Hope is contagious

Every morning, a friend of mine who lives on Canandaigua Lake wakes before dawn, sets up his camera, and, when the time is just right, snaps a picture of the sunrise. Then, he shares that picture with his family and friends on Facebook.

He's made countless people smile with these photos...the people who've commented to say so, as well as those who see it, smile quietly to themselves, and keep going on with their day.

It's a simple practice, with a big return: Each day, he gives everyone who sees his sunrise photo a bit of hope.

Hope is contagious

Amongst the fear, the uncertainty, and the loss that's being experienced around the world right now, there is something else going on:

An incredible outpouring of people giving.

In obvious ways: The doctors and nurses showing up on the frontlines, caring for the ill. The teachers quickly pivoting their plans to make sure kiddos can learn from home — and the parents making it happen, amongst other obligations. The grocery store employees showing up every day to keep shelves stocked and lines running.

And in the not-so-obvious ways: My friend who posts the sunrise picture each morning. Another friend of mine who's doing a morning art practice on Facebook Live for all to watch. Yet another friend who's lighting up mailboxes with notes from her toddler daughter.

Giving doesn't come without a cost — those who give get tired. It's hard work. It can be overwhelming. It can be draining, particularly if we haven't given enough to ourselves, first.

And yet...

Giving replenishes the reserves

When we view the cost of giving as an investment — an investment in the hope that will come back to us when we give — it's well worth it.

When the communities stop what they're doing, throw open the windows, and salute healthcare workers at 7 p.m. each night, we know there's hope.

When a pre-med student immediately mobilizes an army of people to become "Shopping Angels", we know there's hope.

When public figures like Oprah, Lebron James, and President and Michelle Obama organize virtual commencements to celebrate the graduating class of 2020 across the nation, we know there's hope.

Giving inspires love. It inspires compassion. It inspires gratitude.

And most of all, it replenishes hope.

We don't all have medical training. Or platforms of thousands of people. Or millions in the bank to donate.

But we do all have gifts to share with others.

Your presence is a gift. Your gratitude is a gift. Your creativity is a gift.

Every time you give, you give hope.

And you get hope, in return.

—

P.S. A simple way to spread hope: Send a card. I've made one you can print off to mail here.

Will you take a trip with me? (Travel Through Art is here!)

Every avid reader I know says the same thing: They love to travel through books. They travel to unexplored destinations; they travel into various lives; they travel through different ideas.

For me, I experience that same sense of travel, of exploration, of experience as many do through books...

...but I experience it even more so through painting.

Painting takes me places.

Not just in my own mind — it's a meditation in and of itself — but it transports me to places around the world, from those I've already explored to those I have yet to.

So when I was thinking of what I could do to help heal my slice of this world during this uncertain and tumultuous time, I naturally turned to painting.

I started off painting every day.

Then, I started painting the places I wished I could be exploring as the world began to shut down.

Eventually, I realized I didn't want to stop.

And I thought, why not bring you along?

Because despite not being able to leave your home, my paintings can take you places, as well.

That's why I'm excited to share my new video series, Travel Through Art, with you.

(No passport, face mask, or hand sanitizer, necessary.)

In the first installment of the series, I'll be traveling through the Finger Lakes painting scenes from a few of my favorite places in the scenic wine region.

Our first episode takes us to Grimes Glen, nestled in the small town of Naples, NY.

Come with me here!

It's just over a minute long, but I hope the brief reprieve inspires you to travel somewhere fun, if only in your mind, today and every day.

Stay safe + stay healthy, friends. 

P.S. I'll be alerting people via email when future episodes go live. Get on the list, below!

Let's travel!

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In the presence of fear of the unknown

I was hard at work on a painting recently, feeling good about where it was at.

I showed it to my mentor, Lori Putnam, who did what she does best: She coached me on things to try to make it even better.

Simplify the background.

Warm up the skin tones.

Reflect some of the background back into the figure.

I'll admit: I didn't want to change what I had. I was happy with it. I had put hours into getting it to the point it was at.

Putting my reservations aside — somewhat begrudgingly, of course — I started making edits to the painting.

Panic quickly set in. I was afraid I was going to ruin something perfectly good. I was scared that I didn't trust myself. I was terrified that I'd have to scrap the painting and start from scratch.

In hindsight, it's easy to see: I was afraid of the uncertainty, and my attachment to what I'd created was threatening to keep me stagnant.

As has happened time and time before when uncertainty sets in and I can't clearly see the future, fear and ego were taking over.

In art — and in life — we're going to be presented with unknowns.

Humans aren't wired to respond well to uncertainty, which makes it a prime opportunity for fear and ego to sneak in and take over.

It also makes it a prime opportunity to channel Lori's mantra: Pas de peur; pas d’égo. No fear, no ego.

