Category Archives: Inspiration

The Art of Magical Thinking

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“If we see three black crows, we will gain the power to fly . .”

A long time ago, I did a practicum in an inpatient psychiatric hospital for children as part of my post-grad Special Ed certification. That’s where I first heard the clinical definition of Magical Thinking. Psychologists define it as the belief that thoughts or actions can influence events in ways that defy logic.

We usually think of magical thinking as something we’re meant to outgrow. As children, we believed our thoughts could make things happen — if we wished hard enough, if we didn’t step on cracks, if we crossed our fingers just right. I have to say that I still hang on to that, because in the studio, it can be an interesting source of insight.

A bit of “magical thinking” allows us to trust the invisible steps of the process: that one step will lead to another, that an image will unfold as it’s meant to, that meaning will appear when we stay open to it. We let imagination do the work that logic can’t always reach.

And honestly, I still do it outside the studio too. I’ll catch myself thinking, “If that stoplight doesn’t turn red before I get to it, that means I’ll get into the juried show.” Or “If the cat jumps on the table before I finish this email, it’s a sign I should change the title.”
It’s funny, but I suspect I’m not the only one.

This isn’t superstition. It’s pattern recognition — an intuitive attunement to the subtle cues that guide creative flow. Artists notice coincidences, accidents, and repetitions, and interpret them as meaningful rather than random. That interpretive act — seeing meaning where others see chance — is our version of magic.

When practiced consciously, this kind of thinking deepens our connection to both process and perception. It reminds us that artmaking is not only about control but about collaboration — with materials, with time, with uncertainty itself. We may not believe that the brush has a will of its own, but we do believe that if we listen closely enough, it will show us something we didn’t expect. Did you ever try mark-making with your non-dominant hand or with your eyes closed? Do you ever choose an Oracle card?

Even neuroscience nods to this kind of enchantment. Studies show that creativity lights up the brain’s default mode network — the same system that activates when we daydream, imagine, or find patterns in randomness. So when we follow an intuitive hunch in the studio, it’s not superstition. It’s the mind’s natural way of finding meaning in chaos.

In that sense, magical thinking isn’t about bending reality. It’s about perceiving more of it — noticing the signals, patterns, and echoes that point the way forward when reason alone runs out of language.

Magical, 2021

Maybe the real magic is that moment when everything suddenly feels connected — when a found object, a stray mark, or a line of color speaks back to you and says, yes, this belongs, when an answer magically appears. Remember the original Pendulum Post from Ireland? Real-life example!

For fun, checkout my Substack post – there’s an “artist-brained” guide to magical thinking – and thanks for reading!

That’s Life!

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Michelle Belto and I are ready to begin the fall term with our Enso Circle Continuing Residents, the group that is sort of like “alumni” from our online artists’ residency program which will reopen next spring.

I am so grateful to that group because they’re often the inspiration for my Enso Oracle cards. Their questions and the information we all share within the group are things that every artist copes with or celebrates in one way or another as we try to fit in our work with our life. That can be a huge job, right?

EEEK! It’s the Death Card! Yikes!

Nobody likes to pull the Death card in a tarot spread—it sounds ominous, even though it often means transformation or release. But what about creating quieter, more complex twin, the Life card?

Life is more unpredictable, more unruly, than death. Death is final; life interrupts. Life barges in uninvited, derails studio practice, pulls us away from the easel or the loom or the kiln. Life collides with intention—family calls, health falters, bills pile up, or maybe you win the lottery?? It not always bad, but it always disrupts.

When I created the Life card for the Enso Oracle, I wanted something as profound as the tarot’s Death card, but with less fear and more practical application to the artist’s journey. Life doesn’t end things in the same way death does—it reshapes them, tests them, and insists on being part of the process.

For an artist, drawing the Life card is a reminder that we live in a field of interruptions and detours. Yet within those interruptions lies the raw material of art itself: the texture of real experience, the unpredictable weather of being human.

What the Life Card Means

When the Life card comes up, it doesn’t say, “Stop creating.” It says, “Look at what is unfolding.” Life often looks like a distraction, but in truth it is the source of the deepest work. The missed studio hours, the detour from your schedule, the unplanned season of caregiving or crisis—all of these shape the inner landscape that eventually makes its way into your art.

In this sense, the Life card is not an obstacle but a grounding force. It tells us that art is not made apart from life; it is made because of it.

An Example: Interrupted Practice

I know an artist (a painter) who had to abandon a large canvas midway because her father grew ill. The painting sat untouched for months while she traveled back and forth between hospital visits and home. At first, she resented the interruption. But when she returned to the studio, she realized the canvas had been quietly waiting. The work resumed, but it carried something new—an undercurrent of tenderness and vulnerability she could not have painted before that season of life unfolded.

The interruption had not ruined the work. It had deepened it.

