My story
Some of my earliest memories are painted in watercolor—literally. I can still see the worn wooden surface of our kitchen table, the afternoon light streaming through the window, and my mother's gentle hands guiding mine as we explored the magic of color together. That kitchen table was where it all began, where a small child first discovered that mixing blue and yellow could create an entirely new world of green.
And here's the beautiful part: I'm still painting on that very same table. After leaving my childhood home, living a wonderful life, and now coming back to spend my days in this old farmhouse I love and cherish, that table came full circle with me. It sits in my basement studio now, still bearing the marks and memories of decades of creativity, still holding the same magic it did all those years ago.
A Lifetime Love Affair with Color
What started as simple childhood play has grown into a lifelong passion. Today, whether I'm working with the delicate transparency of watercolors or the bold richness of acrylics, I'm still captivated by the same wonder I felt at that kitchen table. There are millions of color combinations waiting to be discovered—each one a new possibility, a new story, a new piece of art that has never existed before.
Watercolors flow and blend in ways that surprise me even now, creating soft gradients and unexpected hues that seem to have a life of their own. I've also fallen in love with creating shadow boxes, where watercolor paintings take on new dimension and depth, becoming three-dimensional art pieces that play with light and perspective in ways that flat canvas never could.
Acrylics allow me to build layers of vibrant color, to create texture and depth, to be bold and decisive. Both mediums offer endless opportunities for exploration, and I never tire of discovering what happens when I mix just a little more red into that orange, or how a touch of white can transform an entire composition.
The Sanctuary of My Basement Studio
My basement studio in this old farmhouse has become more than just a workspace—it's a sanctuary for my soul. In a world that never seems to stop moving, that constantly demands our attention with notifications, obligations, and endless noise, my studio offers something precious: silence and solitude.
When I descend those basement stairs and close the door behind me, the busyness of the outside world fades away. The mental chatter quiets. The stress and pressure of daily life soften. It's just me, my brushes, my paints, that beloved old table, and the blank canvas waiting to be transformed. This solitude isn't lonely—it's peaceful. It's restorative. It's essential.
Working on commissions has added another layer of meaning to my art. There's something special about creating pieces that will become part of someone else's story, that will hang in their homes and bring them joy. Each commission is a collaboration between my vision and their dreams, and I'm honored to be trusted with bringing those visions to life.
Art as Medicine
I've come to understand that painting isn't just my passion—it's vital to my mental health and emotional well-being. In those quiet hours alone in my studio, I process feelings I didn't know I was carrying. I work through challenges without words. I find clarity in color and composition.
There's something deeply therapeutic about the physical act of painting: the rhythm of brush against canvas, the meditation of mixing colors, the focus required to bring an image to life. Time disappears. Worries fade. I'm fully present in a way that's increasingly rare in our distracted world.
Coming Full Circle
That little girl at the kitchen table with her mother could never have imagined where this journey would lead. But in many ways, nothing has changed. I'm still exploring color with the same sense of wonder. I'm still finding joy in creation. I'm still discovering that art has the power to transform—not just blank canvases, but also the artist who holds the brush.
Coming back to this farmhouse, to this table, feels like the most natural thing in the world. It's a full circle moment that reminds me that some things are meant to be—that the seeds planted in childhood can grow into a lifetime of purpose and passion. My basement studio may be humble, but the peace I find there, the connection to something larger than myself, the quiet joy of making something beautiful—that's the same gift my mother gave me all those years ago at this very table.
And for that, I'll be forever grateful.
-Penny Lane
