"She was a photographer, then a painter, then a photographer again, so there's beautiful, long-developed vision. She's an artist through-and-through who prints her own work. Most contemporary photographers use digital tools and techniques to tighten their work -- sapping the pictures of life and leaning to sterile austerity. Lisa's images are exuberant, loose, the work of a master craftsperson.“
- Nan Phelps
Born in New York, I moved to California after a couple adventures traipsing across the country and back again, to attend CCAC. I received a BFA in printmaking and photography in 1979, the beneficiary of having learned photography in B&W, in the darkroom, and having had terrific teachers, among them: Vilem Kriz, Sue Ciriclio, Chris Johnson, Marc Le Sueur, Charlie Gill, Patricia Tobacco Forrester, and David Heintz. After graduating I had a quick foray into gallery representation and the world of art collectors. The Photographer’s Gallery, The Susan Spiritus Gallery, Foster Goldstrum, Suzy Locke, Nancy Witherall Art (most recently). My work has been collected by individuals and corporate entities here and abroad. I’ve participated in many solo and group exhibitions: Arts Guild of Sonoma, Arc Gallery, Gray Loft Gallery, Benicia Art Center, Fusion Art, Gray Loft Gallery, Center for Fine Art Photography, Gallery Route One, Photo - Fine Art Gallery, Sticks Framing, Nan Phelps Photography Gallery, to name a few.
I met my husband, Tim Goodman, also a fine art photographer in 1985. In 1992, our son, Cole, was born. Tim and I started and built up an award winning landscape design/build company soon after we met and have been working together and making art ever since.
With retirement around the corner I eagerly anticipate dedicating my undivided attention to photography.
Natural Music
By Robinson Jeffers
The old voice of the ocean,
the bird-chatter of little rivers,
(Winter has given them gold for silver
To stain their water and bladed green
for brown to line their banks)
From different throats
intone one language.
So I believe if we were strong enough
to listen without
Divisions of desire and terror
To the storm of the sick nations,
the rage of the
hunger-smitten cities,
Those voices would be found
Clean as a child’s;
or like some girl’s breathing
who dances alone
By the ocean-shore,
dreaming of lovers.
