I've been observing the world from earliest days, cheek against sun-splashed floor, dissolving my molecules into whatever eyes and spirit saw.

Words came first, then photography with my Polaroid camera at age 7. Painting came later.

As a very young child, every day experiences lent me an unsettling awareness of life's impermanence and absurdity. Perhaps to counter that awareness, I capture whatever stops me in my tracks, frame it in words or colors, and reflect that shaped energy back to the viewer. In so doing, howsoever Quixotically, I strive to create work that gives pleasure and will keep pulsing long after the "me" of me becomes part of the collective ether again.

Visitors are more than welcome to my studio in West Valley City, Utah. Just message or call to let me know when you’d like to stop by.

As to my practice and what may appear to be an absence of serial pieces ... the 'serial' aspect is there, sublimated into a narrative loosely connected to my life. From 2012 to the end of 2016, my studio was in storage, so I used the time to finish my memoir. In short, I am a) self-taught, b) not a slave to trends, and c) the more I paint, the clearer my vision becomes. Bear with me, and I'll do the same. Contact me for prices and prints. To purchase original paintings, prints, and a selection of greeting cards, visit my

ONLINE SHOP: annapottierart.square.site

A favorite quote about "art" and "success":

"It was not that the world owed him a debt and would eventually be compelled to pay it; but rather that the world would one day receive what he had it in him to give ..."
The Letters of Vincent Van Gogh, (Mark Roskill, editor, Touchstone, NY, 2008, p. 28)

Image: My first studio, this place by the window of my first solo apartment, c. 1995 after my first separation from my first husband. This was a couple lifetimes ago, in Montreal. This apartment was on the Hampstead side of the Côtes des Neiges Rd. divide. I still have the chair and both pieces shown here on the easel It was a heady, bewildering, fraught time, but when I’d set up at that easel ... it was like being behind the wheel of a luxury car. I could go anywhere my imagination took me. I could speed or stall or spin out if I wanted to. I still have the antique chair. First spied it from the 162 bus going up Monkland. It was in an antique store not far from the Hampstead cross-street, no longer there. Upon seeing it, I felt a) had to have it, and that b) it would one day grace my place, as the age difference in that first marriage was taking its toll, and I knew I’d have to bust a move. The sadness and grief therein rendered me almost mute. Words flew from me like flocks of birds, and stayed away for a long time. Colors, however, colors worked. And that’s how I began teaching myself how to paint. Still learning, still living and dreaming big.

Désolée de ne pas avoir mon site traduit en d'autres langues. Soyez patients! Avec un peu de temps, j'y arriverai. Cependant, j'éspère que les images vous donnent du plaisir!