Artist of the Month

March 2018 – Deanna Anderson

I have been painting in some form or another for most of my life, starting with water colors when I was young. I have taken many classes, beginning in high school and later have been fortunate to take classes from several professional artists in Utah, including drawing, charcoal, water color and oil painting. Since I began oil painting years ago I found that it was the medium that I loved the most.

I have been at Linda’s Art and Frame for about 16 years and I love all the new friends I have made. I have painted many subjects and given paintings to my children, grandchildren, friends and other family members and have sold a few paintings as well.


Deanna’s Paintings

Deanna’s Poetry

by Deanna AndersonSometimes a door is left ajar
And bids you come inside
And other times it’s locked up tight
Is there something there to hide?And just like other mysteries
You must find the key
Or leave – and always wonder
Was it just blocking me?

We’ll encounter many passageways
Before our life is o’er
And when we venture thru each one
There’s always many more.

These paintings show the passageways
To new things up ahead
So send your mind beyond them
Come, follow where they’ve led.

What lies behind the doorways, down the path
Or through the gate?
Don’t tarry, times a wastin’
Soon it may be too late

We want to share our vision
As you ponder and you view
And what you dream is there beyond
Is really up to you.

by Deanna AndersonThey stand — silent reminders
Of what they used to be
And we can only wonder
What was their historyTheir purposes were varied
Some sheltered tools or grain
And animals found refuge
Man used them for his gain

At first, they feared no winter
And sun’s warm rays were good
But slowly nature took its toll
O’er decades as they stood

Some structures stand, quite sturdy still
Not many flaws at all
But others bow to rot and age
In time, they’ll surely fall

To be reduced from whence they came
To rubble and to rust
And slowly they will vanish
Returning to the dust

And so we try to capture
Images before they’re gone
Maybe part of their stories
We’ll tell, and they’ll live on