As an artist, I don't want to let neither fear nor ego hinder my curiosity; my openness to learning new lessons; my willingness to try new things.

I'll wear gloves to paint to keep toxic chemicals from breaking my skin barrier. I'll make sure I have proper ventilation at home and when I'm teaching a class. I won't paint en plein air in the woods amongst ravenous bears.

In other words, I'll do what I can to create safe conditions, then I’ll let go of the fear and the ego even — no, especially — in the face of uncertainty so that my good can become better and my better can become my best.

In life, especially at times like this when COVID-19 is rightly invoking true uncertainty in all of us, we need to do our best to do the same: Let go of our fear and ego.

We are not above this (there's that ego stepping in), but we also do not need to let fear drive us.

For me, this means stepping back to take an objective look at the situation, then deciding what my social and personal responsibility is.

Right now, that looks like: Embracing my introverted nature and staying home as much as possible, making sure I have enough toilet paper, RayMar boards, and Cad yellow medium (the essentials!), and checking in on my loved ones as frequently as possible. It's accepting the uncertainty over future events — Should I keep my trip to visit Henry on next week? Will my show still go on in April? — and putting my faith in humanity and the goodness and generosity of people as we all respond in the ways we best know how.

Your response does not have to be my response.

It only needs to be yours, free of fear and free of ego.

Breaking habits and increasing intention

I stumbled upon a quote recently that resonated to my core:

“Live less out of habit and more out of intent." - Amy Rubin Flett

Of the many habits I have, there's one I've been digging deep into lately, with the help of my painting mentor, Lori Putnam: My use of color.

In my art, I tend toward muted grays. As plain as it might seem, I love them — mixing warm and cool grays gives me immense pleasure and the opportunity for vast exploration.

In the winter months here in the Finger Lakes, when I’m thoroughly enjoying the spirit of hibernation and cocooning, it’s so easy to lean into the muted grays and earthtones that I love.

It’s the sense of ease that makes me stop, though.

Ease is not inherently a bad thing, by any means...but when I pause to question ease in this instance, I remember that I most thoroughly enjoy the darkness of winter -- and can benefit from its impact on my sense of introspection, rejuvenation, and renewal -- when I intentionally balance it out with the light. 

The same is true for my use of color. 

The muted grays I habitually go back to hold so much more impact when intentionally paired with more vibrant colors that can amplify them.

Fortunately, I had the opportunity to strategically interrupt my habit and positively disrupt my comfort zone of color a few weeks ago when I found myself back in California visiting my daughter, son-in-law, and our new grandson, Henry.

Surrounded by sun, blue skies, and an amazing amount of bold, vibrant colors, I naturally implemented an immediate shift in my typical painting palette. My paintings during that week were carried by oceanic, tropical colors versus the earthy, deep colors I immerse myself in here in the northeast.

Upon returning, I was reminded of the balance that needs to be struck; the intention I need to bring to my color choices so that the muted tones can amplify the bold ones -- and the bold ones can do the same for their counterparts.

In breaking my habits around color and bringing more intention in how I use it in my work, I can break down my barriers, feed my curiosity, and ultimately better express my messages.

Which makes me wonder: Where else can habits be broken -- with intention -- to bring more expression for us all?

What happens when we let ourselves play?

Nearly two months ago, I was on a plane headed west to meet my new grandson.

Henry Harris Cornell had entered the world, and with the very first sniff of his newborn scent, it was made clear: Nothing would ever be the same.

I am now a grandmother.

My daughter is now a mother.

My grandson is now a part of this world, with an entire future sprawled out ahead of him.

(Welcome, Henry!)

With each new life, we gain new perspective. It's impossible not to.

Overcome with emotional intensity, indescribable love, and incredible pride in my daughter, I did what I do best to process it all:

I got out my paints. And I painted what I saw:

The stillness. The love. The tiniest moments that make the biggest memories in those first, precious days.

Before my two-week visit was up, I'd unintentionally created a book of Henry's first two weeks. A book I'll continue to add to each time I'm blessed to see him.

It's a piece of creative legacy I can give Henry.

The funny thing is this...

Before Henry entered the world, I wondered what I could make for him. On the plane ride out there, I puzzled over what I could create. I wanted what I would create to match the magnitude of what I felt for him; for my daughter.

Without an answer in mind, I got out my paints that day. I'd been experimenting with a new-to-me type of watercolor, gouache, and I thought it might just be fun to play.

Without the pressure of creating something of magnitude — I'd save that for later — I painted. And painted. And painted.

And in the end, I'd created the perfect thing for the occasion.

Henry's book just happened. Because I took the pressure off and played.

Naturally, it made me think: What other (magnificent) ideas do we have at our fingertips that can be explored if we just loosen up and let go?

