Art In Progress.

Anything worthwhile takes a long time. I think about this in terms of quality and workmanship and craft. While cleaning, I found some old card designs from 2017. At the time I was proud of them. But now having made hundreds of handmade designs, I see how at the time I was still searching and learning and discovering my style.

I took those original ideas and iterated on them. I upgraded simple chalk leaf designs into watercolored stencils. I’ve found a better flow with hand-lettering. The imperfect quality of the letters gives them a unique feeling. Something personal. Like a friend wrote to you and licked the envelope and dropped it into the mail.

Creating so many handmade cards is a labor-intensive process. Physical labor. Emotional labor. I first lay down the watercolor base, let it dry, and then hand-letter. I write the text-heavy cards out in the evening because I’ve found my hand is steadier than in the morning.

There were so many cards where something went awry during the final process of writing the text. My hand smeared the letters. Or the lines weren’t symmetrical, or I missed a word. At the end of the day, even though they started out as having so much potential, those cards were rendered useless. They ended up in the recycle bin. Which made those final cards, the ones that made it from start to finish, even more priceless. A true labor of love.

Just like life, we can feel a false sense of security when we lay down our so-called foundations. When we attend the ‘right’ college or get the ‘right’ job or marry the ‘right’ partner or reach the ‘right’ level of financial security. Only to have everything become irrelevant in the end with a quick smear of distrust, deceit, or uneven emotional and energetic reciprocity.

Henry Miller Library, Big Sur.

So when the final cards are sealed in their envelopes, I feel a deep sense of connection to my art because I know all the work that went into creating each one. And my hope is that you or the recipient will feel that love when opening a card from me. Thank you for supporting my work through the years.

Cheers to continuing to practice. And realizing that art, like all of us, are still in progress.

Tuning In.

Tuning in. Esalen, Big Sur.

Our bodies tell us when someone or something isn’t good for us. It starts with feelings of tension, anxiety, a hunch that something is ‘off',’ or even annoyance.

We must create the space to listen. Tune into the lingering feelings, the unease, the inexplicable hesitancy. Trust the subtle way your intuition is nudging you in a different direction. Trust the way it searches for a language to communicate to your nervous system.

What if you honored that still, small voice? What if you followed its guidance? How would it feel to finally have your head and your heart aligned?

How To Care For Your Future Self.

I’m an introvert. Perhaps a borderline ambivert. Here’s a tip for anyone out there like me, or anyone with people pleasing tendencies.

When you’re invited to an outing, a party, a dinner, a celebration, an event, a speaking gig, or anything that requires more extroverted energy output than you’d prefer, pretend like it’s happening tonight.

Do you have the emotional and physical energy to attend? Especially after a long day of work, or writing or meetings?

This has saved me numerous times. In the moment, I’m tempted to reply, “YES! I’d LOVE to! Can’t wait!” even though deep, deep inside I’m fully aware that when that day rolls around, I’ll be kicking myself for agreeing to something I don’t actually want to attend.

So I started pretending the invitation is for tonight instead.

It’s a very clear “HELL YES!” as well as “HELL NO” when I started experimenting with this. It was a powerful filter for the people and invitations I was clearly excited about versus merely agreeing to because I wanted to be nice.

Time is finite. It is arguably our most valuable resource.

By using this technique, I’ve gained my time back. Instead of spending three hours attending a dinner event I’m feeling ambivalent about, or attending a happy hour function small-talking with people I most likely won’t interact with again, I’m spending it with individuals and celebrations that light me up and energize me. Or spending it on getting extra rest or working on projects that me feel awake and alive.

So the next time you’re invited out, pretend it’s tonight.

Then act accordingly.

Birthday Reflections.

This year, I tried to live in a way that would make my 9-year-old self and my 90-year-old self proud.

I learned how to rollerskate again. Experimented artistically with paper cut illustrations and acrylic paint and polymer clay. Walked barefoot in the grass and sand. Jumped in the ocean. Followed my curiosity. Was more playful and silly and loose. Laughed at myself. Wrote poems and shared them with new friends on the beach. Got better at accepting that failing is part of learning. Remembered that practice makes progress, not perfect. I made decisions from my heart more. Fell in love. Opened up again. Became more embodied with dance, massage, breathwork.

For my 90-year-old self, I focused on legacy and longevity. I traded HIIT for long morning walks in nature. Prioritized rest and recovery both physically and mentally. Went on retreats. Found mentors. Scheduled uninterrupted time off so I could have the creative space to devote to art projects. Dove deep into healing and shadow work. Stopped trying to “fix” situations and instead, listen. Started writing and illustrating my first book- something that’s been a huge dream of mine for years. Intentionally chose friends and experiences over things. Realized community is the new currency.

