The first serious photographs I remember taking were of a white birch tree in our front yard in Westwood. My mother had just planted it. She was very proud of it. It was the only white birch on our block. I felt her pride and wanted to somehow capture it in my pictures: close-ups of the paper-like bark, the heart shaped leaves. The pictures that came back from the camera store were small, 2-1/4 by 3-1/4, black and white, and mostly out of focus because our family camera's fixed focus lens was not designed for subjects closer than four or five feet. Still, they felt special to me, different from the family pictures we would take by the Christmas tree, at birthday parties, or dressed up for Easter Sunday and posed in front of that same white birch tree. These small pictures were my first efforts at making something serious, something that held a feeling, something that was like art. - Mike Sinclair

I grew up in a household filled with color and light -- folk art objects, farm auction furniture, colorful fabrics and candles reflected my parents’ Scandinavian and Welsh heritages. It was a magical place full of wonder and history. My mother fueled her life by color, from the contents of the dinner plate to the scenes and patterns she painted on floors and walls. My father met the world thoughtfully through science -- geography, geology, and economics -- and a deep commitment to living gently on the land. He rode his bike down a big hill, across the river, and up another hill to the university every day of his 50+ year teaching life. He also rode home for lunch and back each day except Wednesdays. Over the last year, I have made many drawings. They are symphonic passages of graphite and colored pencil that carry the spirit of my childhood. Surprises are tucked into the detailed spaces of the drawings. They are also daily observations of the environment surrounding and within my current home and studio. This new work reflects the constantly fluid circumstances of weather, skylight, psychological states, agrarian cycles, and daily news of despair and hope. These drawings are registers of protean days as they knit together my past and present. - Anne Lindberg

In considering the title of this show “Everyday”, I think of my everyday routine and how it was altered in the first few months of COVID 19. I still got up and made coffee, although not at 6am as before. I got The NY Times app because I needed immediate news. It’s what I did while the coffee was brewing. Everyday the news was worrying and confusing to me. During my 2 week quarantine it seemed as though my world had returned to a romantic version of my childhood. Neighbors I’d never seen walked down the street, waved and we sometimes talked. Maybe I’ll do yard work or take a nap. There was really nothing to worry about, other than the future or dying. Suddenly there were no demands of me, no deadlines and no expectations. I really liked this new routine that was so different and freeing. “Is this what retirement is?”, I thought.  As an artist, I was not productive. I made, maybe, 3 pieces over the year. I worried I’d regret not taking advantage of this time. Lately, I find myself trying to maintain some of the things I liked about the COVID days. But as everyday passes, fewer neighbors walk by, yard work is a chore, naps are rare, demands, deadlines and expectations are returning, and everyday I make coffee.  - Archie Scott Gobber