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Wind & Water
Fine Art by Diana Vodjansky
When Wildlife Says Hello
Well, Excuse Me! and Well, Hello There! were inspired by photographs taken only minutes apart during the same outing. As my daughter drove, wildlife seemed to appear at every turn. The emus were so close they looked directly into my camera, and shortly afterward a Canada goose walked right up to my window. I kept clicking the shutter, hoping to capture a fleeting expression, and was rewarded with two unforgettable personalities. Those spontaneous moments became the inspiration for these watercolor paintings.
Sometimes the most memorable wildlife encounters last only a few seconds. These two happened only minutes apart, yet each animal seemed to pause just long enough to say hello in its own unforgettable way. Those brief encounters became two of my favorite paintings and remain a reminder that some of nature's greatest gifts are completely unexpected. August 2, 2026
A Journey Through Family History
Some paintings begin with a photograph. This one began with a handful of treasured family photographs tucked away in our family archives.
In the very early 1900s, my great-grandparents, Arthur and Mary Nepean, made their home near Garfield, Whitman County, Washington, after marrying in 1896. Arthur was well known for raising spirited race horses, and horses were woven into everyday life for the entire family. One photograph, in particular, captured my imagination—a young family member proudly riding one of Arthur's race horses, Tempo, during a local parade. Another photograph of the gently rolling plains surrounding Garfield completed the story.
Rather than recreate those photographs, I wanted to capture the feeling they left behind. The result is an original watercolor inspired by the quiet beauty of the Palouse landscape and the generations who called it home. The lone rider follows a winding trail through sunlit hills, symbolizing the journeys, hard work, and enduring connection to the land that shaped my family's history.
Although inspired by real people and places, Echoes of the Journey, is not intended as a historical reconstruction. Instead, it is a tribute to memory, heritage, and the timeless relationship between people, horses, and the landscapes that become part of who we are. My hope is that viewers see not only my family's story, but perhaps a reflection of their own—a reminder that every winding trail carries the footsteps, hoofprints, and memories of those who came before us. August 7, 2026
Stepping Outside My Comfort Zone
Yesterday, we celebrated the birthday of our dear friend Scott, whom we have known for many years. His wife, Candice, his sister, another friend, and I are all artistic, so before long our conversation turned to how each of us approaches creating art.
Like me, Candice enjoys working in several different mediums and creates beautiful artwork. When she works in acrylic or collage, she often takes a much more abstract approach. I have always been inspired by the way she combines colors so freely. I love seeing unexpected colors mingle in a painting, but creating that kind of freedom myself has always been challenging. Where do I start? Which colors do I choose? And how do I know where to put them?
The next day, I decided to challenge myself and find out. I figured the worst that could happen was that I would learn something—and perhaps add a little more to my artistic knowledge along the way.
During a recent trip to the San Diego Zoo, I had taken many photographs of elephants. None of the poses had struck me as something I felt compelled to paint traditionally, but suddenly I wondered whether one of them might work perfectly for this experiment.
I chose a photograph, adjusted the sketch until I was happy with the composition, and selected five colors that I knew would work beautifully together. Then I simply put paint to paper and let those colors move, mix, overlap, and become part of the elephant rather than trying to reproduce its natural coloring.
Colors of the Wild is what transpired.
It is one of those paintings that takes me a moment to absorb. But every time I look at it, I seem to see something a little different—and perhaps that is exactly what this experiment was meant to teach me. August 14, 2026
Letting The Paint Lead
My recent exploration with larger brushes and a looser approach has encouraged me to keep pushing beyond the way I normally paint. This time, I decided to take that exploration one step further—not only changing how I painted, but changing the medium itself.
With Where Color Falls, I worked with fluid acrylics on watercolor paper, allowing the paint to move, mingle, run, and create unexpected passages of color. Rather than carefully defining every tree, rock, and edge, I tried to let the shapes emerge from the color already on the paper.
There were moments when my instinct was to take control and refine everything. Instead, I kept returning to what had drawn me to this experiment in the first place: the beautiful turquoise, violet, green, gold, and blue flowing into one another.
Eventually, the waterfall and surrounding landscape began to emerge without needing every element explained.
Perhaps the biggest lesson was knowing when to stop.
Where Color Falls became another step in my continuing exploration of working more freely—using bigger brushes, trusting unexpected color, and sometimes simply letting the paint lead. August 2026
Where The Painting Happens
People often see the finished painting, but rarely the space where it all begins.
This is mine.
My studio isn't large or elaborate. It is a small room that I have gradually turned into a working space for just about everything I do creatively. Every wall, shelf, drawer, basket, and available corner has been put to work. Watercolors, acrylics, pastels, brushes, palettes, papers, books, tools, and more have all found their places—and yes, there is a lot packed into this little room!
Organization is especially important when you work with as many different materials as I do. I want to be able to sit down with an idea and reach for what I need without having to hunt for it. My paints are grouped, drawers are labeled, brushes are within reach, papers have their own storage, and even the walls have become useful space.
My computer sits beside my painting area so I can work from my own photographs and references while I paint. Nearby are my palettes, water, brushes, and whatever collection of supplies the current painting happens to require. Other areas of the room hold the materials that aren't needed every day but are never very far away.
It isn't a pristine studio designed for photographs. It's a real working studio. Paint gets splattered. Brushes accumulate. A painting may be drying while another idea is already beginning. There is usually something sitting out because I'm using it—or because I know I'll be reaching for it again soon.
What I especially love about these photographs is that they happened to capture Color Falls on my table while I was experimenting with fluid acrylics. That seems fitting. My studio has grown and changed right along with me as I've explored new materials, techniques, subjects, and ways of painting.
It may be a small space, but an enormous amount of experimenting, learning, frustration, discovery—and joy—has happened here.
And somehow, there's always room for one more tube of paint.
~The Restorer's Touch~
Giving the Past Another Life
Sometimes inspiration begins with one thing and quietly leads somewhere entirely different.
I came across an image of an old leather briefcase painted in beautiful, weathered shades of gold, rust, and brown. I was immediately drawn to the warmth and character of those colors, but they soon had me thinking about my daughter, Alicia, working in her Blackbird & Rose Studio.
Alicia restores old furniture, and I am continually amazed by her ability to look at a worn or forgotten piece and see what it can become. Where someone else might see scratches, faded wood, or years of wear, she sees character, possibility, and a story worth continuing.
That thought became the inspiration for The Restorer’s Touch. Rather than painting the briefcase, I carried its rich, timeworn colors into an old wooden drawer, antique brass hardware, and a well-used paintbrush—the kinds of things that made me think of Alicia at work. I even brought out a couple of metallic watercolors that had been sitting in my palette for a long time, waiting for just the right opportunity, to give the old brass handle a subtle glow.
The finished painting isn't about a beautifully restored piece of furniture. It represents the moment before—the worn wood, the tools, and the possibility of what might come next.
For me, The Restorer’s Touch is a quiet tribute to Alicia, her creativity and craftsmanship, and her gift for seeing the beauty and potential in something old and giving it another life.
One of Alicia's beautifully restored pieces. A Broyhill Gentleman's Chest from Blackbird & Rose Studio. www.blackbirdandrosestudio.com