If we slow down, find solace in everyday moments, and choose to let the universe take the reins?

Because, friends, I can promise you this: Our best work in this world can't happen under pressure.

But it can happen when we loosen our grips and let ourselves play.

P.S. Also just for fun: I recorded a video of the book in process…you can find it here!

Connecting to the past and celebrating the future

This week, I kick off my last trip around the sun as a 50-something year old. As with every other year, I’ll be on a mission to make the absolute most of it. My 50’s have treated me very well -- and I have a feeling my 60’s will be even better.

There’s a certain power that comes with aging.

It’s a strength -- in knowing that I’ve accumulated an amazing plethora of experiences to guide my way.

It’s a sense of resilience -- in knowing that I have what I need to handle any obstacles that seek to deter me.

It’s an excitement -- in knowing that my best is still yet to come.

Looking back, I don’t think I could’ve predicted that I would feel this light as I age. But with hindsight on my side, I can see what undoubtedly contributed to this sense of clarity:

My connections. To the people in my life who’ve made me better. To the art that fulfills me. To the environment I’m surrounded by.

And to myself. A connection I didn’t always nurture; didn’t always protect.

Painting is the gateway into my soul; my connection to myself. It’s become less of an escape and more a way of life. The day I stopped saying “later” and made painting a more significant part of who I am is a day I will forever be grateful for, as it deepened my connection -- and devotion -- to myself.

A huge part of that has been connecting to my artistic roots.

It started with a phenomenal high school art teacher who endlessly encouraged us to push past our limitations.

It continued on and off throughout my college years, though never getting the full attention it deserved.

And despite the hiatus I put my art on, my artistic roots deepened their connections when I began taking classes at the Pat Rini Rohrer Gallery in Canandaigua 20 years ago now.

Not only has Pat’s instruction, advice, and amazing ability to bring phenomenal people together had an incredible impact on me -- it was through Pat that I met and found artistic mentorship in Lori Putnam.

A few months ago, I sat down with a cup of coffee and my journal, reflecting on the gratitude I feel from having such strong roots as an artist, and such an amazing mentor on my side.

It led me down a rabbit hole I never wanted to come out of, discovering and exploring the connections between my mentor and the mentors before her:

Me, Cindy Harris, mentored by

Lori Putnam, mentored by

Dawn Whitelaw, mentored by

Everett Raymond Kinstler, mentored by

Frank Vincent DuMond, taught by

John Singer Sargent.

Four words for this: Beyond my wildest dreams.

This is an artist lineage I could not be more proud of. To think that in some energetic synergy, I’m connected to these greats who came before me isn’t just empowering; it encourages me to come out of that rabbit hole and continue to pay it forward to those who come after me.

Exploring connections throughout my world has been absolutely key to finding meaning in my past and looking forward to the celebration that is my future.

As I embark upon another birthday, I’m reminded through these connections that we’re all here to make a mark; to leave this world better than we found it.

In case you need a reminder, yourself: Your best is yet to come. Explore your connections, let go of your doubt, and take heart in creating your best work -- and life -- yet.

Rooted in connections: Remembering John Brahm III

I kicked this year off talking about connection -- to your people, and to your art. With the turn to a new season this month, I aptly planned on talking about connection to your environment.

Little did I know at the time how much this topic would mean to me.

As a child growing up in the Adirondacks and an adult building her life and business in the Finger Lakes, I’ve been blessed by beautiful surroundings at every turn. I’ve explored the mountains; I’ve captained an Adirondack guideboat through the lakes, I’ve painted the overpasses that inspire you to pull over and just breathe for a minute while you take in the scenery.

I’ve always felt a strong connection to my environment...but the importance of that connection was amplified when I met John Brahm III.

John Brahm, the owner and winemaster at Arbor Hill Grapery, was an amazing man. An energizer bunny, John’s omnipresent positivity was given away by his happy demeanor and big dimples.

His storied history in winemaking and business is one I’ll leave for others to tell, but for me, what stood out about John from the very moment I met him was that John understood connection.

And those connections ran deep.

Extending beyond his loved ones, John had a way of making every person he met feel like family in an instant. No one was unimportant in his presence. His kindness was unparalleled (though his wife, Katie, carries a phenomenal kindness of her own).

That sense of familial connection extended to the greater community. John served as a glue between businesses and people in his small town of Naples and the entire Finger Lakes region. Despite his insistence that I was “behind the times” because I hadn’t yet invested in a fax machine, John was amazingly innovative and forward thinking in his cultivation of new wines, food products, and businesses, and that creative energy and excitement over each of his endeavors spread to the community around him.