Another example is my own. Several years ago, I was facing a rushed deadline for an exhibit (I’m a procrastinator by nature), when a sudden family emergency took us out of town for a week. Thankfully, all turned out well with the family, but I came back to the studio in what I thought was real trouble. What surprised me, though, was how the forced pause gave me time to think more clearly. Away from the pressure of materials and mess, I imagined new approaches, and in that space I discovered a collage technique that not only saved the project but has become a mainstay of my practice ever since.

Drawing the Life Card as an Artist

So what does it mean when you draw the Life card?

  • It may be telling you to forgive yourself for missed studio days.

  • It may be reminding you that your creative path is not separate from the messy, glorious whole of existence.

  • It may be inviting you to weave the day’s interruptions—joyful or painful—into the story your art is telling.

Because Life, for all its unpredictability, is the well from which we draw.

______________________________________________________________

LIFE

Keywords: interruption, arrival, change, reality, presence

Interpretation (Upright):
Life comes to the door without warning. You may have had plans, momentum, even clarity—but now, something is shifting. This card reminds you that your creative path exists within the greater rhythm of life, not apart from it. Whether it’s a new opportunity, a deep loss, or a sudden turn, Life is asking you to pause and open the door. It may feel inconvenient or even frightening, but this is part of being fully human. Honor the moment, even if it interrupts your art. One day, it may become your art.

Interpretation (Reversed):
You may be resisting change or holding tightly to plans that no longer fit. When Life knocks, we don’t always feel ready—but pretending not to hear the knock doesn’t stop it. Reversed, this card suggests a reluctance to surrender control, even when the path forward is already unfolding. Can you make room for the unknown without losing your center?

Reflection Questions:

  • When has life redirected your creative path—and what grew from it?
  • What might happen if you welcomed interruption as part of the journey?

Affirmation:
I open the door, even when I don’t know what comes next.

_____________________________

A Closing Reflection

The next time Life shows up, whether in a card spread or in the form of an unexpected event, pause before you push it away. Ask: What is this teaching me? How can I hold this moment as part of my practice, not against it?

The Life card reminds us that without life—its surprises, its detours, its demands—there is no art. It’s the reminder that to be alive is already to be creating. Yay for Life!

 

Returning to the Well: Three Paths for the Artist’s Spirit

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Photo by Melanie Childress Reuter at great peril to herself!

When our group traveled to Ireland, we visited several sacred wells. These were not simply places to gather water—they were wells of memory and mystery, worn smooth by centuries of seekers leaving tokens, prayers, and wishes. They grew in my imagination as metaphors for the multiple currents that give rise to art.

Our friend Melanie, who knew so much about these holy places, came prepared with small bottles—one for each of us—to collect water from St. Brendan’s well. Her thoughtful, reverent gesture reminded me that the experience of a well is both shared and deeply personal.

At first, I thought there would be only ONE oracle card named The Well. But no matter how much I tried to get around it, I kept hearing three distinct voices beneath that singular image, each one layered deeper than the last.

So The Well became a series of three separate cards: The First Well, The Second Well, and The Third Well. Here’s the short version.

  • The First Well — The Gathering Place (connection and community)

  • The Second Well — The Sacred Source (ritual and renewal)

  • The Third Well — The Hidden Depths (archetypes and unconscious)

Together and separately, these three form a layered invitation to explore how creativity flows: through community, through pilgrimage and blessing, and deep into the hidden currents of collective imagination.

Here are the three separate Enso Oracle Cards: The First Well, The Second Well, and The Third Well. Each carries its own presence and focus, just as each well in Ireland revealed a different kind of truth.

I’m sharing them here with you so you can see how they speak to you in image as well as in words.

Every artists has a need to visit one of these metaphoric wells for different reasons and at different times – this was another lesson I learned in Ireland as part of our group.

The First Well — The Gathering Place

Keywords: Community • Exchange • Support • Shared Wisdom

At the First Well, we meet each other with open vessels. This is the place of friendship, collaboration, and replenishment through shared ideas and presence.

Upright, it calls you to lean into community — to gather, to teach, to listen, and to remember that no artist creates in isolation.

Reversed, it asks: are you withholding your gifts, or resisting the support of others out of pride or fear? The well reminds us that water flows most freely when we pour into one another.

Reflection: Who nourishes me — and how can I offer nourishment in return?

Affirmation: I drink deeply of community and allow myself to be replenished by shared wisdom.

When you draw this card: You may need to seek out or organize a group of like-minded people. Consider joining a class, scheduling a studio visit, or reaching out to a trusted peer. The First Well suggests that connection itself is the medicine you seek.

The Second Well — The Sacred Source

Keywords: Blessing • Inspiration • Pilgrimage • Devotion

The Second Well is not just water, but water made sacred through reverence. It is the place of ritual, of intentional return, of renewal.

Upright, it calls you to mark your practice as sacred, to honor your creative path as pilgrimage, and to receive inspiration as blessing.

