Lord, Today I find myself thinking about hands. Hands that stitched before mine. Hands that carried responsibilities I can only begin to imagine. Hands that repaired, comforted, provided, and persevered. As I continue stitching my legacy quilt, I am reminded that every thread I pull today follows a path laid down by someone before me. My thoughts return to Mary Martha. To the quilts she made. To the hours she spent creating warmth and comfort from her own hands. Though separa

This week, on the podcast my thoughts have been resting on something beautifully ordinary. Hands. Not simply what they do, but what they remember. As I continue stitching pieces together for my legacy quilt, I find myself slowing down enough to notice the countless hands that came before mine. Hands that mended clothing rather than replacing it. Hands that stitched blankets to keep families warm. Hands that prepared meals, tended children, worked long hours, and quietly carri

After the public holiday , I am sitting within the quiet moments for how much the world feels heavy, where pain and hardship seems to be weighing so many down in spirit ~ finding a gentle refuge in art seems key. And I am not just talking about any art, but repose art ~ this way is a tender, slow unfolding of shapes, colours, and textures that invite us to pause, breathe, and reflect. This is a journey of contemplation, a soft embrace for the soul. It is here and in this sp

This week’s episode comes through a name that has quietly stitched itself back into my daily breath. That name is Mary Martha. As I continue working on my legacy quilt and piecing fabric together in the studio, I find myself thinking often about the structure of Mary’s life not simply the events of it, but the strength it required to live it. Mary was an “on strength” wife and mother living within the demands and restrictions of military life. Her days would have been shaped

The studio journal pages haven’t been filling quite as frequently as normal - but today a threshold moment marks the beginning of something that has been quietly forming within me for a long time. And so I share with you all; “The Quiet Company We Keep” podcast was created through a growing awareness that the lives of those who came before us continue to shape the way we move through the world now. Through genealogy, art, writing, memory, faith, and creative practice, I have

There are pieces that are planned… and then there are pieces that arrive through prayer. This one came slowly. Thread by thread, like a quiet knowing unfolding beneath my hands. A womb. A holding. A sacred space of becoming. Within it lives our story ~ myself, my husband, and the five lives we were entrusted to nurture and carry forward. Not perfectly formed, not neatly contained ~ but woven together in love, in faith, in all that has shaped us. This next chapter of the studi

“The quieter you become, the more you are able to hear.” That quote speaks into what this studio is becoming a most wonderful hermitage where silence and stillness shines with the simplest of rules: 1. Begin the day in stillness Before the world enters the mind, pause. light a candle sit quietly pray, contemplate and reflect breathe in the new day Even ten quiet minutes roots the day differently. 2. Tend the living world watering plants tending a garden sitting beneath a tree

There are moments when the world feels unbearably heavy. When pain wraps itself around your heart like a thick fog, and the path forward seems blurred, uncertain. In those times, solace is not just a comfort - it is a lifeline. It is the gentle whisper that reminds you: you are not alone. Solace is not a destination but a journey. It is the quiet space where your soul can breathe, where your wounds can begin to mend. And sometimes, it comes from the most unexpected places ~

Healing is not a straight path. It is a quiet journey inward, a gentle unfolding of the heart and mind. When pain lingers, when suffering feels endless, we often search outside ourselves for relief. Yet, the most profound healing begins within. It begins with self-reflection. Self-reflection is a sacred pause. A moment to look deeply at our own thoughts, feelings, and experiences. It is not about judgment or blame. It is about understanding. About meeting yourself with kindne

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

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.

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

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

“…these red dirt roads are not where faith is tested, but where faith is taught.”

Last night, I had words ready to be shared. And then the world shifted. In Sydney, a Jewish community gathered to light the first candle of Chanukah, a festival born from the refusal to let darkness have the final word. And instead of safety, they were met with devastation. I have paused my scheduled posts, because some things ask us to stop speaking on schedule and start speaking from the heart. I am shaken. And I am holding close the Jewish community here, and everywhere wh

I have such big plans for Studio Kre’at and so it is that I am letting December be slow and intentional allowing me to make room for what has been and what will become. And so I sit and reflect, I see how this year has taught me to rest ~ not in what I cannot do, but in what I have been given to do. To bring hope. To carry light. I invite you to sit now with me on my back lawn as the whispers of 2025 and 2026 have found me.

Dear beloved ones that walk with me here, This quiet Sunday, as the light softens across my little prayer corner, my eyes rest on this simple figure I once painted cross-legged, still, surrendered. A heart in the head. A heart in the chest. A gentle reminder that the truest blessings come when what we know and what we feel finally breathe in the same rhythm. There are days when my head rushes ahead of grace, planning, solving, worrying and other days when my heart carries the

The verse from Jeremiah 29:11 has become more than a promise I hold onto it’s become a rhythm I live within…