Finally, John nurtured an incredible connection to his physical surroundings. The environment provided his livelihood as a winemaster, food purveyor, and tourism destination. But his appreciation ran deeper than the vines: John truly appreciated the ground we walk on in the Finger Lakes, and had a firm desire to share that love with everyone.

John’s connections were spurred by something we all have, but sometimes (okay, most times), fail to make the most of:

Time.

No matter the to-do list, the time of year, or the pressures of the many balls John had to juggle, John always took the time.

Time to take a bride-to-be for a ride to admire the view from his antique truck when she stopped by the winery for her bachelorette.

Time to clue me in to a “special spot” on his property, then help me set up the perfect painting as part of last year’s Plein Air Festival.

Time to nurture connections to his people, to his art, and to his environment.

On March 2nd, John passed suddenly. The magic he had -- one you don’t find in too many people -- has undoubtedly left a gaping hole in the Naples community, in the Finger Lakes region, and, if you ask me, in the world as a whole.

But just as John would’ve wanted the show to go on at Arbor Hill and Brew and Brats (where Katie, his daughter Sherry and his son-in-law John will continue operations), we can also honor his memory by taking the time. By being present and kind. And by seeking to create greater connections to our own people, our own art, and our own environments.

John’s was a life rooted in connections. One we can all certainly learn from, and emulate in our own ways.

Honor Your Art: Forging the Connections That Make You Whole

Around this time last year, I watched as a dear friend and artist from British Columbia, Pamm Ciupa, participated in a 31-day challenge. The challenge was called the Strada Easel Challenge. The idea? Paint from life each day for the 31 days of January, post it to Facebook, and be entered to win a Strada Easel. (Us artists love our supplies and gadgets…)

Each day, I’d cheer her on as I witnessed her grow in confidence and skill with every new painting posted. It was clear that the simple challenge of picking up her brushes and capturing daily life was helping her forge an even deeper connection to her art.

I was a passive observer then. It was time to change that.

This year, I committed on the first of January and every day posted a painting from life. While I would have loved to be roaming the Finger Lakes capturing different scenery as winter unfolded, I’ll be honest: I’m not one for painting in frigid temperatures.

So my easel and I set up in the light of my own home, cleverly arranging still-life subjects I’d collected over the years.

For at least 30 minutes each day, I was fully dedicated to bringing these still-life subjects to life with my brushes and paints. I found joy in going through old things around my home, writing stories about the objects in my head, then arranging them in different groupings to paint.

At first, it was exciting. A new challenge!

Then a few days passed, and I faced some serious internal battles: Was my work good enough to post to 3,500 people? Can I really do this every day? Is this really something I need to be doing? Fear and ego reared their ugly heads, and threatened to stymy my progress.

Yet the same resounding answer came up every time: Yes.

Yes, you can paint every day.

Yes, it’s good enough to post.

Yes...you need this.

While I didn’t necessarily need a new easel (I love my Open Box M), this challenge brought out the best in me.

Some days, I worked early in the morning before the sun came up. Some days, it didn’t happen until late at night.

It took away all excuses -- whether tired, busy, or simply apathetic, I made the time to paint every day.

It helped me further eradicate “later” from my vocabulary.

And it helped me consistently practice a stronger connection to my art for 31 days straight.

For me, art is my meditation. It’s my prayer. It’s my livelihood. Making time to honor and connect with it each and every day is crucial to helping me forge my path, find my voice, and leave my mark on this world.

I’m continuing my practice through 2019, knowing there will be days I will falter. Those days, I sketch in my sketchbook or read an art book. It doesn’t always look the same, but the connection is there.

For you, this might mean seeking a deeper connection to your writing. Your baking. Your music. Whatever your “art”; whatever it is that fills you up -- honor it. After all, if it’s something you love, it deserves more of you. And you of it.

In connecting with our art, we connect on a deeper level with ourselves. And that, friends, is something worth perpetually seeking.

P.S. This is the second post in my “words of the year” series. I’m thrilled to have you here as I explore incredibly important guiding principles for those looking to make change in the world: Connection, expression, and purpose. Last month, I encouraged you to connect with the people who fill you up.

Loops, Twirls, and Becoming Whole: Making Time for Connection

I love to knit. It’s relaxing. It’s cathartic. It’s a release.

Oftentimes when I knit, I passively consume content -- a TV show; a movie; a podcast. Other times, I sit in silence, mindlessly moving the yarn through the needles.

No matter the nature of the knitting session, I never fail to be enthralled with the loops coming together, twirling around each other; the sum of parts connecting to become whole.

For me, it’s a practice in connection.

As we turned to a new year in 2019 and I considered what I wanted this year to bring, it was deeper connection that I was eager to seek -- connection to my people, my art, my environment, and my roots.

For me, connection is a big part of both becoming and belonging.

