It’s late on Friday night at the Sarah West Gallery of Fine Art, A Center for Cultural Arts. Since last Sunday, the roar of passing trucks carrying Disaster Relief to Tornado Victims has overcome the sound of the occasional train. Flashing lights designating “Help Center Ahead” glow along Lee Road 430, our town’s mainstreet. Blue tarps blanket roof tops, while the rubble of demolished homes set along the roadside wait.. Read More

On Sunday March 3rd, our community of Smiths Station, and neighboring communities to the West and East of us experienced terror, devastation and loss. In the aftermath of an EF4 tornado, and numerous other small cell tornadoes (each with their own intensity,) we gather together to pick of the pieces, while comforting those that grieve the loss of loved ones, whole families, homes and livelihoods. The news of this tragedy.. Read More

As we reach out to help people of our community and surrounding areas recover and heal during the aftermath of the Lee County Storms, the Sarah West Gallery of Fine Art, A Center for Cultural Arts will offer A Place of Comfort to anyone in need. For anyone in need of a place of comfort, shared support, a shoulder to lean on, a moment of peace and tranquility, artists of.. Read More

A luminous prism of apricot light slips passed the curtain. The rising sun draws diagonal patterns ‘cross the room as I awaken on a cold late February morning. I pull the curtain back, and the room pulses with light. Mountains reflect in a watercolor landscape hanging opposite the window where I sit to pen down early thoughts. Traffic slows along Interstate 26 bending and winding northbound o’er the western North.. Read More

There wasn’t a frost. I questioned if my usual jacket and scarf was necessary as I stepped outside, and made my way to the car under a sky swept in hues of early springtime. On days like this I wonder, perhaps the groundhog was right. Just the other day, I read an article listing things that might be planted during winter’s last days. Admittedly I procrastinate a little, knowing we.. Read More

Autumn hues awash in pale blues converge in the southland. Relentless winds impart winter’s chill while the last leaves still cling to near naked branches. Seasons do not quite give up. Instead the page of the calendar turns. Remnants of one season linger long into the other. Frost crystals shine and the drip from the fence line. Brushstrokes of smalt blue and cadmium yellow are broken by sepia shadows. My.. Read More

I set out for the western end of an Alabama road. My destination was hardly a dot on the map, a place most may never go. Years before, I stood in an Auburn bookshop sifting through pages of an unfamiliar book. It mentioned a township near the Mississippi line. I knew someday, I would take that drive. The midday sun pour across the swamps and flatlands as I trace the.. Read More