The Creators: A sense of place, Leslie Watkins at Dandelion Cottage

Norfolk artist Leslie Watkins in her garden at Dandelion Cottage.
Jennifer Almquist

Norfolk artist Leslie Watkins in her garden at Dandelion Cottage.
'We make the invisible, visible- my muse and teacher Frank Mason taught me that,” recalled Norfolk artist Leslie Watkins.
A pre-Raphaelite beauty herself, this master watercolorist, classically trained landscape painter, and Master Gardener sat in dappled sunlight on her deck, feeding walnuts from a jar to a friendly chipmunk, with her rooster Houdini crowing in the background. Her love of nature, painting the beauty that surrounds her, and creating landscapes en plein air (in the open air), inform the details of her life.
Years ago, Leslie purchased a small house in Norfolk with a lawn that slants directly down to a busy roadway. Now when approaching her magical one acre, one must search to find her house. Deep layers of trees, magnolias, apples, giant hydrangea blooms, and native species of flora and fauna create a labyrinthine series of pocket gardens, some dark with shade-loving plants and ferns. Leslie has become the landscape she paints.
She refers to herself as an “artistic descendant” of the Old Lyme Art Colony, which was the heart and soul of American Impressionist painting. The pantheon of Watkins’ artist influencers includes Childe Hassam, William Metcalf, and Frank Vincent Dumond. At the Art Students League in Manhattan, Dumond taught Georgia O’Keefe, John Marin, Norman Rockwell and Frank Mason. Watkins has exhibited her fine art paintings in the Columbus Museum, the Lyman Allyn Art Museum, the National Arts Club, the Salamagundi Club, the Union League Club, the Hudson Valley Art Association, Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, the Lyme Art Association, and in Japan.
Her prolific commercial art career includes botanical watercolors and nature studies that decorate note cards, placemats, textiles, Battersea enamel boxes, and educational materials. Her illustrations appear on postage stamps, books, and magazines.
Watkins’ many clients include:
Walt Disney Co., Tiffany & Co., Caspari, B. Shackman & Co., Addison Wesley-Scott Foresman, Harcourt Brace, Houghton Mifflin, McGraw-Hill, Options, Oxford University Press, Prentice Hall, Rodale Press, Scholastic, Golden Books, Dover, Book-of-the-Month, and The New York Times.

Jennifer Almquist: Tell me about life in Dandelion Cottage.
Leslie Watkins: Dandelion Cottage is my tiny homestead in Norfolk designed as an experience in “living off the land” on just one acre. I named it Dandelion Cottage because I feel like I blew into Norfolk like a weed, like I didn’t belong here, and I loved it. I sent down this big, long taproot because I wasn’t going to leave. The seeds go off on the wind when I share my creative inspiration with other people. I don’t know where they go, I don’t know what they’re going do, yet I hope that they’ll carry on the tradition of this natural creative inspiration.
Small as it is, with the help of my cheerful and hard-working flock of Bantam chickens, I produce much of my own food supply in season. Honeybees help pollinate the fruits and flowers. My chickens live free range and eat bugs, scraps, seeds, fallen apples, small fruits and greens. They provide eggs, manure, and laughter. I have bred Bantam chickens (which are 1/5 the size of standard chickens) for 18 years, such as Bearded Belgian D’Avers, Seabrights, and Dutch Bantams.
My partner is an ethnobiologist. On our first date (thirteen years ago) at the Southfield Store, he talked to me for an hour about Heirloom tomatoes. His knowledge and wisdom are invaluable.
JA: You are a Master Gardener?
LW: Yes, I am a Connecticut Master Gardener. I have a certificate in horticulture. I design, renovate, and maintain gardens in Northwest Connecticut. Currently, I am creating a garden of native species alongside the Norfolk Library. I want children to be able to see the plantings from inside the library. My own cottage gardens are filled with flowers blooming in mass succession. There’s a fragrant white garden with cimicifuga, hydrangeas, phlox, a fringe tree and punctuated in autumn with blue asters. The central peony bed is filled with lush blooms in June. Old fashioned roses and butterflies are everywhere. My garden design illustrations have been published in Rodale’s Perennial Combinations and in Fine Gardening, Horticulture, Kitchen Gardener, and in The New York Times.