And while connection can be sought -- and found -- in the most solitary of situations, there’s much to be both given and taken in our connection to others, particularly beyond the digital realm.

During this month notorious for love, I encourage you join me in seeking human connection to those around you...

Make time to connect with the people who fill you up.

These are the people who truly see you. They believe in your dreams, and your ability to reach them. They inspire both through their words and in their actions. Perhaps most importantly, they share a mutual love and sense of gratitude for you, as you do them.

Make time to connect with the people you can learn from.

These are the people who have knowledge you desire. They live in a way that you wish to live, represent values you aspire to, and have traits you admire and wish to emulate in one way or another. These people encourage you to better yourself in mind, body, and spirit.

Make time to connect with the people you can teach.

These are the people thirsty for your knowledge. They’re the curious spirits who will inspire you to share what you know, who you are, and what you believe. They’ll encourage you to stay on your path to bettering yourself. Through their curiosity, they’ll inspire you to stay curious.

Ironically -- or maybe not so -- when you seek to form a greater connection to people who fill you up, you’ll also find that you can learn from and teach them. And when you make time to connect with the people you can teach, you’ll find that they also fill you up and teach you, in the process.

It’s a network where loops continuously come together. Where knowledge, encouragement, and kindness twirl around each other. Where the sum of parts create a unique whole.

For me, I seek to connect more wholly to to the powerful women I surround myself with, creating a more inclusive and accepting future where all voices matter.

I aim to connect on a deeper level with the painters and mentors I workshop with each week, who have an eager thirst for knowledge and a persistent pursuit of practice.

I seek greater connection to the creative business owners in my physical and digital ecosystems, who believe in living life on their own terms and leaving a unique mark on the world.

I crave true connection to my friends; my spiritual groups; my family.

This year, more than any before, I will make the time to fulfill these connections. These people fill me up. They teach me. They inspire me to teach them. Through these connections, I become a better version of myself.

Who will you boldly seek connection to this year?

P.S. This is the first post in my “words of the year” series. In 2018, I explored the mental muscles all artists -- and human beings -- need to thrive: Courage, curiosity, and persistence. I’m thrilled to have you back here in 2019 as I explore incredibly important guiding principles for those looking to make change in the world: Connection, expression, and purpose.

Persistence in the Pursuit of Passion

A few weeks ago, I was having a conversation with a close friend.

Unfortunately, she’d lost her job a few months ago, and we were talking about what’s to come next for her. The search for another full-time job in marketing wasn’t turning up fruitful, for more reason than one.

The thing holding her back the most? Was that she didn’t want to give up her passion: creative writing.

We dug into possibility after possibility until we landed on something that brought the spark back to her eye: What if she found a job she could work three days a week, and continue her own writing the other two days a week, letting the journey unfold from there?

We had to let go of the all-or-nothing approach to see the possibilities.

Call it a bridge job; call it robbing Peter to pay Paul...but until we let go of the idea of having to settle for one, 40-60 hour/week job as an employee executing others’ dreams, we couldn’t get to the more ideal solution: taking on the “necessary” to fuel the passion.

With a part-time job, she could reliably contribute to her family’s financial goals, continue gaining experience, and make new connections. And it would leave her ample time to dedicate to her own creative work that rejuvenates and fulfills her.

Is this the solution for everyone who wants to pursue a passion? Likely not. Yet, after having this discussion with my friend, I realized it’s exactly what I’ve been doing for the last few decades of my life.

I dreamt of being a painter. Yet, not seeing that as a viable career to begin with, I dedicated myself to a corporate design job. That design career evolved into my own business -- one step closer to pursuing my passion. Yet, painting remained an easily pushed-aside hobby.

It took decades for me to realize that my graphic design work has been my prolonged version of a “bridge job” -- it’s how I “rob Peter to pay Paul.” It’s been the steady foundation as I’ve finally dove into my passion and made painting a part of my daily life.

When your passion feels out of reach, it’s paramount that you practice persistence in pursuing both the “essentials” and your dreams.

For most of us, pursuing our passions with reckless abandon simply isn’t possible. Yes -- it’s incredibly important that we keep dreaming; keep reaching; keep pursuing that which we feel passionate about. But for most of us, it can’t be an all-or-nothing approach: We can’t give up a steady income to paint en plein air around the world. We can’t sacrifice health insurance for our families to open up the brick-and-mortar florist shop with a massive bank loan. We can’t simply sell off all our possessions to pursue a life of mindfulness in an ashram.

At least right now. But with the persistence to do what you need to make the money, create the space, and garner the knowledge to execute your dreams, you can find the balance and eventually tip it in favor of your passions.

Courage is the catalyst. Curiosity is necessary. And persistence is essential.

