Domestic (3): Lunch Paintings @laurelgitlen | May 9 - June 12, 2026
Peter Gallo, Tenki Hiramatsu, Ryan McLaughlin, Zora Moniz, Bethann Parker, Kate Salke, and Owen Westberg
The bunny, rapidly aging, has been relegated to the kitchen. The kids trampled some hostas just beginning to come up through the mulch, and I’m watching our light-starved Magnolia inch toward full, waxy blooms. It’s always a good month after the other trees in the neighborhood; our own delayed secret Spring.
The third group show in the house, Domestic(3): Lunch Paintings includes works by seven painters where tacit knowledge is dormant, budding, and forming. These are paintings made in barns, hotel rooms, kitchens, living rooms and studios, by artists dealing with living and dying, eating and sleeping, words, music, paint and feeling.
Gallery hours are Thursday - Saturday, 11-5, and other times by appointment. Previews are available on request.
Finding the balance between following my own creative path and looking to others for validation is something I’m always questioning. When the shelves get too full, I start to wonder if I’m going in the right direction. I want to create purely for myself, yet I also love the projects that pull me outside of my own head.
This piece holds the heart of Lost Quarry while connecting back to nature in a slightly different way than my usual work. I realized I’ve never shared it before. With spring fully in bloom, it feels like the right moment. Nature is always at the center of my inspiration, reminding me to keep dreaming about what’s next while also learning to savor what already exists.
This sculpture was commissioned specifically for our lake house. Doris Josovitz (LES artist and a good friend) took sediment from the creek bed in the woods behind the house and used it to create the glaze—so the landscape itself is part of the piece.
It lives in our entryway now, one of the first things you see when you walk through the front door. She created a custom plinth out of a side table prototype I spotted during a studio visit.
The piece is now part of our story in the most fundamental way. She had leftover glaze that she turned into a collection of dinner plates. We literally eat off the land.
It’s projects like this that make our lake house what it is. Deeply personal, storied, and layered.
Photos by @kelley_shaffer and myself
Places that you can’t see coming through the melody, 2025, 23x44x34in • Our Ceramic base by @lostquarry in collaboration with @karolina_maszkiewicz Eucalyptus seed pods sculpture. Karolina I’m taking notes and in awe of your sculpture titles for our pieces.
This @lostquarry piece, as shown by @les.collection , is one of my favorites. A sculptural form with space to hold your favorite objects or nothing at all. Standing tall, it’s a collection of shapes inspired by travel.
The terracotta clay and dripping crackle glaze remind me of the layered, exposed landscapes of Moab, Utah history both hidden and revealed within those dreamy rock formations
Thanksgiving means a joyful mess: a full house, towering dishes, mismatched leafy patterned linens, and vintage platters doing their yearly duty. It’s chaotic, and comforting.
Still, I can’t help but swoon over a more curated moment.
Dreaming about @odettewilliams table, comes to mind with soft candlelight, classic pieces, and @lostquarry vessels and sculptural bowls woven throughout. A holiday dreamscape perfection.
I’ve been asked a few times this week for process photos and videos, and I tried my best to pull some together… but I realized it’s really not my specialty. Maybe I’m too deep in the work to stop and set up a camera, or maybe it just doesn’t feel necessary in the moment. Sometimes it even feels like another chore, right up there with the dishes and laundry.
Don’t get me wrong, I love having documentation when I actually do it. I forget the steps, the joys, the frustrations, and even the sheer quantity of what I make. But I also think that sometimes artists give away too much of the process, leaving no secrets behind.
So here’s a little corner of my studio: some tiny sketches taped to the wall and a lamp in progress. This picture feels priceless, and I’m so glad @maxb.photo captured it.
I’m still figuring out what it means for me to share process images, how to be more present and intentional with them, and how to let them support the work rather than distract from it.
Last April, we traveled to White Sands, I had this vision of an epic day: the teens would be inspired, no complaints, we’d sled down dunes, feel the wind, take it all in.
Reality? While standing on this inspiring landscape, one teen sighed and said they’d rather be at school. Deep breaths.
I was buzzing with inspiration while they shot daggers my way. But somewhere between the eye rolls and the heat, little moments of magic appeared, small still lifes they started making with me, maybe out of boredom, maybe out of surrender. Either way, beauty found its way in.
There are so many photos from that day, and I’ve struggled to edit them , each one feels like a tiny memory of surrender and creation. Finally sharing a few here, a reminder that even reluctant moments can unfold into wonder.
A custom lamp I still dream about. I sometimes wish I had one of my own, and I keep thinking about new versions of this form. But she turned out so perfectly that I’m almost afraid to recreate this simple, poetic shape.