JA: How did you become a designer for Tiffany?
LW: The head of the Art Students League, Rosina, called me to her office. “Tiffany called- they want a studio assistant. I want you to get this job.” I had never done commercial work, but that night I put together a portfolio and trotted down to Tiffany design studio on 5th Ave. and 59th St, the most expensive property in the world at the time and went to the 9th floor design studios. Tiffany designed jewelry for kings and queens, for the aristocracy, and the White House. They hired me. I worked with 6 or 7 designers who specialized in different areas: jewelry, china, silver, and stationary. The designers, who did brilliant botanic designs, took me under their wing. I was hired by the International Philatelic Association in New York to create a series of stamps. Using watercolors, I designed a souvenir sheet of nocturnal animals for Lesotho, a series of food crops like mangoes for the Maldives, and a World Health Organization stamp for Uganda.
JA: Tell me about your early life.
LW: I’m a New Yorker through and through. My parents were born in Brooklyn and Queens. Generations of my family had a printing business, John D Watkins Company down on 9 Murray Street, NYC. My parents divorced; my mother remarried when I was 10. I had a lot of adversity in my life, but I always kind of landed on my feet. I feel I’ve got a powerful Angel watching out for me.
When I was a little girl, around three, my mother and I went to visit my grandmother in Brooklyn. Aunt Flossie showed me how to make a box. I was absolutely mesmerized. I must have made fifty boxes. I just thought it was an amazing piece of magic. My father was a printer brought home reams of paper so I could sketch and draw.
I was an incredibly shy kid. I literally grew up in the woods with dogs, no other kids. I still don’t know how to socialize, truly. It took all my courage to sit next to this older girl on our school bus to watch her draw the most beautiful horses I had ever seen. I was enraptured. It made such an impression to see people draw. It was like magic to create something out of nothing. I was always an optimist who felt that if I could share my love of nature that it would inspire other people to love nature, develop a reverence, and help take care of it.
JA: Now what are your plans?
LW: I want to get back to painting now. I got further and further away from my painting while running my garden business. Friends of mine who have gone on to be well-known artists wonder what happened to Leslie for twenty years. Well, I designed my Olana, like Frederic Church. Dandelion Cottage was never going to be an estate, but I knew it would be the cutest darn cottage it could. I was creating my life.
Now, I’m kind of scrambling. I must resurrect my career. I want to create a new body of work and a new audience. I can distinguish myself with watercolor. I have the credentials, the history, the background, and the ability. This September I’ll be teaching watercolor classes in the beautiful natural light in the Arcanum Building Annex in Norfolk. I’m also going to be offering some holiday paper crafting workshops, because now is the time to start getting ready for Christmas.
In part, I have modeled my life on the lives of Tasha Tudor and Beatrix Potter, who is my favorite. I combine my backyard sustainability lifestyle, my reverence for nature, with my artwork. I wanted it all to connect. I want to live an authentic life.
Nathan Miller
Crews finish renovations at Veterans Park by spraying dirt off the new pavers and sidewalk in downtown Millerton on Thursday, May 7.
MILLERTON — Landscaping crews put the finishing touches on upgrades to Veterans Park in downtown Millerton on Thursday, May 7.
Workers had removed the temporary fencing and were spraying dirt off the brand new pavement Thursday afternoon. Scape-Tech Landscaping Technologies began the work on Monday, April 20, and predicted the work would be completed within two to three weeks.
Millerton Mayor Jenn Najdek praised the work, saying Scape-Tech's crews previously renovated Millerton's sidewalks.
"They're fast, efficient and easy to work with," Najdek said.
Renovations to the park included new brick pavers, replacement of a portion of sidewalk through the park, and replacing asphalt paving. Crews also power-washed the stone walls in the park.
Najdek said the work is mostly complete. The park now just needs grass to grow to finish its revitalization.
Funding for the renovations came from a combination of grants and cash reserves that the village maintains, meaning the village did not have to take on additional debt for the project.