Reversed, it warns against neglecting the rituals that nourish you, or treating inspiration as something to be demanded instead of received with humility. This well offers more when approached with respect.

Reflection: What rituals and sacred pauses keep my practice alive?

Affirmation: I honor my path as sacred, and each return to the source blesses me anew.

When you draw this card: You may be called to slow down and honor your process as ritual. Light a candle, dedicate your work with gratitude, or make a small pilgrimage — to a gallery, a sacred site, or even a favorite place in nature. The Second Well reminds you that renewal comes when you approach creativity with reverence.

The Third Well — The Hidden Depths

Keywords: Depth • Archetypes • Dreams • Collective Unconscious

The Third Well lies in shadow, but its depths shimmer with infinite reflection.

Upright, it asks you to journey inward, to engage with dreams, symbols, and archetypes that rise from the Collective Unconscious. Here is mystery, intuition, and primal connection.

Reversed, it cautions against being lost in shadow — drowning in illusion, fear, or over-analysis. Depth is a gift only when balanced with air and light. The Third Well invites courage to see what is hidden and return with wisdom.

Reflection: What symbols and stories are rising from my depths, and how do they shape my path?

Affirmation: I trust the depths of my inner well to reveal truths that connect me to all humanity.

When you draw this card: You may need to look beneath the surface of your work. Keep a dream journal, explore mythology, or allow symbols and images to emerge without judgment. The Third Well reminds you that the unconscious holds treasures that, once surfaced, will resonate far beyond yourself.

______________________________________________________________

I know that this is a long and rather complex post, but here are three everyday examples that might help explain how each of these metaphoric (and sometimes actual) “wells” serves a different purpose:

The First Well — The Gathering Place

  • An artist is feeling isolated in their studio, unsure if their work has meaning. Drawing this card suggests it’s time to seek connection — perhaps by joining a critique group, organizing a studio visit, or even hosting a casual coffee with creative friends. The First Well reminds them that inspiration often flows more freely in conversation and shared presence than in solitude.

The Second Well — The Sacred Source

  • A painter finds their practice has become mechanical, more about deadlines than devotion. When this card appears, it is an invitation to pause and return to ritual — lighting a candle before working, dedicating the day’s effort with gratitude, or making a small pilgrimage (to a gallery, a natural site, or a remembered place) to refresh their spirit. The Second Well signals that the creative path is sacred, and renewal will come when it’s approached with reverence.

The Third Well — The Hidden Depths

  • A writer is circling the surface of their ideas, producing technically fine work but sensing something deeper is missing. Drawing this card suggests it’s time to descend inward — journaling dreams, meditating, or exploring myth and archetype to uncover the symbols beneath their stories. The Third Well reminds them that art rooted in the unconscious carries a power that resonates universally, even if it feels mysterious at first.

Each well, then, marks a different kind of replenishment:

  • First Well: external support through people.

  • Second Well: spiritual renewal through reverence.

  • Third Well: deep symbolic truth through the unconscious.

__________________________________________________

But here’s the best part — you don’t have to draw a card to know when it’s time to visit The Well. A card is a beautiful reminder, and you can always return to these descriptions, but the truth is, we all carry an inner knowing. We recognize when we’re thirsty for community, when we need to pause for renewal, or when it’s time to journey into our own depths. The wells are always there, waiting — and we already know the way to them.

 

 

The Pause: Take a moment. Let it be enough

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This is the next in a series of summer posts using the in-progress Enso Circle oracle cards that I’m working on to help myself keep consistently grounded in studio practice and creative community. Thanks for being part of that. Read on.

In the wake of the recent floods here in Texas, we find ourselves reeling not only with grief, but with a sense of helplessness. As artists, our instinct is often to respond: to create, to express, to offer solace through our work. We feel the call to stay on the path, to keep moving forward, to do something with our hands that might help mend the world.

But there are moments when even that noble impulse must yield to something deeper—stillness. Not from a lack of inspiration or purpose, but from a need to let the weight of the world settle gently into our hearts without resistance. To let silence be a kind of medicine.

This is not a surrender. It’s a sacred pause—a conscious act of rest and reflection that allows us to absorb what we need before we continue on with renewed meaning and strength. We do not stop because we are lost—we pause because we are listening.

This another early Enso Oracle card that I created several months ago, but it seems really appropriate right now.

THE PAUSE

The Pause – When Stillness Is the Bravest Choice

Keywords: Stillness · Restoration · Listening · Grace

Interpretation (Upright):
The Pause arrives not as an absence, but as a presence—quiet, whole, and necessary. It invites you to step away from motion, not because you are uninspired, but because your spirit knows when to rest. Like a hush between notes in music, this moment of stillness holds space for something sacred: integration, healing, and gentle awareness. In the midst of life’s turbulence, this card reminds you that you are allowed to stop. To be. To listen. Rest is not retreat—it is preparation. In the pause, your deeper knowing rises. Let it.

