Raised on Slavic stories in an American suburb, Kerner spent her childhood searching for secrets unfurling from flower buds, flowing between rocks, buried under fallen leaves, and whispered on the wind. Now settled, nestled in a subrural hollow where two creeks converge in a regenerating wetland, this practice has permeated her approach to painting. Kerner's paintings are rendered loosely, wildly, with oil sticks and hands on a slippery surface of yupo paper. This raw imagery is a response to shifting seasons, changes in vegetation, celestial passages, the swelling and ebbing of water that permeates the house. Later, she revisits these works and writes short stories in response to the memories that arise. Her words describe this place and its inhabitants, the forces of nature, her dreams, and experiences of stewardship and motherhood. The work holds a record of her relationship with the land.