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Dear friends, There is a particular kind of stillness that arrives not because we choose it, but because the body insists. And so it is that across the next nine Mondays, I will be dropping a letter here about living faithfully inside complex health. For many years I have lived with symptoms I could not fully name. Fatigue that did not match my schedule. Inflammation that felt disproportionate. Moments where my mind felt clouded, as if moving through early morning fog long af

Over the past weeks of intentional stillness, I’ve been able to chase new information about my health complexities. What I have learned, is that my body has been carrying more than I understood ~ more than my health specialists understood! Thats all changing! I now know that the moderate sleep apnea and REM atonia conditions that I live with have likely been quietly shaping my health for many years. My specialist believes these disruptions may have contributed to the immune a

I’ve been quieter than usual these past couple of weeks ~ not absent, still creating, still tending to my work and the practical rhythms of selling art ~ but choosing silence and stillness more intentionally. I’ve been sitting with prayer, journaling (as I always do), and mindful meditation, allowing space for listening rather than answering. In all of that the whispers have gotten louder than ever before to get intentional with allowing stillness to take me where it’s never

Today’s words come from that quiet space within us all. A place where the noise of the world softens, and the heart begins to listen. It is here, in this gentle stillness, that mindfulness takes root. Mindfulness is not just a practice; it is a path. A path that leads us through the shadows of pain and hardship toward the light of personal growth. When life feels heavy, when suffering seems endless, mindfulness offers a way to breathe, to be present, and to heal. It invites u

“There is a quiet power in creativity. A gentle force that can cradle your heart when the world feels heavy.”

There is a quiet magic in art. It whispers to us when words fail. It holds space for the feelings we cannot name. When life feels heavy, when pain wraps around your heart like a thick fog, art can be a gentle companion. It invites you to pause, to breathe, to look inward. In those moments, art becomes more than just colour and shape. It becomes a mirror, a sanctuary, a soft place to land. I have found that art for contemplation is not about creating masterpieces or understand

Truly I tell you, that letting myself discern and learn more about the creative processes regarding self portraits ~ I am working how to see myself, and so it is that portraiture is teaching me how to see the world. And so it is that I am diving deeper into the lives and histories of others. That prayer I shared led me deep into the soul of portraiture. If self portraits are a way of learning how to see myself truthfully, then portraiture is how I learn to see others with th

The importance of sitting with portraiture feels important at this time, so here this morning I sat under my fig tree in prayer: Lord, Teach me to see myself as You see me not rushed, not striving, but held and wholly alive. In the fragments of my days, at the shoreline and at the desk, in pencil lines and quiet breaths, meet me. Fill every cell of my being with the breath of Your life. Let my seeing become prayer, my stillness an offering, my presence enough. Amen.

Self portraits open me up to moments when I can see myself as who I truly am. Not as I am perceived. Not as I am performing. But as I am ~ present, breathing, becoming. There is something disarming about turning the gaze inward and outward at the same time. To sit with my own form, whether sketched in graphite or caught mid-movement by a camera, asks me to pause long enough to notice what is actually here. The slope of a shoulder. Hands resting without urgency. A body that h

“This is how most of what I create begins not as something to offer, but as something to attend to.”

Saturday’s are meant to be gentle, so wherever you are and whatever you’re doing let your space do its quiet work. That’s what I’m doing. The day doesn’t ask for attention ~ it receives it. Much love, xox

You may or may not have seen my “Word of The Year” blog! That of course announced my word of the year as “lamp” . Here it is now, in case you missed it https://www.studiokreat.com/post/2026-with-the-lamp This week I wanted to share is a quiet misunderstanding about light ~ that it must be bright to be meaningful, or dramatic to be real. But a lamp teaches otherwise. A lamp is not sustained by intensity. It is sustained by practice. This year, as I learn to live and work by la

“I have learned that seeing differently is not a flaw. It is a way of attending. A way of listening. A way of…”

This morning, as part of my January rhythm, I began with a simple question: Where do I sense God’s nearness? There was no immediate answer. No clarity rushing in. Only a quiet invitation to move my body toward stillness. So I went outside and sat beneath my fig tree. Its wide leaves held the light gently, not too bright, not too dark ~ just enough. Earth beneath me. Green pressing close. Breath slowing into something truer. And there, under the fig tree, a line of Scripture

“January will be here tomorrow, so for now, the table is set….”

This year is the first birthday of my dear Auntie Raie since she passed from this world. She was my mother’s oldest sister. My godmother. The woman whose name I was given and therefore, in so many ways, the woman who stood quietly at the beginning of my own story. Every year on this day, without fail, I would ring her to wish her a happy birthday. It became a ritual of sorts ~ ordinary, faithful, never questioned. This year, the call lives only in memory, and I find myself sp

“I sit here as the fourth week of Advent begins…”