Interpretation (Reversed):
When reversed, The Pause may reveal a deep discomfort with stillness—an inner urgency to do something, especially in times of sorrow or upheaval. You may feel desperate to help, to fix, to create meaning out of heartbreak. But this impulse, though noble, can become a way of avoiding your own need to rest and receive. Not every response must be immediate. This card asks you to allow space for presence before action. Choose grace over urgency. Trust that your quiet awareness now will shape deeper, more meaningful offerings later.

Reflection Questions:

  • When was the last time you truly allowed yourself to be still?
  • What emotions or insights have you been too busy to feel?
  • What would it mean to pause—not out of weakness, but out of wisdom?

Affirmation:
I honor the stillness between moments. In rest, I restore my light.

What happens after the Pause?

You don’t simply go back to work. You go forward—with a steadier heart, clearer eyes, and a deeper sense of intention. The stillness doesn’t erase grief or uncertainty, but it softens the way you carry them. You may begin again slowly. Gently. You may write one word, make one mark, sweep your studio floor, or sit beside your worktable and simply breathe. That is enough.

The Pause is not a break from your path—it is a sacred moment within it.

Things to think about when you need to pause:

  • I don’t need to solve everything right now
  • This moment is enough—I am safe to just be.
  • Stillness is not emptiness—it is where I gather strength.

Previous Enso Circle oracle card posts:

THE CRACKED CUP

THE SHINY OBJECT

THE HUMP

THE WANDERER

The Shared Spark: Morphic Resonance and Creative Synchronicity

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Rupert Sheldrake, English biologist, biochemist, and author

One of my all-time favorite books is The Rebirth of Nature: The Greening of Science and God, by Rupert Sheldrake. It inspired this week’s Enso Oracle card, The Shared Spark.

Sheldrake’s theory of morphic resonance proposes that memory and habits are not stored only in brains or genes, but rather in collective fields called morphic fields. These fields carry information across time and space, influencing patterns of behavior and form. According to this idea, once something is learned or created, it becomes easier for others to learn or create something similar—not by imitation, but by tapping into a shared field of information.

This theory helps explain the uncanny phenomenon where two writers, artists, or inventors—working separately and unaware of each other—can arrive at the same idea simultaneously. They may be tuning into the same morphic field, where certain creative patterns or insights are “in the air,” accessible to anyone open to them. In this way, creativity may be less about ownership and more about resonance.

In her book Big Magic (another favorite), Elizabeth Gilbert recounts beginning a novel set in the Amazon rainforest—she was passionate about it, got a publishing deal, did deep research… then life pulled her away. After nearly two years, when she tried to return, the inspiration was gone. Then she met Ann Patchett, who revealed that she was writing a strikingly similar novel, also set in the Amazon—with no awareness of Elizabeth’s project. The idea… “migrated” to the mind of her friend and fellow writer, Patchett, where it grew into that author’s bestselling novel set in the Amazon jungle, State of Wonder.

Think about this : What if the creative idea that arrives unbidden—just as someone else is working on the same thing—comes not from your mind alone, but from a deeper field we all share? Jung called it the collective unconscious, a psychic ocean of universal symbols (archetypes) and instincts. Rupert Sheldrake, in The Rebirth of Nature, offers a complementary vision: that ideas and forms can resonate across individuals through invisible morphic fields.

The Shared Spark oracle card lives at the intersection of these two ideas—a visual embodiment of the moment when something ancient and collective sparks simultaneously in two separate souls.

The Shared Spark
aka The Echo Field

Keywords: Synchronicity, resonance, collective insight, unseen connection, simultaneous inspiration

Meaning:
When The Shared Spark appears, it reminds you that ideas do not exist in isolation. You are tapping into something larger—a morphic field of thought, memory, and form that transcends location and time. Whether you’re mid-project or just beginning, this card affirms that what you’re creating is part of a greater, invisible dialogue. Others may be receiving similar sparks right now—not because of imitation, but because you are attuned to the same current. Celebrate the wonder of this resonance. It means you’re exactly where you need to be.

In a reversed position, The Shared Spark invites you to release possessiveness or fear that someone else “got there first.” Comparison and self-doubt can cloud your unique contribution. Remember, even if the concept is shared, your expression is singular. Trust that your voice brings something irreplaceable to the field.

Reflection Questions:

  • Where have I experienced a creative idea that felt strangely universal?
  • How can I honor synchronicity without falling into comparison?
  • What unique perspective do I bring to a commonly held insight?

Affirmation:
“I am part of a greater field of vision. What moves through me is shared, but never duplicated.”

MORE ABOUT THIS

I had a note about this very subject last week from my friend and fellow artist and writer, Melanie Childress Reuter whose Made for Grace Arts lives on Substack. She wrote, “When you see my post on Sunday which I wrote nearly two weeks ago, you will wonder how in the world our brains got intertwined. My piece starts out with a story of a lady who keeps going to Michaels to buy supplies for the next latest/greatest. I promise I’m not copying you – lol!!!” Melanie is a master of practical spirituality – you’ll enjoy what she writes.

