Tag: life

This Too…

The other day, while walking in the woods of some property in the country, we came upon the crusted remains of an old Oldsmobile. It was the bare essence of a former glory—its frame twisted by time, its once-glossy paint now a muted patchwork of rust and decay. Time arched over it, nature had begun reclaiming it, vines weaving through the skeletal remains, composting leaves and branches settling into the crevices where an engine once roared. I know there had to be some wildlife housed somewhere beneath its hulking frame. At one point, this car had been a concept, a design, a plan, then brand new, rolling off a showroom floor with a pristine shine, full of promise. Possibly the esteemed object of someone’s dream. How many families had been transported back and forth, voices drifting from the windows as it sailed across the open terrain, ‘the new ruling power of the road.’ Then it was all over. Now, it sat still, wedged into the earth, forgotten. My first question was how it got there. Then something a lot more relevant: this too will pass.

Everything that seems real, solid, permanent, so pressing, so essential in the moment—it all fades in time. The things we chase, the worries that keep us up at night, the victories that swell our chests, the defeats that weigh us down—all of it moves forward, slipping into darkness, dissolving into the vast current of time. Nothing stays forever, not even the most polished, powerful satisfying machine you ever owned. And yet, here we are, so often caught up in the illusion of permanence. We find ourselves suffering in the shadow of what might happen. We shiver in frigidity or fear of a world we can’t control. We hesitate, waiting for the ‘perfect time.’ We dwell in regret, replaying the past like we can rewrite it. We chase, we cling, we grasp, as if we can hold the world still in our hands. But life doesn’t work that way. It is all fully alive and animated, moving on whether we’re present for it or not.

Perhaps the lesson in that old car wasn’t just about decay or impermanence. Maybe that crusty Oldsmobile was simply a reminder to truly live while we can. Death reminds us to live. To be present in our actions, in our relationships, in our own skin. To take in the crisp air on a morning walk, to laugh without restraint, to speak truth, to chase passions, to take the chance or risk, to show up for the people who matter. To live on purpose.

It’s a sobering thought to realize that one day, we too will be remnants—memories in the hearts of those we touched, footprints fading into the path we walked. I say we get up, get out and go live. We know where we will end up. No sense in tiptoeing toward it in quiet desperation. Make each footprint count as spring springs forth in this season of rebirth. And when those other days come, may it be said and known that we didn’t just exist in this thing. We lived it.

Embracing The Journey

Last week, a snowstorm blanketed the East Coast, transforming familiar landscapes into frosty white humps. At the same time, we bore witness to newsreels of wild fires raging in California. The entire picture is a stark reminder of our divided literal and metaphorical climates. It’s hard not to see the symbolism: two extremes, mirroring the polarization of our times.

In the aftermath of the storm, we decided to embrace the weather and hit the great outdoors. We had actually been hoping for snow. When we get it in my neck of the woods, it’s generally in celebration. The air was crisp, and the fresh snow muffled the world around us. This offered a rare stillness around our voices of laughter as we sculpted snow creatures then armed ourselves with snowmunition and went to war. The day was escaping so we called a truce and took off hiking. As the group trudged ahead, I hung back taking in the scene: the path we carved through the snow, my family in motion, and the destination up ahead. It struck me then how much this mirrored life itself. Yes, I do think a lot, even at times like this. So often, we fixate on where we’re going—the summit, the goal, the resolution—that we forget to savor where we are in the moment. Each step becomes a task rather than a part of the experience. And yet, those steps are where the magic happens. The crunch of snow underfoot, the shimmer of sunlight breaking through snow-heavy branches, and the sound of my youngest daughter’s voice asking how much longer—these moments are the journey.

And then there are the tracks we leave behind. Looking at the trail behind them, I thought about the impression we make for others who watch us, who come after us. Our choices, our actions, and even our mistakes make paths that guide, hinder, or inspire those who follow. The clarity of a single set of tracks through fresh snow can be reassuring, a beacon for others to navigate unknown terrain. This perspective feels especially relevant in our current world, where extremes—both in weather and in society—seem to dominate. Fires and storms, division and connection. In such times, our steps and our awareness of them matter more than ever. The way we walk—with care, intention, and respect—can influence not only our journey but the paths and way we forge for others.

So as we move forward, let’s challenge ourselves to make the most of where we are. Make the most of today. Pause to admire the view, acknowledge the effort it takes to keep moving, and be mindful of the impact we leave in our wake. Whether we’re navigating snow or fire, literal or figurative, we really do have the power to shape the journey—for ourselves and for those who follow. With due diligence the destination will come soon enough. But it’s the trail we carve and the tracks we leave that tell the real story. The map will be here long after we’ve gone where we went.

