This past week, I returned to something that always brings me a quiet kind of peace—layering ink over watercolor.
The piece I worked on isn’t finished yet. It’s still evolving. I made it on a well-worn cutting board I’ve used for years—stained, splattered, full of stories from past projects. And honestly, that felt right. It mirrored exactly where I’m at: a little worn, a little messy, still creating.
My studio is still disorganized. My energy has been uneven. There’s been a lot to process emotionally, and I’ve found myself moving more slowly than I expected. And yet, something in me needed to sit down and make something—just to see what would come through.
This piece came through.
It reminded me that art doesn’t demand perfection—it just asks that we show up. That we trust the process, even when we’re not sure where it’s leading. That we create in the midst of the mess, the fatigue, the noise—and maybe because of it.
I’m not sure what this piece will become yet. Maybe it’s a study for something larger. Maybe it’s complete just as it is. Either way, I’m grateful for what it gave me: a quiet return to color, to rhythm, to myself.