She referenced both my recent Oracle cards, The Shiny Object and The Hump. We’ve all experienced these things – that’s why these Enso Oracle cards are such a joy to invent. They are based on our real and messy and exhilarating and never-enough-time creative lives.

The Shape of What We Hold

Lately, as you may know, I’ve found myself deeply drawn to the form of the vessel—small boats, pods, bowls, bundles. And I’m not alone. In recent months, I’ve noticed artists, writers, and makers across disciplines turning toward vessels as symbols and structures—sometimes consciously, often intuitively. It’s as if the world is asking us to hold, carry, and contain something tender, transitional, and vital.

According to Rupert Sheldrake, this is no coincidence. When a form or idea begins to emerge in multiple places at once, it may be a sign of morphic resonance in motion—a shared energetic field where meaning is coalescing and transmitting itself through the minds and hands of many. Perhaps the vessel is not just a form, but a frequency.

Why now? Maybe because we are navigating uncertain waters, and the act of making a vessel—literal or symbolic—is a way of reclaiming our ability to gather, protect, and offer. It’s not just about what the vessel is. It’s about what it makes space for.

Which brings me to something I’m especially excited about:

My new online course, Vessels and Spirit Ships, will launch in just a few days on my Teachable site. This project has been in the works for nearly a year, and it’s full of all the things I’ve been exploring—wax, thread, paper, memory, metaphor, and mystery. If The Shared Spark speaks to you, I think this class will too.

Stay tuned. The tide is rising.

PS. If you’d like to take a look at Rupert Sheldrake’s book, The Rebirth of Nature: The Greening of Science and God, you can find it here on Google Books.

What’s that?? A shiny object????

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We are previewing my in-progress series of Enso Oracle Cards this month, each card based on real issues from real artists in The Enso Circle.  We’ve already looked at The Wanderer and The Hump. More about The Hump later in this post.

Today’s Enso Oracle Card is all too familiar to me. It’s called The Shiny Object. It shows up when I’m knee-deep in unfinished projects, surrounded by half-torn mulberry paper and unanswered emails, and I still think, “Ooh, I need to check out that new cold wax thingy that’s water soluble – ” and off I go to Pinterest or YouTube to “research.”

The reversed Shiny Object is that moment when inspiration turns into avoidance — when curiosity becomes the perfect excuse not to finish anything at all. It’s not judging me (okay, maybe just a little), but it does nudge me to ask: Am I exploring something new… or running away from the work that’s calling me? Sometimes, the most courageous act in the studio is simply returning to what we already started.

So here’s this week’s Oracle Card:

THE SHINY OBJECT ENSO ORACLE CARD

aka The Rabbit Hole
Keywords: distraction, novelty, curiosity, temptation, redirection

A clever crow perches atop a cluttered studio table, its beady eye fixed on a sparkling bauble outside the window. Around it, the half-hidden remnants of abandoned projects and tantalizing tools—paint tubes, half-sculpted clay, unwrapped pastels, a digital stylus, rusted wire, wax pots—whisper promises of possibility. This card reflects the lure of the new and the irresistible pull of novelty.

Upright, The Shiny Object invites you to examine whether your current fascinations are playful expansions—or diversions from deeper work. You may be called to explore something new, but be mindful: every “yes” to something glittering may be a “no” to something important. Choose with intention, not impulse.

Reversed, this card can reveal stagnation disguised as commitment. You may be clinging too tightly to one medium or routine out of fear of getting lost again. Remember that the joy of experimentation doesn’t always equal distraction. Sometimes, chasing a sparkle leads to unexpected treasure—if your feet stay grounded.

Reflection Questions:

  • What am I reaching for right now, and why?
  • Am I nourishing my creative center or avoiding something deeper?
  • Where do I need more discernment—or more freedom?

Affirmation:
I honor my curiosity, but I choose where to land. I can explore without losing my way.

_______________________________________________________

Confession: I chased a few Shiny Objects last week while I struggled with The Hump,  trying in vain to figure out my Altar for Celebration Circle. I knew what I wanted – it was going to be called Georgia’s Dream, a tribute to the legendary painter.

It started out great – I figured out how to attach a deer skull securely to the wooden altar structure. And then I found the perfect photo of Georgia O’Keeffe to use as my encaustic icon portrait. And then The Hump appeared. I was stuck.

The Hump stage:

It took three days and a few rabbit holes to give me the breathing room to get back to the Georgia’s Dream Altar. And then it just came together! Sometimes we need blocks and distractions to force us to look away so that we can come back with fresh eyes.