P.S. If your passion is something you’ve tabled, you’re not alone. Today, I challenge to ask yourself this, though: Is “later” a bad word?

“Maybe I Fooled Them”: Lessons in Perpetual Persistence

Earlier this year, I pushed past my comfort zone, my fear of rejection, and my vulnerabilities and applied to be a Juried-In Artist in the 2018 Finger Lakes Plein Air Festival.

This was a leap for me. Though I’d been awarded an Honorable Mention during the 2017 Community Paint Out at the same Plein Air Festival, I hadn’t been accepted as an artist despite having been on the roster in the past. It was a setback that took a while to overcome.

As I muddled over the idea of applying again, I knew I was putting myself in a precarious situation: I could be rejected. I could be submitting myself to another year of wondering why I wasn’t accepted. I could be asking for yet another heavy dose of lingering imposter syndrome.

Or, even worse (though I didn’t realize it at the time)...I could be accepted.

Spoiler alert: I was.

Enter: A new starting line in building confidence.

The elation that came with being accepted as a painter amongst an elite, experienced, and well-traveled group of artists wasn’t lost on me, but it was quickly overshadowed by my next thoughts:

I’ll be judged against the best of plein air painters.

Am I really good enough to measure up against these professionals?

Can I truly be ready for this again?

Yes, I’d gotten in. I’d reached the finish line I initially set out to achieve when I decided to take the leap and apply. But...maybe I just fooled everyone.

I was facing yet another starting line in perpetuating self-confidence.

“Comparison is the thief of joy.” —Theodore Roosevelt

Amidst the rollercoaster of emotions that accompanied this acceptance, my mentor and friend Lori Putnam sent me the quote above, which promptly made its way onto my blackboard.

The key to stepping into my creativity and embracing my talent wasn’t going to come from comparing; from trying to measure up; from judging myself against others. I had to come out the other side -- my side.

So I did. I continued to go to my Wednesday evening classes. I scoped out both old favorites and new-to-me locations around Ontario County at different times of day to witness the light. I put brush to easel nearly every day, embracing persistence and slowly letting go of fear.

I felt like I’d crossed yet another finish line: I believed in myself. I was painting how I wanted to paint. I was pushing myself further than I ever had before. Yet there was still another hurdle to overcome: The Festival, itself.

Starting line #3: The Plein Air Festival

Morning, noon, and night for nearly a week in June, my mind, body, and soul were dedicated to painting. It was simultaneously exhausting and re-energizing.

I was at yet another starting line. Was I nervous? Absolutely. Did I have doubts? Of course. Was I wondering if I’d fooled everyone? Oh, yes. It seemed every moment came with a new hurdle.

Yet once in the zone, nothing else mattered. I was doing what I love. I was surrounded by others doing the same. There was no win or lose here -- there was joy, growth, and gratitude.

Despite the tiredness that seeped into my bones, I saw how the artists who travel these circuits are persistently building their self-esteem, their confidence, and their skill. By putting themselves out there. By doing the work. By continuing to put one foot in front of the other at each and every new starting line, no matter the critiques, rejections, or imposter syndrome they encounter.

It’s up to me to do the same.

Every finish line is a new starting line

In this experience alone, it’s so clear to see why persistence matters so, so much. We need to celebrate our wins -- then we need to lean into what’s next, understanding that life doesn’t have a single finish line; only a perpetual journey ahead. It’s up to us to embrace it, and the persistence necessary to not just survive, but to thrive.

How to Build a Legacy: The Endless Practice of Persistence

Forty years ago, I left my small town of Lowville, NY, wide-eyed and, let’s be honest, completely unprepared for the adventure that lay ahead of me.

I was on my way to Ohio Northern University, registered as a painting major getting a teaching degree.

Two years in, I had a strong desire to get my own apartment so I could set up a private studio where I could work day or night. Special permission was required to make this happen -- and it was special permission I couldn’t get. Being the tenacious young adult I was -- led almost entirely by my gut and my heart -- I made a bold decision: I quit ONU and began to explore other options.

I stuck out the rest of the year to get my associate’s degree, then rented a U-Haul and moved home.

My college journey wouldn’t end there, though. After a couple months of bartending (yes, really), I was able to realize that I needed to continue on with my education with a gentle nudge from my mother. I soon had an interview at Rochester Institute of Technology.

At the time, there were no openings as a painting major, but my interviewer recognized that my work had a high level of design, so they offered me a spot in their graphic design program.

The fork in the road had appeared -- and as much as I yearned to build a life around painting, I accepted the path that diverted me from it.

Design had promises painting couldn’t make at the time: More opportunities. Better pay. And a program that was ready for me right away.

It led to my career as a corporate-level graphic designer -- a career that saw me through two children -- and a career that gave me the experience I needed to eventually launch my solo design business, which I still work in and on each and every day, 20 years later.

