The Studio.

Some stories become essays.

Others find their way through my hands.

Sometimes words are not enough. That is when I head to the studio.

This is where I listen differently.

I do not always know what I am making when I begin. Sometimes it is a little house. Sometimes a stitched heart. Sometimes needlepoint, driftwood gathered on long walks, shells carried home from the beach, paint, wood, or whatever happens to be asking for my attention that day.

The object matters less than the noticing.

This is where I come to pay attention.

Curious?

Sometimes this practice finds its way to the table, too.

If you are interested in slowing down, making something with your hands, and discovering what your own creative practice might be trying to tell you, I would love to have you join me at a gathering.