A Timely Investment

As an artist, my life revolves around the creation of beauty and meaning. I pour a part of me into each stroke of my brushes, mark of my pen or pencil, and every conceptual decision. Art is timeless. But ironically, the pursuit of creation can sometimes make me lose sight of something even more precious than creativity: the value of time itself.

Time, unlike money, is a finite resource. No matter how much money we earn or what we achieve, we cannot stretch the hours in a day or rewind the clock to recapture moments we’ve missed. As a family man this reality hits close to home. Especially when my daughter walks across the room and I see that she’s a foot taller than she was two days prior. Sometimes she will ask whether I have to go to work that day. Of course my answer is always yes. But will I really remember that I missed that day off work just to hang out with her? While I strive to honor deadlines and push boundaries in my practice, I’ve had to confront the moments when my family and friends—the people who ground me most—felt sidelined by my work.

The truth is, you can always create more wealth in terms of dollars. A new commission, an additional workshop, or even a clever pivot to monetize your creative skills can generate the flow. But no amount of money can bring back any of my children’s first laugh or bike ride, an easy like Sunday morning with loved ones, or the quiet joy of simply being present for the people who matter most.

As an artist, my work is rooted in storytelling and legacy—in capturing essential moments that transcend time. But if I neglect the life around me, I’m failing to honor the very inspiration behind my work – my why. Art imitates life, and life is richest when we’re fully present in it. Yes, that may be a challenge to do but it is doable.

I’m still learning and yearning to embrace a feasible balance. That balance may never be evenly distributed. Some days, it may mean saying no to a project that doesn’t align with my core values or stepping away from my studio at a reasonable hour… to stay later another evening. Other days, it’s finding ways to integrate my family into my creative process, allowing my daughter to paint alongside me or sharing my vision with loved ones. These moments remind me why I do what I do in the first place.

For anyone struggling in the balancing of work and family, particularly in creative fields where the demands can be unpredictable, I encourage you to reflect on what truly drives you. Our success is not solely defined by accolades or financial milestones. It’s about the quality of your relationships, the memories you build, and the integrity you bring to your life and work. Really, time is the most valuable currency. Let’s invest it equitable with those who inspire us and for the moments that matter most.

A Call To Action

A month or so ago, I left a couple of pairs of shoes outside my studio. They were still in good condition butI knew I didn’t really need them anymore. I’ve cultivated the habit of passing along items I don’t use much—things I think might benefit someone else more—whether it’s clothing, shoes, or other belongings that could have a more useful life. I refer to it as blessing someone else with it. So, I marked the shoes “Free to You” and set them out for anyone who might need them.

The next day there was a note on my door. It was short, but it carried with it a weight of gratitude and recognition that gripped my heart. It was a reminder of the deeper impact we can have on others, often in ways we don’t even anticipate. And I must mention, it was beautifully written.

Truly, I was moved by the thank you the shoes. That they were needed, and that the person who received them was grateful. But what hit me even harder was the second part: the recognition of and gratitude for my art . I have no idea where they may have seen my work – on the news, in a magazine, or a local mural. Either way, it had touched them. In the midst of what appears to be a struggle—of living without a home—this person could still see the value of what I create. In their own way they were affirming that my work matters, that it reaches beyond just an audience of people who walk through my studio doors, gather in suits and dresses in hallowed halls, and touches unexpected lives in unexpected ways. In that moment, I was reminded of the unique power of art. We often talk about art as something that reflects society or speaks to our times, but I also know art has the ability to transform us, to bridge divides and transcend barriers. To speak to the human condition, in whatever form it may take.

For this person, my art practice is not a distant or abstract concept. It wasn’t just something I put on a canvas or created in my studio. My art was seen, appreciated, and connected to an act of kindness—a simple gesture of sharing something as basic as shoes. They had, in turn, extended a gesture of kindness back, not just in thanking me, but in acknowledging the value of what I do as an artist. This experience has made me think a lot about how we can all intentionally contribute to the world, in big and small ways. Whether it’s through a work of art, a service rendered, a loaf or bread baked or bought, a pair of shoes, or a kind word, we all have the power to make a difference. And sometimes, it’s the smallest gestures that have the most profound impact.

We live in a world where it can often feel overwhelming to think about how we can truly make impact. But it takes every stroke to make the masterpiece. If you have things you no longer need or use consistently, consider blessing someone else with it. It could be something as basic as shoes, clothes, food, or even a bit of your time. And, for creatives, it’s a reminder that what we create has value far beyond the walls of our studios, labs, workshops, or galleries. Our work can touch lives in ways we may never fully understand. Creativity is a powerful tool for connection, and sometimes, it’s the unspoken messages that resonate the most. Let’s remember that what we give—whether it’s material goods or the fruits of our creativity—can make someone’s day, or even extend a life, reminding them they matter, lifting their spirits when they least expect it. So, the next time you come across something that could be useful to someone else, or you feel compelled to share a piece of your heart through your art, go for it. Bless someone with it. In the blessing you are blessed. You never know what impact your act of kindness might have, or how it might be received by someone who needs it most.

