There's a raven that lives near our Santa Fe home. I see him most mornings — big, unhurried, magnificent. He hunts, then takes his meal up to the chimney of our casita, surveying everything from up there like a king at his table. I've painted him once, small, in my art journal. I want to do a real studio painting of him soon. He deserves it.

We bought a home in Santa Fe a while back, and I recently set up a studio in the basement. It's a good space — north and east-facing windows, rolling shelves organized just the way I like, a comfortable chair for stepping back and looking. From my painting table I can see the arroyo and the big rocks scattered along its edge. I already painted that view once. It hangs in my Austin home now.

The colors here are unlike anything I've painted before. The sky is a clear, hard blue — not the hazy blue of Central Texas. The earth is tan and red. The rolling hills are speckled with juniper trees, and in the morning those trees cast long shadows across the ground that I find completely captivating. I've tried to paint them a few times. Haven't gotten it right yet. That's okay. Some paintings take a while to figure out.

We also have a Say's Phoebe who has claimed the rafters of our courtyard patio as her own. She's a great hunter and remarkably tolerant of us wandering around beneath her. She’s nearly finished raising her first brood of chicks (5!) and will likely soon start another brood. Northern Flickers come through when they're in season. The hummingbirds are here year-round, and one in particular has made it very clear that our feeders belong to him.

The Say's Phoebe family, fledglings and all.

I'll be honest with you — I'm finding it harder to paint here than I expected. Santa Fe is so beautiful it's almost distracting. We're deep in home improvement projects. I still have my day job. And my studio is downstairs, a little out of sight and out of mind in a way my Austin studio never is. In Austin, my studio is a guest room I walk past every single day. The paintings catch my eye. The brushes call to me. Here, I have to be a little more intentional about making my way downstairs.

But the ravens are waiting. The junipers are waiting. And I know myself well enough to know that once I get down there and the incense is burning and the coffee is getting cold, the hours will disappear. That's how I know it's working.

Santa Fe is a new chapter. I can't wait to see what happens when I finally crack it open.

The Ravens Are Waiting

My First Plein Air Adventure (Or: How I Almost Forgot the Most Important Thing)