• Art,  Writing

    Hey, Listen.

    There’s something I want you to know, and I hope you’ll remember it. It doesn’t matter if you think you’re “good” at art, as long as you create. As children, we are all creative and we all use our imagination. It’s only when we grow up that we start to subscribe to the notion that art is only for a select few. Or worse, that it doesn’t matter. I’m here to tell you that your heart and soul want you to create. It doesn’t matter if your work never hangs in a gallery or if the only people who like your photos are your family, or if you never get…

  • Art,  Writing

    Connecting with Myself Through Art Made Me Love People Again

    There was a sunny little girl who didn’t know anyone as a stranger. She loved to smile and make others smile. The dimples in her cheeks were always showing, because laughter came easily to her.    Then some things happened that weren’t so funny, or nice. There were unkind words at the hands of an adult whom she loved. They told her she was fat, and stupid; they treated her like she didn’t matter. They abused her mother. She began to carry these hurts inside her, and by the time she was a teenager, the hurts combined with her crazy hormones, and she was so angry and hated everything about…

  • Art,  Writing


    I remember the first time I saw one of your paintings in person. I remember my pulse racing fast in my breast and slow in my ears and I was standing there trying not to cry, because how could I ever explain to anyone around me that my heart was somehow being broken and knitted back together at the same time.  You’re still there, in the small, hurt parts of me and the big, loving parts. I open the umbrella I purchased, printed with your colors. I twirl it above me and remember how your brushstrokes have touched all of my life. 

  • Art


    Sara blinked as the little bird she had just drawn cocked his head at her. “You mean to tell me that you’re my guide? But—-you’re just a little fat bird!” “How rude!” said the parakeet, ruffling his feathers indignantly. “You could stand to lose a few pounds yourself.” Sara responded to this by slamming her sketchbook shut, which prompted a squawk. “Don’t be so hasty, we need each other.” The bird’s voice was muffled. Sara rolled her eyes and cracked her sketchbook open, just a little. “I don’t need you.” “See! That’s your problem right there! You need others. It’s my job to help you open up. Think of me…