"You always see things differently," my now deceased mother, Rose Cooper, used to tell me during our kitchen chats as I was growing up. I remember being excited and intrigued by light, how it seemed to leapfrog off walls of clustered buildings, take flight from the polished surfaces of boyfriends' cars, Morse code messages from the morning reflections on Minnesota lakes in summer, or warmly glow from the skin of a baby's face. I approached my art training with the question, "How can I technically 'capture the moment' in which light is making its most profound statement on a subject?" I soon learned that the profundity of light's effects is a 24/7 proposition.

Of course the visual effect of light is far more than incandescence – it is the serious irony of color-play. An object relies for its ephemeral visual identity on its hosting a three-dimensional struggle of color under the wash of light.

My subject matter is highly varied: midwestern fields, western valleys, foreign lands including China, Italy, Greece, soon Russia, metropolitan scenes, and waterfronts. All things created in this amazing world are also fair game for the examination of spiritual effects on the 'vision' of the observer, as we are all a fortunate audience of the Creator's hand.