Naomi Schlinke is a Texas-based artist, whose work has been exhibited at the Robert McClain Gallery in Houston, The Dallas Contemporary, Texas State University in San Marcos, D. M. Allison Gallery in Houston, Women and Their Work, D Berman Gallery, and the Dougherty Art Center, all in Austin. Before moving to Austin from San Francisco in 1994, she exhibited with the Braunstein-Quay Gallery in San Francisco. In the 1970s and early ’80s, Schlinke danced with the Margaret Jenkins Dance Company and the Joe Goode Performance Group, both based in San Francisco. Much of her approach to painting is founded on her experiences as a dancer. She earned a BA and MA in Dance from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. She grew up in Dallas, Texas.
Painter Dorothea Osborn draws inspiration from her home-based studio. She loves its location on the Normanskill Creek in Delmar, New York, and its lightness due to a large window and glass door. She places her grandmother’s rocking chair and a table near the window to sketch, read, and work on the computer. When the weather is nice, she works on the deck or in the yard.
For David Criner, a basement studio has become his sanctuary. There, in his Chicago home, his best emotional and spiritual selves manifest. In fact, thirteen years ago, he wanted to buy the house because of its basement. The basement is spacious—unlike earlier studios housed in small apartments and even a storage locker—and easily accessible. No longer does he want to share a studio with other artists as he did as a student; he requires privacy to create his art.
At Northern Illinois University, ceramic artist Emily M. Rangel-Cascio turned a windowless, plain studio into a home. The graduate student decorated metal shelves and walls with her artwork—both completed projects, such as a mug collection, and failed ones that she intends to revisit. Through viewing these displays, visitors, professors and fellow classmates gain insight into her creative process, including different clays and firing techniques she uses. The walls also provide privacy so she can concentrate on her work.
David Quinn is a self-taught photographer in Setauket, New York, who became interested in photography in his early fifties. He focuses mainly on creating landscape, flower, and nature images with an occasional venture into street and architectural pictures. In his artwork, he strives to evoke an emotion, raise an uncertainty, or create a sense of movement by either isolating key elements or blurring the subject matter. He has had exhibits at the Long Island Arts Council at Freeport and Huntington Arts Council. In 2014, the online magazine BWGallerist identified him as one of the best emerging black-and-white fine art photographers. See his work in WTP Vol. VI #6.
Lynn Casteel Harper is a writer, minister, and chaplain. Her nonfiction book, On Vanishing, is forthcoming with Catapult Books. Her work has appeared in Kenyon Review online, Catapult, The Huffington Post, North American Review, Tiferet, New Delta Review, CALYX, and the Journal of Religion and Abuse. She was a recipient of the New Delta Review Nonfiction Prize in 2013 and the Orison Anthology’s 2017 Nonfiction Award. She was named runner up for the Torch Prize in 2016. She earned her Masters of Divinity degree at Wake Forest University in North Carolina and completed a Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) residency at Robert Wood Johnson University Hospital in New Jersey. She currently serves at the Associate Minister of Older Adults at The Riverside Church in New York City. See her essay appearing in WTP Vol. VI #6
Michael Kesselman loves going to his studio at the Peninsula Museum of Art (PMA) in Burlingame, California. There, he has a clear and simple purpose: create art. It also helps that the studio is only a seven-minute drive from his home. “I leave my window open so I can spit sunflower seeds, but my car is filthy because the wind spits them back inside,” says Kesselman. “That, for me, is art. For all the energy and intention, my car still looks like an ashtray. It’s funny, ironic and mundane, yet somehow beautiful.”