Felice Boucher, 'Black Birds', 2012
I first met Felice Boucher at a Buddhist workshop in an old church in the East End of Portland. It was a cold afternoon in February and flakes of snow were starting to swirl down Mayo Street.
She walked into the historic church-turned-art-space in an elegant winter coat, flanked by two best friends. Charisma oozed out of this lady. I liked her immediately. Over the next few months, as we sat on wooden chairs and listened to a compassionate Buddhist nun speak of death and the veil of impermanence, I got to know Felice Boucher, the artist.
She walked into the historic church-turned-art-space in an elegant winter coat, flanked by two best friends. Charisma oozed out of this lady. I liked her immediately. Over the next few months, as we sat on wooden chairs and listened to a compassionate Buddhist nun speak of death and the veil of impermanence, I got to know Felice Boucher, the artist.