In hindsight, it’s easy to see that my path diverted from my dreams.

Did I sometimes wish things had gone differently? Of course. Am I grateful for the experiences I’ve had? Absolutely.

Here’s the thing: Though my time spent painting has waxed and waned throughout the years, I’ve never entirely let it go. There have been patches where the canvas became foreign to me and I let other priorities take precedence, but persistence brought me back.

Making time to paint while raising kids, nurturing a marriage, and growing first a career and then a business, certainly wasn’t always easy. But I knew it as my release, and as hard as it sometimes was (and is, still), I persisted.

I now paint weekly, if not daily. I’ve built a beautiful portfolio I’m proud of. I’ve painted in competitions. And I’ve met amazing painters who’ve shown me that a life of painting is entirely possible in a way it might not have been as that wide-eyed 18-year old with a brush and an easel.

In fact, the gallery where I paint each and every Wednesday night is the same gallery that brought my path full circle when they asked me to teach a class.

Forty years after embarking upon a teaching degree, I’d become a teacher.

And I’m more ready for it than ever.

Had I not kept going; had I not let the path unfold before me and let lessons appear as they were supposed to; had I not continued to paint through it all...I may not have come to this place I am now: Fulfilled, yet still wide-eyed and curious.

Plan as we might, we can hardly ever truly know what the future holds. It’s persistence through it all that helps us discover and define our journey and, eventually, our legacy.

The greatest leaps don’t happen overnight. As boring as it may seem, they happen as the culmination of persistent daily actions -- even if you can’t always see the outcome.

Whatever it is you’re working toward -- whether it’s been a lifelong pursuit or is a brand new endeavor, I urge you to practice persistence on your path to get there -- and gratitude for the lessons that will eventually make themselves apparent. Know this: As long as you keep moving, you’ll find your way.

P.S. As it turns out, teaching is a phenomenal way to stay curious.

Catalysts for Curiosity: Teach a Class

I’ve heard -- on more than one occasion and in more than one way -- that if you really want to learn a skill, teach a class.

The irony is that 40 years ago, I left for college and headed to Ohio Northern University as a painting major getting a teaching degree. My path diverged greatly, not just in college but in the years to come. (More on that later!)

Yet it was just a few months ago that I taught my very first class.

It’s true, what they say: Teaching sharpens your own skills. What I’ve discovered though, and what’s keeping the spark alive for me to keep teaching now and in the future, is that teaching is also a phenomenal way to stay curious.

When we teach for others, we have to let our biases go. We have to consider how others learn. We have to identify that which we don’t know, and be willing to explore it.

It’s this perpetual state of curiosity we have to stay in as teachers that has me fully in love with being one, myself.

In my first class that I taught, for example, I had six students gathered in the Pat Rini Rohrer Gallery in downtown Canandaigua.

We were riffing on the basics of plein air painting. Basics I’ve known, practiced, and honed over decades now -- yet teaching them to people learning for the first time inspired me to get curious about what those basics really are, how they might be interpreted differently, and what’s really important.

I had to get curious about things I’ve practiced for so many years. The materials we choose as painters. The way we interpret and use light. The application of strokes on a canvas. When we teach, that which has become second nature to us suddenly becomes the subject of our curiosity -- and rightly so, as we seek to influence and inspire others.

As humans, it’s all too easy to fall into patterns and routines. These aren’t always bad -- but they often stop working for us long before we’ve realized it. Consistent questioning (what I like to think of as perpetual curiosity) of things so ingrained in us might be frustrating in some instances, yet it’s truly the only way to keep growing.

Teaching inspires that curiosity. Curiosity is fuel.

In order to keep creating, to keep growing, and to keep thoroughly enjoying the journey, it’s imperative that we stay curious. Read a new book. Find a mentor. Teach a class. Find the curiosity catalyst that works for you, and make it a regular part of your life -- it’s perhaps the best way to bulletproof our creativity in a noisy world.

Catalysts for Curiosity: Finding an Artistic Mentor

Creativity is an interesting thing. It’s at once both incredibly social and entirely isolating. Our creativity inspires us to put work out into the world; to collaborate with others; to find ways to bridge the chasm between people and ideas.

And yet...the creative journey can often feel like a lonely one. A journey where much of our time is spent in our own heads; with our own thoughts; with our own limitations.

I’ve felt this when it comes to painting. As much as I (and you!) might enjoy it, spending a significant amount of time with only our easel and brushes out in nature or within our studios -- the isolating side of creativity -- can be confining when it comes to expanding our curiosity.

Knowing just how important curiosity is to this soul-filled, artistic journey, the idea that doing what I love most -- painting -- might actually stifle my curiosity if I perpetually do it alone has led me to build up a repertoire of catalysts for curiosity.