Millerton News
Liane McGhee, a woman defined by her strength of will, generosity, and unwavering devotion to her family, passed away leaving a legacy of love and cherished memories.
Born Liane Victoria Conklin on May 27, 1957, in Sharon, CT, she grew up on Fish Street in Millerton, a place that remained close to her heart throughout her life. A proud graduate of the Webutuck High School Class of 1975, Liane soon began the most significant chapter of her life when she married Bill McGhee on August 7, 1976. Together, they built a life centered on family and shared values.
Liane was a woman of many passions. She found peace in the outdoors, whether she was taking scenic country rides, fishing, or walking her dog. An avid reader and a talented painter, she possessed a creative spirit and a caring heart that extended to all animals. Above all, Liane was most at home when surrounded by her family.
Liane is survived by her devoted husband of nearly 50 years, Bill McGhee. Her legacy continues through her three children: Joshua (Tanya) McGhee, Justin McGhee, and Jaclyn (Joe) Perusse. She was the proud grandmother of Connor, Calia, and Kennedy McGhee, as well as Lillian and Tillman Perusse. She is also survived by her siblings, Larry Conklin and Linda Holst-Grubbe. Liane was predeceased by her parents Martin and Lillian Conklin, and her brother, Robert “Bob” Conklin.
In keeping with Liane’s generous nature, the family requests that, in lieu of flowers, memorial donations be made to Hudson Valley Hospice (by mail to 374 Violet Ave, Poughkeepsie, NY 12601 or online at https://www.hvhospice.org/donate) or to the Millerton Fire Company at PO Box 733, Millerton, NY 12546.
A celebration of life will be held on Friday, May 8, from 4:00 to 7:00 p.m. at Conklin Funeral Home, 37 Park Avenue, Millerton, NY.
Her family will remember her as the strong-willed and caring matriarch who always put them first. She will be deeply missed.

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Natalia Zukerman
Ten New Yorker cartoonists gather around a table in a scene from “Women Laughing.”
There is something deceptively simple about a New Yorker cartoon. A few lines, a handful of words — usually fewer than a dozen — and suddenly an entire worldview has been distilled into a single panel.
There is also something delightfully subversive about watching a room full of women sit around a table drawing them. Not necessarily because it seems unusual now — thankfully — but because “Women Laughing,” screening May 9 at The Moviehouse in Millerton, reminds us that for much of The New Yorker’s history, such a gathering would have been nearly impossible to imagine.
The documentary, directed by longtime New Yorker cartoonist Liza Donnelly and filmmaker Kathleen Hughes, traces the uneven history of women cartoonists at the magazine, from their presence in its earliest issues to their near disappearance by the 1950s. But the film does something more interesting still: it lets us watch these artists at work.
“The idea was talking to these women about their process and where their ideas come from,” Donnelly said. “You get to witness these women drawing in the film, and I draw with them.”
“Women Laughing” includes intimate conversations with some of the most celebrated and groundbreaking cartoonists at The New Yorker, including Roz Chast, Emily Flake, Sarah Akinterinwa, Liana Finck, Amy Hwang and Bishakh Som. Donnelly also speaks with Emma Allen, the magazine’s first female cartoon editor. During a dynamic roundtable discussion with 10 cartoonists, viewers also meet artists Emily Sanders Hopkins, Maggie Larson, Arenza Pena-Popo and Victoria Roberts.
“I will confess that it was what I was most worried about,” Hughes said of the technical challenges presented by filming 10 artists at work. “You have 10 people. That’s 10 microphones, six or seven cameras. We didn’t even have a budget for it, but our crew donated all the gear so that we could get it done.”
Hughes was relieved that not only did it work, but it became one of the most memorable parts of the film.
“Frankly, when you put people together and have them talk on screen, it can get tiresome quickly,” Hughes said. “So I’m glad that nobody listened to me when I said I didn’t think we should do this.”
For Donnelly, whose book “Very Funny Ladies” was the impetus for the film, the documentary offered dimensions the printed page could not. For Hughes, whose previous films have examined weightier subjects like economic inequality and gun violence, entering the world of cartoonists brought its own revelations.
“I really did think that the cartoonists were sort of in charge of what was in the magazine,” Hughes said, laughing. “That was probably the biggest revelation.”