This was the year of discovering, creating, and surrendering. And simultaneously remembering and returning home. Back to myself.

Here’s to another year. Of integration, wholeness, awe, and wonder.

Into the Depths.

Latest work; 11x14” original alcohol ink on yupo paper. Available in my shop.

“It is not difficult to make things. What is difficult is to reach the place from which we can make things.”
— Brancusi, Sculptor

One teenage client I worked with in the past struggled with depression, anxiety, and ADHD. All of these largely affected his lifestyle choices, including his nutrition. When we started working together, he was so numb and disconnected from his body. My usual approaches of dietary suggestions fell flat because his emotions and anger blocked his motivation and desire to make changes. He could care less about his diet and what he fueled his body with.

But he agreed to make art with me.

For weeks, we would meet together and head to the park down the street from his house. We sat on the grass, I’d pull out my box of art supplies and we’d draw, color, scribble, and sketch. I watched him move from colored pencils to thick markers. One week he used oil pastels.

I noticed how his color palate shifted. Slowly, he introducing more vibrant colors. One week he drew a sun and flowers.

Drawing and coloring allowed him to access a part of himself that was buried. When words failed, he used images and color schemes to illuminate the joy and childlike wonder that was dormant underneath the layer of depression and anxiety.

Art helped him access his heart. It took time. But his ability to uncover that part of himself that was buried was the first step in his wellness path. Eventually we were able to talk about food. But it took time, patience, curiosity, and in this case, crayons and construction paper.

His ability to ultimately reach the place where he could make things turned out to be the key that allowed him to make changes.

Thank You, Body.

Running a 1/2 marathon along the Avenue of the Giants.

Our bodies are incredible.

We often forget this. With societal and cultural pressure bombarding us with messages that smaller bodies are sexier/more attractive, it’s no wonder why so many people are unhappy and dissatisfied with their bodies. A slight increase on the scale suddenly becomes a measurement of self-worth and failure in all areas of life. People forget that hormones fluctuate, in addition to hydration levels, food consumption, sodium, and bowel regimens.

Last Sunday, it was a breath of fresh air to celebrate so many different bodies running a 1/2 marathon and marathon along the magical and mystical Avenue of the Giants in Humboldt, California. So many different ages, body shapes and sizes- all running and smiling and simply celebrating the human body and what it’s capable of achieving.

In January, my friend Catherine donated her kidney to a friend. As an active, athletic woman, her one fear was that following the transplant, her body would somehow be less capable of experiencing and achieving many of the athletic feats she loved to pursue. Prior to her transplant date, she saw an ad for this 1/2 marathon in Humboldt. As her body was recovering and healing, she asked me in April if I would join her at this race as a way of celebrating her body and health in a full-circle moment.

Of course, I agreed.

Sunday’s race wasn’t about pace. It was about the journey we all go on, and how some journeys in health and in life, are more bearable and memorable with friends. We cheered on other runners. We stopped to take pictures with gigantic majestic Redwoods that lined the entire run course. When it felt hard, we double-downed and thanked our bodies for how amazing and resilient and strong they are.

We crossed the finish line bursting with joy and gratitude. It felt different than any other race I’d done. The ones where all I cared about were time, pace, and place.

This felt like a moving prayer offered on behalf of our bodies. Afterwards, Catherine placed her hand over her heart and cried.

So the next time you’re tempted to talk down on yourself because of what the scale may say, PAUSE.

Think about the times your body has been there for you. Supported you. Healed itself. Allowed you to walk, run, ride a bike, ski, snowboard, paddle, have a child, hike, dance, hug, offer a hand, drive a car, make love, make art, write, sing, and photograph the world.

Isn’t this worth celebrating?

Sometimes the most memorable and important experiences in life that our bodies accomplish don’t need finish lines.

Your Center.

Milagra Ridge, Pacifica

With every labyrinth, you have a choice.

Enter it. Or not.

If you decide to enter, there’s only one direction to walk. Towards the center.

Like most things, it’s easy to ignore and walk past. To put it off for later. For another time. There’s a million other distractions. That big project at work, emails, your partner’s needs. Your phone.

Wellness journeys are similar. You have a choice whether or not you’ll courageously step in.

But if you do, with each step you’ll shed old habits and learn new tools that get you closer and closer to the center.

To your center.

Strong Like Water.

My view during a late afternoon grounding/earthing session.

You tell me you want to be strong. But first, you must decide. Strong like rock? Or water?

One is heavy and grounded. Sturdy. It has the ability to crush and shatter.

The other is subtle. Soft and sweet. But give it enough time and it will erode the ground. Carve out a canyon. Carry the mountain into the ocean.