Coloring Place

a daily color register

I’m spending Easter weekend on the road with my husband and our dog Rose, who takes up an astonishing amount of real estate in the back seat. We’re heading west for a slow and quiet month on the California coast. I like a good road trip, especially with my husband, even if I do have to listen to hours upon hours of the Grateful Dead. He does the driving, so it’s fair that he chooses the music. I think I get the better deal looking out the window and watching the shift in color and light from southern Colorado, across wild and scenic Utah, dry Nevada, and then onto coastal California.

I’ve always registered color first. Like most artists, I studied color theory, read Josef Albers and Johannes Itten, and played with paint chips. But the natural world has always been my best teacher, as an artist, designer, and gardener.

When I used to teach art, most students approached color as an afterthought, something to plunk into an already laid-out composition or drawing, squeezing pigment straight out of the tube. And color just flat-out made students anxious. I insisted they learn the color basics by executing simple color studies like the ones in this post — no fuss, no preciousness, just swaths of color—based on what they saw in the natural world around them. This exercise did make some grumble, but soon they grasped that knowing how to build color is a non-negotiable skill for any artist.

This year, I’m keeping an annotated color journal. It’s my 2026 book of days, a register of place and heart. Eventually, this will be a series of twelve artist books, executed in tandem with my friend and book artist Jennifer Roberts. I’ve done 365 days of color before. But I was curious how I would respond to my high-alpine environment as a different soul after loss— if my senses would be heightened or if I’d notice patterns I had previously overlooked. Not sure about that yet, but I’ve enjoyed adding notes to the color studies and like the ink beneath the images.

hellebore color study

Most of the West has experienced record-high temperatures and an alarming dearth of snow and moisture this winter and spring, and is facing a challenging summer, a wake-up call of huge proportions. This year, I noticed that the stress of this historic drought was reflected in the landscape and surrounding colors. In the heart of winter, there was no snow to shift and subdue the light, to blanket everything around me.

I’m toying with starting a color class here on Substack, because it’s fun—and we really need more fun. Besides, it’s always useful to amp up your color acumen. I would love your feedback — is there any interest out there? What do you have time for? Swift color prompts? Longer videos? Comment below or DM me.

Have a wonderful Easter weekend, at home or on the road.