Here’s the story of Georgia’s Dream:

Georgia’s Dream
Assemblage by Lyn Belisle

In this poignant mixed media assemblage, artist Lyn Belisle constructs a shrine-like portal into the inner dreamscape of Georgia O’Keeffe during her later years at Abiquiú. Central to the piece is the bleached skull of a deer, crowned with delicate flowers and flanked by rusted metal leaves—symbols of both decay and transcendence. A turquoise cross rises behind it, evoking the spiritual landscape of the American Southwest and the sacred geometry of personal myth.

Beneath the skull rests an image of O’Keeffe herself, serene and centered, set into an aged niche like an icon. It is not merely a portrait—it is a mirror of longing and continuity. Below, a brush, thread, and turquoise fragments suggest the tools of her artistic and spiritual communion. The word “MILAGRO” etched along the base speaks to the miraculous transformation at the heart of the dream.

Georgia’s Dream imagines an ethereal journey: an aged O’Keeffe, her physical body frail, dreams of slipping into the spirit of a deer—fleet, luminous, unbound. In this dream, she races across the high desert mesas she once painted with such reverence, becoming part of the land once more. The assemblage becomes not just a tribute, but a vessel of metamorphosis—where memory, myth, and matter blur.

I’ll be back next week with a new card – see you then!!

 

The Gift of Celestial Navigation

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In my last post, I talked about a new sculptural form I’m working on to take to Ireland for our Vessels workshop there this summer. I called it the Five Knot Vessel and it’s part of a larger idea encompassing Spirit Vessels/Sacred Ships. I’ve been filming a new workshop about that for the last couple of weeks.

Lots of other artists have helped show me the way, but  I’ve still been sort of inventing it as I go along. Strangely, I  haven’t really felt lost lost, and it occurred to me that I should thank my father for this. Here’s why –

During World War II, my father was a navigator, flying out of Horham Airbase in England,  charting courses through the night skies using instruments like the sextant and the ever-reliable chronometer. With only the stars and a drift meter, he found his way for his pilot and the crew through uncertainty by using celestial navigation.

His maps and almanacs were filled with numbers and angles, but to me, they always felt like something more—a kind of sacred geometry, a quiet trust in star patterns.

He pointed out to my brothers and me the constellations in the dark sky (I can still find Orion) and showed us how to find the North Star no matter where we were (the two outermost stars in the bowl of the Big Dipper point to it). Even though we moved around so much as children in a military family, he didn’t want us to ever feel lost.

I realize now that my own artistic journey draws deeply from that same navigational spirit. In my vessels and assemblages, I piece together fragments—shards, relics, whispered clues—to find direction, to create meaning. Like him, I chart a course, even when the path ahead isn’t visible.

My compass may be intuitive rather than mechanical, but the need to find my way, no matter where I am, echoes through every layer I build.

Each vessel I create feels like a map in three dimensions, a kind of spiritual charting made visible through form and texture. The assemblages are constellations of memory and mystery—bits of paper, found objects, old photos, words half-remembered or imagined—all pointing toward something just beyond the known.

This is important: I don’t always understand what I’m building at first, but as the pieces come together, a path emerges. It’s a quiet navigation, a way of honoring the instinct to move forward with purpose, guided by trust in the process. Just as my father trusted the stars, I trust the fragments, the gestures, the invisible pull that tells me, “you’re on course.”

My art is my “sky”—it holds the coordinates of where I’ve been and points to where I might go next.

In remembering my father’s tools of navigation, I’ve come to recognize my own, even though I’m not even halfway through this experimental vessel workshop journey. Where he had precise instruments and star charts, I have intuition, layers, and luminous surfaces that speak in symbols.

But the impulse is the same: to locate oneself in the vastness, to chart meaning from mystery. Each piece of art I make is a kind of message to the universe, a quiet assertion that I am here, I am looking, I am finding my way.

You, too, have your own navigational tools—anchored in a childhood memory, a beloved mentor’s words, or a moment that gave you courage and direction. Whatever they are, trust them. They are your inner compass, guiding you across the uncharted waters of your own creative life.

Perhaps that’s the greatest legacy of all—not the destination, but the courage to navigate by what light we have, and to keep creating our path, one small guiding star at a time. Thanks, Dad.

And thanks for reading!

 

Influencers

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We often hear the word influencer tossed around in today’s social media-driven world—usually referring to someone who promotes products, trends, or lifestyles to a broad audience.

Social media influencers thrive on visibility and quick engagement, building their followings through brand deals, viral trends, and aspirational lifestyles. Their goal is often transactional—to monetize their reach through partnerships and sponsorships. Living on platforms like Instagram and TikTok, they shape pop culture and consumer habits by promoting what’s popular, hoping followers will imitate their tastes. Their influence is driven by relatability and attention metrics—likes, followers, and views—rather than lasting artistic depth.

