I am in my seventies now and have lived a life I never expected. Growing up I inhabited three worlds: science, art and music. This only became a problem when I had to choose a path. I always wanted to be a doctor but took every art class my mother, Freda Reiter, taught. She was a locally well-known portraitist and teacher who, for twenty years, worked as the courtroom artist for ABC-TV. She won an Emmy for her contributions to a documentary on the Iran-Contra Affair.

I chose a career in medicine and became a psychiatrist. One day a friend asked if I could do a portrait of her daughter. After years of neglect, I had lost the skill. Immediately, I signed up for art classes despite raising a family and running a psychiatric practice. Something had to give and I decided that my family was the most important thing in my life.

I continued taking art classes. Once my daughters were in high school, I received my MFA in painting from George Washington University. I won two awards, one of which was the Alfred N. Alfandre Purchase Prize.

After graduation I felt obligated to paint portraits since that was the thrust of my education, but discovering acrylics and texture gels changed my focus to landscape. I developed my own formula which entailed macerating acid-free paper and adding it to the mix. Many Cuisinarts were sacrificed in the process. It was worth it because it gave the landscapes a sense of vibrance and movement. I became enamored with the Fauves. They taught me that nature requires vivid and personal color to convey its poetry and the artist’s emotional response.

Before starting a painting I would lay down elaborate washes of harmonizing colors that would peek through the final work. Sometimes these toning were so beautiful or suggestive that I declared them finished works. I painted them playfully without planning or thought. Surrealists called this kind of uncontrolled technique “automatism.” They believed, like dreams, it revealed the unconscious. I filled innumerable sketchbooks practicing this form of “mindlessness” and frequently ended up with images that were a surprise even to myself. I began to see images in wood tables and other surfaces. This led to a series of pen and inks called “Linganore Marbles.”

For a few years after the horror of 9/11 I could only draw in black and white. The works from this period are steeped in symbolism based on themes of transition, sadness, and fear.

Several years later my husband and I traveled to France and Italy. I painted landscapes from these trips to relive their unique colors and exquisite hill towns.

About ten years ago my hands became arthritic, probably from overuse. This loss forced me to turn to an old friend: music. I had always written songs and now it was available as an artistic outlet. It made me laugh to look back and realize that the conflict between music, art, and science of my youth would be resolved by doing each in sequence. I almost completed a musical comedy combining songwriting and storytelling. It was rudely interrupted by a comedic novel that simply had to be written: Sight Unseen. It is a coming-of-age story about a college student who falls in love with her art professor.

My husband and I recently moved to be close to my older daughter’s family. We are in the process of creating a home where we can age-in-place. My hands are somewhat improved, so I am looking forward to working again in my new studio. We hope to encourage appreciation for artistic discovery, music, and science in our grandchildren.