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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.




We're 22 days out and rapidly counting.

The show I've been painting for, writing about, sketching on, working towards for the last 8 months is almost upon me. The flyers just arrived. That must mean it's official.
opens February 4th.

If you have a second, lend a thought to my brushes. We're working hard, trying to remain calm, to press on, to finish the work I've begun in utter honesty, sincerity and heart. I am striving to remind myself daily that I will get everything done. AND I'M KEEPING MY FINGERS CROSSED TOO.

February 5th, I plan on sleeping.
'Cause Lord knows it's not happening now.

(From my official show statement; still in progress)


It's time to examine the small things, the minutia of our worlds, the microscopic connections. The fast firing circuit of information leading from the curve of a single found feather to our ocular-endings to the cosmic knowledge that this was a life worth noting. This leaf you cradle in the soft palm of your hand is a delicate map.
Look closer.
Those lines are a blue print; this is the story of a single seed, the radiating tree rings, photosynthesis, symbiotic companions, parasitic lovers, cyclical growth, the burst of life and the release of death.
Look closer.
Your palm is a mirror; those wispy veins pumping hard tell the story of your visceral experience, the crush of life on your skin, the imprint of nature upon your retinas, the shared knowledge that we once were.
It's what we have in common.