Dear Ones,
This month I offer you a poem in honor of my favorite season of the year.
Why I Love Fall
I love fall
for the way the world
seems to exhale.
The leaves let go
in the most gorgeous colors, Read more…
When my mother was alive, she was always keeping me informed about good books to read and movies to see. She had a wonderful way of passing along what she found meaningful. Now that she’s gone, my dear friend and questing guide Anne Stine has taken on that role. She keeps me updated on worthwhile books, films, and documentaries. The latest discovery she sent my way… read more here
As I write this there are over thirty large active wildfires burning in the state of Oregon and 1.6 million acres have already burned. In many places the air carries the bitter scent of smoke and sunsets are a brilliant splash of red and orange. Forests that have stood quietly for generations are disappearing in a matter of hours. Wildlife flees in confusion, firefighters push themselves beyond exhaustion, and a familiar sadness settles in my heart. I feel a grief that is difficult to name. Read more here
I recently returned from five days at Tipi Village, where a circle of twelve artists gathered beneath towering Douglas fir trees to “Court the Muse.” As I settle back into ordinary life, I find myself reflecting not so much on what we made, but on what unfolded among us and how the creative spirit wove its way into and around us.
The Muse is a mysterious companion. She rarely arrives on command. Yet when we create the conditions for her presence—time, attention, curiosity, beauty, and community—she often appears. And she did. Read more…
Recently a friend sent me a link to an astrologer, Pam Gregory, talking about the year 2026. Astrology mostly confuses me, but I got the message loud and clear: amazing things are happening in the stars, the planets, and the cosmos this year.
Astrologers tell us that 2026 carries the feeling of a threshold year. A turning point. A moment when long-simmering changes begin to rise to the surface. Old stories loosen their grip. New possibilities start to emerge.
And how fitting that so much of that energy feels like spring. Read more...
I’ve been carrying this quote around in the back of my mind lately, “In times of terror, wage beauty” (Mark Gonzales).
It is an understatement to say we are living in some scary and uncertain times. The news is shocking. The world feels heavy and full of terrors. And it’s so easy to think that making art, playing with colors, cutting up magazines, getting our hands messy, is kind of frivolous when everything feels like it’s turned upside down and falling apart.
But what if beauty is not denial or escapism? What if it’s resistance?
When we choose to create something with our hands, we are saying: I still believe in possibility. I still trust in transformation. I still know that tenderness matters.
Every collage you make, every little ceremony you create, every time you pause to see the way light comes through the trees, these aren’t small things. They are acts of defiance against despair. They’re how we remember we are alive. They are how we stay human. Read more…
Dear Friends,
As this year draws to a close, I am sitting in quiet wonder (and a bit of melancholy), reflecting on all that has moved through the Down to Earth Studio this past year, the hands, the stories, the images, the courage, the laughter, the tears, and the deep listening that happens when we come together in creative spirit.
For years I have admired artists who work in a series, taking the same idea or image and working with it over and over. I had never been attracted to the idea of working in a series myself, until now.
Over the past several weeks, I’ve found myself utterly captivated by the Enso circle—that single, fluid brushstroke so central to Zen practice. What began as a small experiment has become a quiet devotion. Each day, I’ve returned to my art journal, painting and collaging Enso after Enso, discovering that this simple form contains so much within it. You can watch a very brief video of Enso painting here.
I recently came across this perfect description of the Enso: Read more…
My friend Kim sent me a photograph she had taken on a recent hike in Southeastern Oregon. The photo featured a sight that seemed impossible: a juniper tree rising straight out of solid stone. No soil, no softness, no invitation for roots—just rock. There it sits, strong and green, alive against all odds.
I keep looking at the photo over and over. The improbable image lingers with me, not only as a marvel of nature, but as a teacher of paradox – the impossible union of two incredible beings. How can something so rooted and alive find its beginning in what appears to be barren? How can life insist on flourishing in the most unwelcoming places? Read more…
Autumn often elicits feelings of melancholy within me. Lately I’ve been reflecting on the ways our lives carry forward—sometimes in the most surprising and tender ways. This summer, my 14 year-old grandson, Silas, went off to camp, where the days are filled with endless possibilities: swimming in the lake, climbing ropes courses, laughing around the fire. Out of all the things he could have chosen, he tucked into his backpack a copy of my book Solo Passage, 13 Quests, 13 Questions — and read it at camp. Read more here