Dyed Silk

53”W x 60”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed Silk

53”W x 61”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed silk

43”W x 62”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about ones previously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed Silk

43”W x 62”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed Silk

53”W x 61”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed Silk

53”W x 62”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed Silk

53”W x 60”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed Silk

53”W x 62”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Print media + collage on paper

42”W x 68”L

2026

I was in Kindergarten the last time I laid down on a big piece of paper and traced myself.  I turned myself into a super hero. 

The Cuban-American conceptual artist Ana Mendiata,  did this too. Her performative body tracings were part of the Earthworks movement where she often used flower petals and other materials to mark her naked body outline on the beach, in the woods and in other natural environments. So, I did it too. It was a freing ME-moment when I felt bare and open to myself. It made me surprisingly emotional,  and was like a  “this is what I got to offer you world” anthem. 

This song Feed Your Head,  was Inspired by the book Alice in Wonderland and lead singer Grace Slick embraced Alice’s same psychedelic perspective,  as Ana Mendieta embraced her body and the earth. They both were charmed with forever vulnerability and  curiosity, and a longing to find a connection with the universe.

I have never been as curious as I am today-at this very moment.  I am fascinated by everything, all at once, and it seems to only be increasing, What about you?

Print media + collage on paper

48”W x 42”L

2026

Adho Mukha Svanasana—Downward Dog—is my favorite yoga pose because it asks the whole body to work while giving the mind a little place to rest. It is a reset and a mini-vacation moment of the yoga flow without the pina colada.

This is why I love gathering with women. We bend toward one another, toward the earth, toward whatever is keeping us upright. We laugh, cry, celebrate, bitch, moan, tell the truth, and somehow, someway, it tells our nervous systems we are allowed to soften.

Women show up with casseroles, garden flowers, hugs, and the kind of truth that arrives like a missile when you need it most. We become our own little coven of radical care and recovery.

Maybe it is because we are biologically wired for this. Maybe I learned it from the women before me. Either way, I keep bending toward the earth—with my girls beside me, pulling weeds and dahlias alike, hunting for seashells, and finding, every now and then, a little grace in the downward dog.

Print media + collage on paper

42”W x 36”L

I am 59 years old this year. It is a time when friends consider retiring or are retiring, while others are trying to reinvent themselves.

While on vacation in the Outer Banks, North Carolina, I saw a guy, probably in his mid-70s, with a metal detector combing the shoreline. He was wearing headphones with the detector strapped to his wrist and a digging tool in his other hand. He slipped off his headphones as I approached and I asked him, “Where is the best place to search?” “What’s the coolest thing you ever found?” “What are you listening for?”

 Tuned into the morning heat and completely attentive to the task at hand,  I asked if he gets together with other detector enthusiasts. “Of course,” he replied. “There is a regional chapter of folks who meet up regularly and some of us have been meeting for over 50 years.” 

Yesterday is Here is an invitation to search, find a story worth telling, and seek moments beyond what you already know. I identify with being a detectorist as much as a detective. I love taking  creative chances, following a hunch, and listening to the Earth as it sends unseeable vibrations to me. I recognize that every received signal is an endless possibility of the search itself, a process of heightened attention, curiosity, and imagining what is worth uncovering.

Print media + collage on paper

73”W x 43”L

2026

I was a lucky duck to grow up along Lake Erie, where the water was visible from my backyard. Summers meant Clifton Beach, sailing at Edgewater, and learning that the lake could turn on you in a heartbeat. I loved watching sailboats—tiny against all that water, yet somehow steady. The storms taught me early about balance, instinct, and hanging on.

This year the USS Cleveland was commissioned in its namesake city, just as my youngest son, Will, graduated and headed into the world after studying welding (and building many things with Legos). I think about his hands making things someday that have to withstand pressure, weather, and the goddamn unknown.

A mothership carries, protects, guides, and somehow keeps going. I’ve watched people my age  navigate illness, terrible accidents, divorce, job loss, and grief. And still, somehow, someway, my fellow wayfarers find a hospitable, lucky-break current, beyond that riptide shit storm, and do whatever it takes to float their boat. Even those who don’t think they have a working compass anymore, they find their way-finding their way too. 

This work lives in that space between turbulence and tenderness. Sometimes we are the ship. Sometimes we are the storm. And sometimes we just need someone to say, Come away with me. For a little while.

Print media + collage on paper

57.5”W x 42”L

My grandma MaryJane Shaw married at fifteen. A farmer’s daughter, then a farmer’s wife, she lived all 87 years on the same farm. She raised five children, had sixteen grandchildren and twenty-nine great-grandchildren, and worked her tail off.

She farmed, gardened, canned, cooked, quilted, crocheted, and took a second job at Rutters to help send my mom—the first in their family—to college. Making things by hand wasn’t a hobby. It was survival, love, and labor. Nothing was wasted- every scrap, piece of twine, and almost every material was used for something purposeful. They were also proud of the well-crafted and beautiful things they could make for their quality of life. 

It takes on average five to eight hours to crochet a ten-inch doily. These doilies have been passed down through my family and some have been thrifted. Doilies are useful and protect sofas and chairs from hair oil and are also made for wood furniture as a barrier for water stains and wear and tear.  

Maybe that’s what women have always done. Made something beautiful from what they had. Held things together. Kept going.

As Dolly Parton says, “I ain’t got time to be old.” Neither did my grandma.