What surprised her most was not just the structure of the magazine’s famously competitive submission process — cartoonists submit batches each week and face frequent rejection — but the sheer persistence required to sustain the work.
“It was inspiring to see the dedication everybody had to the craft,” Hughes said. “And how creative everybody is, not just in making the cartoons themselves, but in supporting themselves through it.”
An audience reaction that has surprised both Donnelly and Hughes is the laughter. By the time the filmmakers finished editing, they had seen each cartoon so many times that the humor had become technical material — questions of pacing, framing and sequence. The first public screening changed that.
“All the laughter really kind of blew us away,” Hughes said. “You forget.”
The audience response underscores something else the film makes clear: just how much skill lies behind the apparent simplicity of a single-panel cartoon. Donnelly noted that the form is “a lot harder than you think.” Like the cartoons it celebrates, the documentary values economy and precision. At just 37 minutes, its compact running time reflects that ethos.
“A lot of people have said it’s a great length,” Hughes said. “It’s almost like a cartoon version of a documentary.”
Donnelly appreciates the response she hears most often after screenings.
“You leave them wanting more,” she said.
Like the best New Yorker cartoons, “Women Laughing” says a great deal with remarkable economy, leaving audiences laughing and looking more closely at what appears, at first glance, deceptively simple.
“Women Laughing” will screen at the Moviehouse (48 Main St., Millerton) on May 9 at 7 p.m. followed by a conversation with Liza Donnelly, Kathleen Hughes and cartoonist Amy Hwang. Moderated by local filmmaker Pam Hogan. Tickets at themoviehouse.net
Natalia Zukerman
In “Your Friends and Neighbors,” Lena Hall’s character is also a musician.
At a certain point you stop asking who people want you to be and start figuring out who you already are.
— Lena Hall
There is a moment in conversation with actress and musician Lena Hall when the question of identity lands with unusual force.
“Well,” she said, pausing to consider it, “who am I really?”
Born Celina Consuela Gabriella Carvajal into a San Francisco family steeped in performance — her father a choreographer, her mother a prima ballerina — Hall was, by her own account, “born to be onstage.”
“Like a show pony,” she joked.
She trained first as a ballet dancer, studying in France on scholarship before abandoning that path for musical theater after seeing her sister perform in “42nd Street.”
Even then, identity was something inherited before it was chosen.
The Tony Award-winning, Grammy-nominated performer has spent much of her career moving between worlds: Broadway and television, rock clubs and film sets, musical theater precision and raw, unvarnished songwriting. Her latest solo album, “Lullabies for the End of the World,” is an intimate, autobiographical work that explores co-dependency, heartbreak and self-reckoning.
But for Hall, whose career includes a Tony-winning turn in “Hedwig and the Angry Inch,” a starring role on Apple TV+’s “Your Friends and Neighbors,” and acclaimed performances in film and television, the search for artistic identity has been unfolding for decades.
The record’s central themes — identity, authenticity, reinvention — are the same ones Hall has been sorting through for much of her adult life.
“It wasn’t until later that I started asking those questions,” she said from New York City, which she splits her time between and West Cornwall, Connecticut. “What do I want to represent? Who do I want to be? I was trying to find the authentic self instead of just going with the flow.”
The search began, in part, with an unlikely catalyst: a tonsillectomy.
When Hall was 26, surgery altered her voice just as she had joined the rock band The Deafening. “They would just play really loud and never change the key,” she said, laughing.
At the same time, Hall found herself confronting larger questions about purpose and artistic direction.
“I was going through that moment of, what do I really want out of this industry?” she said. “If I’m going to keep doing this, I need to have a purpose.”
Until then, Hall said, she had largely been defined by external expectations.
“I was always who I was told to be,” she said.
The surgery became a kind of reset, both vocally and personally. It also coincided with another form of reinvention: the decision to change her professional name.
“My real name is a lot,” she said.
People stumbled over its pronunciation. It was harder to remember, harder to place. “Lena Hall” felt streamlined, memorable. “It also just sounds like a rock star,” she laughed.
