This spring, Aaron and I bought a shed with the plan of turning it into my art studio—a small sanctuary where I could return to painting. We cleared a spot in the backyard, leveled it and added gravel, imagining a new use for the backyard as a studio garden and teaching space. But when delivery day came, the turn into the yard was too tight. So the shed came to rest on the RV pad instead—less idyllic, maybe, but still full of promise.
It feels fitting, in a way. Creation rarely begins in perfect conditions. So many sacred spaces begin as something humble—tents in the wilderness, caves, upper rooms. The important thing is what happens inside. Painting can be a series of problems to solve.
I haven’t painted much these last few years. After finishing my degree, my energy has gone to teaching, to parenting, to holding all the many pieces of our family life together. But something ancient and eternal stirs in me again—the need to make, to translate feeling into form. I have stories inside me. I have unspoken prayers that want a voice.
This studio is a threshold. And this blog is my way of stepping through it. A quiet commitment to begin again—and to share the journey with anyone else standing at the edge of their own creative return.