In contrast, an artist who influences others does so not through trends, but through the power of their vision, authenticity, and mastery. Their goal isn’t to build an audience for visibility, but to explore and express something true—and in doing so, they spark insight and courage in fellow artists. Rather than shaping consumer tastes, they shape creative thought. Their legacy is built on originality, integrity, and emotional resonance. And while they may never “go viral”, their work becomes a lasting part of the artistic dialogue—an invitation for others to reach further and create more honestly.

This idea of meaningful artistic influence has been deeply personal for me lately, especially through my recent exploration of vessels—both as tangible art objects and as metaphors for containment, offering, and transformation.

That exploration was sparked in no small part by the work of my friend and fellow artist, Shannon Weber. Her raw, intuitive fiber vessels—organic, mysterious, deeply rooted in place—stopped me in my tracks the first time I saw them.

Shannon never sets out to “teach” with her work, but her authenticity and fearless craftsmanship opened something in me. Her pieces whispered permission: You can build from instinct. You can honor materials. You can make containers for spirit, not just function.

That influence didn’t make me want to copy her—it made me want to listen more closely to my own hands, my own materials. It shaped how I approach my own vessels, especially in workshops.

When I teach, I’m not just showing students how to construct a form—I’m inviting them to fill it with meaning. The energy flows forward. I see students begin to trust their own stories and discover that their vessels hold more than objects—they hold essence. And then, they influence others in turn, through their courage and creativity.

Want to see what can be accomplished? Here is a link to a catalog of work from students in the recent Ephemeral Vessels workshop at UTSA/SW. We started the journey together, but they began to follow their own path as we worked together over the two days.

And of course, I carry the strong influence of other artists in this ongoing exploration – Joanna Powell Colbert, whose earth-grounded, sea-and-seasons centered spirituality helps me define my purpose in creating these forms. The insights I gain from her work flow into the vessels I create, filling them with meaning and intention.

And my dear friend Michelle Belto introduced me to the transformative qualities of wax years ago. It now adds a protective layer to my vessels while enhancing their surface with depth and luminous beauty. There are so many metaphors of influence in that process that dovetail into my work.

Here is a new form I’m working with to take to Ireland for our Vessels workshop there this summer. I call it the Five Knot Vessel. It’s small and simple, easy to pack and carry home, but has lots of possibilities. In spirit, it carries the presence of those who’ve guided me—Shannon, Joanna, Michelle, and so many others whose influence travels with me like quiet companions, woven into each layer and knot.

This is the living, breathing cycle of artistic influence: one artist lights a path, another follows and forges their own, and the light spreads. Not through algorithms or brand partnerships, but through the shared language of making. It’s quiet, powerful, and lasting.

Lyn, grateful for every creative influencer in my life ♥

A Vessel for Memory: Mary Ann’s Tribute

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Art has an incredible way of holding memory—of transforming grief into something tangible, something sacred. For my dear friend and fiber artist, Mary Ann, this became profoundly true when she created an encaustic vessel in honor of her late husband, Larry. She came to my studio yesterday, and as she worked with the encaustic medium, she talked about the vessel and what it meant.

Mary Ann and Larry shared a life of service. They met in Vietnam, where she served as an Army nurse and he as a dedicated officer. If you’ve read The Women by Kristin Hannah, you know about some of the challenges Mary Ann faced.

After they retired, they stayed in San Antonio, carrying with them a lifetime of experiences. When Larry passed away, Mary Ann found herself sorting through the remnants of their shared life—his military papers, their joint financial records—trying to make sense of both the past and the future.

“After the passing of my husband, I began sifting through his military papers and our important documents to get a clearer picture of my next steps as a widow,” she shared. “It was in those pages that I discovered just how thoughtfully Larry had planned for my future without him.”

That realization, of his enduring care even beyond his lifetime, became the foundation for her tribute. She found 32 years’ worth of Larry’s Army Leave and Earnings Statements—documents that guided every decision he made for their life together. Those pages, once mere records, took on new meaning as she transformed them into a vessel of remembrance.

Using a plaster bandage base to underscore healing, she layered the shredded strips of statements (mindful of security) with matte medium and clear gesso. As she worked, she encountered an unexpected moment of connection.

“I began to notice that his name was appearing randomly on the surface, inside and out. And often. I don’t know why that surprised me because it was on every page that I tore. But this simple recognition of his name gave me great peace and wiped away all the earlier feelings of the day.”

The finished piece is both delicate and powerful. The bowl, sealed in encaustic wax which bonds to the paper and clear gesso, cradles Larry’s military ribbons and medals. The documents that once recorded years of duty and sacrifice now form a sacred space, holding not just tangible honors but the deeper essence of love, service, and remembrance.

“The final touch, applying hot wax to the exterior and buffing a shine, sealed in the memories for me. I am happy to have this tribute to him.”

Mary Ann’s vessel speaks to the profound ways art can hold the weight of our experiences. It is a container not just of paper, gauze bandages, and wax, but of time, honor, and enduring love.

