Returning to the studio was interesting—commissions, deadlines, and new projects were all waiting for me. I had been away from her too long. At first, I dove in with creative fervor, spending 12-hour days moving from one project or application to the next. Magnus suggested I follow a normal workday schedule. But I love it. I know this is what being an artist looks like—working intensely some days, and prioritizing family, friends, and rest on others. Like living with the seasons, working with the rhythms of the projects.
I’m deeply grateful for this connection—and for the first time, admitedly, I truly believe I can make a living as an artist. That’s a lovely realization.
IN THE STUDIO
The last of the Bear Creek Organic Farm peaches that we tucked in the car from Petoskey. I see a peach-blueberry pie in my future. Amen for peach season.
It’s no surprise that after returning to Virginia from Petoskey, Michigan, I immediately began painting water. This was the longest stretch I’ve spent up north in about eight years, and I loved setting my eyes on Lake Michigan every day. The water, shore, and sky looked different from one day to the next—water has a way of marking time.
Here’s a sneak peek of a painting in progress. It’s not finished yet, but the intent and forms are starting to emerge. Wildfire smoke drifting in from out west was present at various times throughout the summer, casting a muted haze over the landscape. Still, the water continued to shift—from wild to calm—as it always does, depending on the wind.
I’m currently working on six new pieces in subdued blues, using bold, painterly brushstrokes that aim to evoke a sense of connectedness to our surroundings. This piece will have many more layers to come, adding depth and complexity.
In the Woods on a Sunday, 30 in. x 40 in., minerals on canvas
This piece, titled ‘In the Woods on a Sunday’ is inspired by our Sunday Norwegian tradition of heading to the tall pine woods for a hike. We’d grab our dog, pack up our coffee/tea thermos, and head to the vast woods. Most stores and cafes are closed on Sundays in Norway and while this was inconvenient at first, I grew to love that Sundays were reserved for nature and getting outside. The colors and textures in this painting reflect the Norwegian woods that I grew to love. I’ve also incorporated some of the motifs that are nostalgic for me - clothes hanging on the line, brooms, and my late Mom’s eclectic collection of rugs. This piece has it all: movement, texture, and a little bit of whimsy for good measure.
Hinterland, 30 in. x 40 in., minerals on canvas
If you’ve visited me at an art fair before, you may’ve heard me say that I paint with the seasons. Growing up in a place with four distinct seasons really shaped who I am as an artist—especially when it comes to my favorite part: the transitions between them. You know… mud season, second winter, the reckoning—you’ve heard the jokes.
My paintings tend to follow the rhythm of the year, and this one, titled Hinterland, was created with fall in mind.
Late summer into fall—harvest season—is my favorite time of year, or really, my favorite seasonal shift. This piece carries the feeling of a pastoral, country life and includes nostalgic motifs: a clothesline, a wicker basket, and my late Mom’s eclectic rug collection. My aim was to bring the warmth of the season onto the canvas.
IN THE KITCHEN
It’s still warm outside, and in the afternoons I find myself craving something refreshing to sip while I paint. Lately, I’ve been using bits of herbs and fruit from the raised garden beds on the terrace to make shrubs.
Shrub drinks are made with a concentrated, fruit-and-vinegar-based syrup—called a shrub or drinking vinegar. They come together by combining fruit or herbs, sugar, and vinegar, then letting everything macerate to draw out the flavors. I like mixing the tangy, sweet syrup reduction with sparkling water and adding a wedge of citrus or a fresh sprig of something from the garden.
Here are a couple of my favorite combinations:
Method: Mix the ingredients and simmer for 10–15 minutes (a little longer if you're using fresh fruit). Then combine 50/50 with sparkling water over ice.
Lemon-Ginger-Mint
1 cup apple cider vinegar
1 cup fresh lemon juice
3/4 c sugar
handful of fresh mint
1 tsp ginger
Pear - Cardamom
1 cup apple cider vinegar
1 cup finely chopped chunks of pear
1/4 c sugar
1/2 tsp cardamom
Grapefruit - Rosemary
1 cup apple cider vinegar
1 cup fresh grapefruit juice
3/4 c sugar
handful of rosemary sprigs
Anyway, once you have the straightforward concept down, the fun is in experimenting with the flavors! Happy late summer and fall, beautiful people! Take care of yourselves and each other.
