About two weeks ago, false spring arrived. The sun was shining, the snow melting.

Hello my friend!

Summer has arrived in full force and my garden continues to enchant me every day.

Last month I wrote about how creating a tea towel calendar has become a yearly tradition for me*, but it’s not the only tradition for my art.

This is the 9th year I’ve created a desk calendar with my seasonal watercolor paintings.

For me, springtime in the garden always means violas and pansies. They’re some of the first things to show up at garden centers and one of the first things to bloom in my garden.

This month’s Sips of Inspiration interview was really fun for me. Today I’m chatting with Laura Ashton who is also a gardener and botanical illustrator.

Back in January I wrote a list of intentions for the year. First in my journal. Then in my sketchbook. And again on a separate piece of paper that I hung in my studio. The very first intention on the list: “Live a holistically creative life”.

Dahlias! Oh, dahlias. They’re one of those swoon-inducing flowers you’re sure to see when scrolling around on Instagram or Pinterest. Other than sunflowers, they have the biggest flowers I know.

It feels strange to think it’s November. These days tumble past faster and faster. Weeks pass. Months pass. Seasons pass.

And now it’s November.

Two months left of the year.

Back in 2011 I had a dream to create a calendar with my art.* Two years later I was finally able to do it. Every year since then I’ve designed a calendar with new paintings. It’s one of my favorite projects.

I think I say it every year, but this calendar is my favorite!

Last night was the opening reception for my show at Viva Gallery in my town of Viroqua, Wisconsin. The gallery is an artist cooperative with 23 (I think) members and each month it hosts a guest artist. I’m the guest for the month of October.

In my first Growing Inspiration post I wrote about nasturtiums. If there’s a flower I’ve drawn and painted more than the nasturtium, it might be the viola.

They always have a place in my garden.

“Summer afternoon — summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.”

—Henry James

Ah, summer. Here in Wisconsin summer is well and truly here.

I’ve been spending as much time as possible in my garden.

The dogs love being outside, too. During the week Jude goes with Matthias to his shop and Charlie stays home with me until I need to leave for my job at the library.

All week long I’ve been painting whirly birds.* That’s what I used to call maple seeds when I was young.

At this time of year when the seeds come helicoptering to the ground it’s hard not to feel a surge of childlike joy. I walk around with my eyes to the ground trying to find the most interesting ones.

This week I painted bleeding hearts with the paint I mixed last week.

It’s lovely to be working with flowers from the garden again. But it’s also been a bit frustrating trying to get back into a groove of art-making and gardening and all the other stuff that life demands.

It's the last day of August. I can't quite believe it. Throughout the month I've been noticing the beginnings of fall. It seems early this year.

Summer's my season and although autumn can be beautiful its arrival always makes me a bit melancholy.

Sunflowers embody the spirit of summertime. Of buzzing bees and hazy days. Shrill cicadas and fluffy white clouds floating in blue skies. They're some of my favorite plants to grow in my garden. I love the flowers, so many shapes and colors and sizes, but what I like even more is that they feed the bees and the birds.

My garden is filled with flowers calling me to paint them, but right now it's the sunflowers I couldn't resist.

Hello, and welcome to this new blog space. My old blog served me well for almost 8 years, but now it's time for everything to live under one roof.

I'm delighted to have you here with me!

These summer days have been filled with so many little joys. And so much creativity. Somehow creativity comes more easily during these long, barefoot days.