Hall, who is one-quarter Filipino with Spanish and Swedish ancestry, later grappled with whether changing her name obscured an important part of who she is. At one point, she said, she was advised that reverting to her birth name might improve her casting prospects as representation standards shifted.
She declined.
“That didn’t feel authentic,” she said.
Instead, Hall came to see the name change as less a departure than a continuation.
After making the change, she discovered that Carvajal itself was a family alteration, adopted generations ago in the Philippines.
“I’m still honoring my family, even in the name change,” she said. “I’m continuing that tradition.”
Her Filipino heritage remains central to how she understands herself, even as some parts of that history remain difficult to trace.
“I’m very curious to keep searching,” Hall said. “That side of my family is where all the artistry came from.”
Hall’s refusal to flatten herself into a single story or cultural identity is mirrored in her journey as a multi-hyphenate artist. She is, depending on the moment, a Broadway belter, a screen actor, a rock frontwoman, a conceptual songwriter.
Her current side project, the all-female Radiohead tribute band Labiahead, gleefully complicates the picture further, reframing familiar songs through a new lens.
“When women perform something written and performed by men, it changes it completely,” she said. “Nothing even needs to be said. It just happens.”
The same could be said of Hall’s own work.
Across mediums, she is an artist interested less in performance as display than performance as revelation.
Onscreen, she said, that often means doing less.
“The camera is literally on your nose,” she said. “You just have to think, and it picks it up.”
Between Celina Carvajal and Lena Hall, between ballet and rock, Broadway and Cornwall, Hall is making peace with multiplicity.
“At a certain point,” she said, “you stop asking who people want you to be and start figuring out who you already are.”
Natalia Zukerman
“A Love Letter to Handsome John” screens at The Colonial Theatre on May 8.
Fans of the late singer-songwriter Todd Snider will have a rare opportunity to gather in celebration of his life and music when “A Love Letter to Handsome John,” a documentary by Otis Gibbs, screens for one night only at The Colonial Theatre in North Canaan on Friday, May 8.
Presented by Wilder House Berkshires and The Colonial Theatre, the 54-minute film began as a tribute to Snider’s friend and mentor, folk legend John Prine. Instead, following Snider’s death last November at age 59, it became something more intimate: a portrait of the alt-country pioneer during the final year of his life.
What began as a simple gesture of gratitude evolved into a poignant meditation on friendship, artistic influence and loss, offering viewers an unusually personal glimpse of Snider at home in his quietest moments.
For Brad Sanzenbacher of Wilder House Berkshires, bringing the film to the Northwest Corner has been deeply personal.
“I’ve been a huge fan of Todd Snider and John Prine for 20 years,” he said. “I lived in the Bay Area before I moved here, and I would see Todd live probably at least four times a year — sometimes back-to-back nights. I was that kind of super Dead Head-type fan that was on tour.”
Sanzenbacher said he had the chance to meet Snider several times and attended the musician’s Catskills retreats.
“He was just one of those people that I really connected with strongly,” he said. “Like a lot of people, when he passed away, I was really shocked and devastated.”
When he learned screenings of the film were beginning to pop up around the country, he wanted to bring that communal experience here.
“I know there are a lot of Todd Snider fans everywhere who want closure on his life and maybe a chance to feel like they’re in the room with him again,” he said. “I thought it would be a really cool experience to bring the film to the community.”
The screening is part of what Sanzenbacher calls the film’s organic, fan-driven momentum.
“I love the grassroots movement of the film,” he said. “They were going to do two screenings and that was going to be it, and now they’re showing it all over the country because fans have reached out to say, ‘How can I bring a screening to my town?’ I feel really lucky we’re able to show it.”
He hopes the evening captures some of the camaraderie that defined the Todd Snider fan experience.
“One of my favorite things about being a Todd Snider fan was when you’d go to two or three shows in a row, you’d turn into a little caravan and make friends with strangers and become this community,” he said. “That’s kind of something I’m hoping happens at the film.”
The screening begins at 7 p.m. Friday, May 8, at The Colonial Theatre, 27 Railroad St., North Canaan. Run time is 54 minutes, with time afterward for audience members to gather and connect.

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