Thank you to the person who left that note. You reminded me of why I do what I do. And to everyone reading this: take a moment today to pass along something you can part with. It may be of much more value to someone else. You just might touch a life in ways you never imagined. Bless someone. I dare you…

Remember Who You Are

“It has that thing – the imagination, and the feeling of happy excitement – I knew when I was a kid.” Walt Disney

Aside from love, imagination may be the most powerful force in the universe. As powerful as it is, it’s abundant and unfettered in the most vulnerable beings on the planet- children.

As an art educator, I used to admonish educators and students to remember who you were before you were told what to be. We are filled to the brim with imagination as children. As we grow up, however, that imagination dwindles until we become cookie cutter beings plugged into the machine on the level of existing to fill a space like another brick in the wall (shoutout to Pink Floyd).

For as long as I can remember, imagination has been my favorite word. As “artist ” became my profession of choice, I took comfort in claiming the word imagination, feeling I was an authority on the subject. All the way up until I realized that I too had gotten caught up in the turning of the wheel, working hard to make a living while refusing to fully dance with the joy and mysteries of life fed by the power of imagination. It was out of a misguided sense of responsibility, resisting the frolic of the mind reaching into the light of life and tasing all the good parts. I had drifted into the void and lost touch with the quintessential child inside.

My youngest daughter, still very much connected, continuously reaches into the imaginal abyss, with her seemingly absurd questions and “what if” scenarios. Her relentless roving mind never let up on tap tap tapping on my spirit’s door until I could finally hear what she was waking me up to. Her vivid imagination has become the spark that is rekindling my own imagination and awakening, reassembling my inner artist/child; over the too serious role (hole, box) I find myself slipping into. Her boundless creativity is a north star in my liberation journey. I now intentionally listen to her, deepening my own artistic awakening, remembering who I am. This re-membering is a little deeper than the idea of recall. It is the tedious and life giving act of putting back together the parts of ourselves disassembled by the destructive nature of a survival mentality.

I would be willing to bet there is something calling you. You feel it. You hear it. You even catch glimpses of it. It shows up in the strangest or most common places, like some consistent voice in the wilderness crying out to you. I was watching a movie the other night. There was a note in the film that read, “Remember who you are.” In that moment I knew that I was refusing to acknowledge what I already knew. Even after the movie, I could not shake the words. That night I had a vivid dream that opened up a sense of possibility that I had not felt in a while. A space that was both familiar and brand new at the same time. A space, where limits are pushed off the outer edges of life’s surface. A space that is safe for remembering who I am.

Faith

Stepping out on faith as an artist is like moving through life with a paintbrush in hand and a large blank canvas looming in front of you, trusting that your next stroke will reveal something desired. I don’t limited faith to a shadowy belief in the unseen—it’s a commitment to your purpose, even when the path ahead seems unclear. Napoleon Hill defines faith as…

“Definiteness of purpose backed by a belief in the attainment of the object of that purpose.” 

You can replace the word definiteness of purpose with intention for more clarity. For those of us who choose non-traditional careers, like being an artist of any kind, faith is essential. It’s the long arm of assurance pointing the way. It keeps you grounded to an eternal source, especially when external validation is scarce. Living in faith fuels your perseverance to create in ways that challenge the status quo.

Faith in art making is necessary because it’s a bridge between the inner vision and outer manifestation. When I chose to walk this road as a artist, with preparation from my parent’s kitchen table spread over with comic books and pencils to Alabama A&M University to The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, it was a leap into unchartered waters. But in that leap, I found a new kind of freedom. A freedom that flowed over into all arenas of living.

I was always being questioned as to whether being an artist was a real career. Could I actually make a living doing this? I’ve been blessed to travel many roads and pathways not only making a living but truly living. For me, art making isn’t just about creating objects and images—it’s about rolling passionately in the sheets with life and birthing stories, preserving histories, and connecting with the world on a deeper level. Faith gives you the courage to share those stories, even when the world might not understand them right away.

On the tailgate of a truck I had was the mantra, “Life is art, Art is life.” Life, like art, requires faith in your vision and your process. Mind the vehicle that is taking you through this life. Trusting yourself enough to take a non-standard path or do something that has been reaching out to you for the longest, is a bold act of creativity in itself. It’s saying, “I am enough, and I trust that my unique journey will lead to the fulfillment of my purpose.” In art and life, faith is the G-force (in this case, God Force) that helps you move forward, not because you fully know the outcome, but because you truly believe the journey is worth it.

Beyond HERe, acrylic on canvas 84″ x 44″