This story resonates strongly with me, and not just because Mary Ann is a close friend. You may remember that this year I’m teaching vessel-making workshops at UTSA and in Ireland, guiding artists through the process of creating personal, symbolic containers. Mary Ann’s story is a beautiful reminder that vessels are more than objects; they hold memories, emotions, and meaning beyond technique or skill. Whether formed from wax, fiber, or found materials, these creations become sacred spaces—places for honoring stories, preserving the past, and shaping what we carry forward.

Her tribute deepens my own understanding of why we create vessels, and I look forward to exploring that same sense of significance and sharing it with my students.

Thanks for the lesson, Mary Ann! ♥

Decoration vs. Design

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Professor Elizabeth Ridenhower in 1970: She Who Knows All

When I was an ungrad art major at Trinity University back in the (yikes!) 60’s, my elegant professor, Elizabeth Ridenhower, told us something that has stayed with me for decades. I think we were looking at an collage I was trying to complete. She said, “You need to know, dear, that there is a difference between decoration and design.”

Oh yeah?? But I finally internalized what she meant  – in short, design works at multiple levels—functional, emotional, and aesthetic—whereas decoration is more about surface appeal alone. A decorative collage might use colorful magazine cutouts, sequins, and fabric swatches scattered across the canvas without much thought to their relationship. The sequins might be glued on in random places to make the piece sparkle, but they don’t contribute to a cohesive message. The elements don’t interact in a way that enhances a narrative or evokes a specific feeling beyond surface-level observation.

I reminded myself of this while I was trying to figure out how to resolve a mixed-media encaustic piece that came together by accident. This photograph of a white clay vessel was on the work table with an earthenware face and a piece of rusty steel sitting on top of it, just because that’s where it landed while I was working.

The bowl really is printed on a piece of paper even though it looks three-dimensional. I challenged myself to make a collage/assemblage with these two things to see if it could work.

I bonded the photograph to a 10×10″ birch cradleboard panel, and then attached the head and the rusty wing to the top of the board before I put wax on the surface. I added a chopstick to the bottom to balance the heavy top shape and to act a s a visual “shelf” for the photo of the bowl. So far, so good.

After I added two coats of encaustic medium, I started adorning the collage with little scraps of paper that had mysterious words typed on them. The idea was that the words were coming out of the bowl.

But when I put wax over the scraps, it was a mess – the paper looked like decorations, not good design, plus the edges were sticking up, and so I scraped the whole thing off. It may look OK in the photo, below, but those words just didn’t do anything but sit on the surface as a distraction.

So I had to solve the problem of how to use the idea of the words,  make them fit in to a cohesive, conceptual design — and then how to make the whole piece come together as an integrated work, and not just a few random elements stuck on a board.

Here is what happened:

I printed the words out in a straight column on rice paper and waxed them into the surface in two columns. The wax paper disappeared into the background. The words were now subtle and mysterious and looked as if they belonged in the piece. They were IN the surface and not ON the surface.

Much as I loved the rust, I veiled the wing shape with a pale chalk medium compound to integrate it into the object-as-icon. I did the same with the earthenware face and the sticks at the bottom. At this point, it became something believable and all-of-a-piece – something found – something mysterious.

 

You can look at the details and see how everything seems to come from the same unknown place:

The previous version might have been “prettier” with its torn paper decorations – but I am infinitely more pleased with the more complex design of the finished piece.

It’s always helpful to me to think of Design vs. Decoration – decoration has its place. for sure, and I can have fun decorating things.

But the well-designed artwork engages the viewer by creating layers of interaction between the objects and ideas. It offers a sense of purpose and invites reflection. The decorative piece, while visually pleasant, might lack that deeper connection and resonance. In art, the most powerful works are often those where the design allows the viewer to discover new meanings and emotions each time they look.

I hope Elizabeth Ridenhower is proud of me!

PS – if you have the patience to read a bit more, here is the narrative that resonates behind this piece, written by a pretty clever app — interesting!

In ancient times, a celestial being descended from the heavens, their face a symbol of wisdom and eternal vision. They came not as a ruler, but as a guide, offering a pathway between realms. As they moved through the void, wings of light unfolded from their presence, hovering above the world. Beneath this ethereal figure lay an ancient vessel, a bowl that had endured the trials of time. Its weathered surface, marked by the soft yellows and grays of the earth, was a container for lost stories, for forgotten truths.

The face and bowl, connected by their placement, symbolized the link between the divine and the mortal. The bowl, a sacred keeper of wisdom, held the weight of history and whispered its mysteries to those who sought deeper knowledge. Behind these figures, a series of words softly emerged in the background, their meanings vague yet powerful, offering clues to the seekers of ancient truths.

The piece, in its ethereal quality, became a portal—inviting viewers to contemplate the delicate balance between spirit and substance, thought and emotion, and the eternal flow of wisdom from ancient worlds to the present day. It was a story of connection, of the ever-present link between what is seen and what lies beyond.