A few weeks ago, I talked about how I let my curiosity both guide and be guided by books. This month, I’m talking about another external catalyst for curiosity: Finding a mentor.

Years ago, I didn’t necessarily set out to find a mentor. I did, however, soak up every educational opportunity I could find to enhance my painting skills -- taking classes and workshops from a plethora of people who’ve come through the Finger Lakes area, or whom I’ve traveled to see.

Through these classes, I realized one thing: While workshops are fantastic for practice and expansion, there is nothing quite like the experience of studying under one specific guide who knows your work on a deeper level and is present in your life and work consistently.

It was through this realization that I worked up the courage to ask Lori Putnam, an artist whom I’ve admired for years and whose work I most resonate with, to be my mentor. She’s created beautiful works of art; she’s led workshops and retreats around the world; she’s went from graphic designer to full-time painter.

All goals I have of my own.

I’ve now been fortunate to call her my teacher, my coach, and my friend. But most importantly, she’s emerged as an amazing mentor.  

Mentors, of course, come in all shapes and sizes. They might be with you for one day; they might be with you for a lifetime. (It was years before I realized that my high school teacher, Dick Trick, was much more than teacher; he was a mentor.) Here’s what I’ve found to be important in the mentors I’ve had:

A mentor asks the right questions. A good mentor won’t just affirm what you’re already thinking, planning, or doing. A good mentor will ask questions that can broaden, clarify, and amplify your thoughts, plans, and actions.

A mentor speaks your language, but pushes you past your comfort zone. I’ve taken classes from potential mentors who inspired nothing but confusion. A good mentor will understand your language, and be able to speak in it -- but not to the point of confining you in places where you could expand.

A mentor knows the present and future you intimately. A good mentor knows your work; your goals; your true aspirations. Even if you haven’t had hours of one-on-one time with this mentor, they’re the type of person who gets you -- maybe they’ve been where you’ve been, they’ve gone where you want to go, or they’ve worked with others who have.

None of us can embark upon life alone. Likewise, no creative can stay curious -- and let that curiosity guide unlimited creativity -- without a healthy amount of outside influence.

When you have the opportunity to create, make something. When you have the opportunity to study, learn something. When you have the opportunity to be mentored by someone who can help you expand beyond even your own imagination, run after it with all you have.

P.S. If this resonates with you, and you're a painter on your own journey, I highly encourage you check out Lori Putnam's online learning and mentorship programs.

Catalysts for Curiosity: Reading to Expand Your Mind

The dog days of summer -- perfect for early morning strolls, late night bonfires, and mid-afternoon naps.

Of course, there’s still work to be done, but the longer days and cooperative weather make it so much more enticing to take a bit more time for ourselves.

Here’s the beauty that I’ve found: Self-care and professional development don’t have to be mutually exclusive. One of my favorite ways to combine the two? Reading.

As Henry Ward Beecher so eloquently put it, “Books are the windows through which the soul looks out.”

Much like painting each and every day expands my artistic skills and my portfolio of work, taking time to read each and every day expands my mind, my knowledge, and, perhaps most importantly, my curiosity.

Likewise, just as I have a toolbox for each painting adventure I embark upon, I have books to turn to in order to expand various pieces of my mind and creativity.

What I’m reading

...entirely depends on where my curiosity leads me at any given moment.

This past winter, I dove heavily into Tami Lynn Kent’s Wild Creative and Wild Feminine as I sought to explore the balance of yin and yang and the energies driving my creative work and soul.

This past spring, upon finding out I’d been accepted into the annual Plein Air Festival in Canandaigua, I dove into books like Fishing for Elephants and Conversations With Nature to fill my whole self with mind-expanding plein air ideas.

On the regular, I refer to books by Sorolla, O’Keeffe, Wyeth, and so many others to admire their paintings and let their accomplishments inspire my own.

The (happy) side effect of reading

...is always expanded curiosity. Reading Anne LaBastille’s books led me to get curious about her lifestyle and her way of showing up in this world. Reading and working through Fishing for Elephants led me to get even more curious about how I could push myself beyond my limitations. Reading Conversations With Nature immersed me more fully into the curious world of plein air painting -- a world both full of and completely without restrictions.

Even books not directly related to our work give us the ability to expand our perspective, travel without getting on a plane, and get out of our own skin for just a little while so that we can carry that other-worldly perspective into our day-to-day lives and work.

For me, books are an unending supply of curiosity firestarters. Whether it’s the dog days of summer or the darkest nights of winter, I encourage you to cozy up and make time for them as your companion in your creative journey.

P.S. Stay tuned. I’ll be dropping in soon with two more catalysts for curiosity that are sure to enhance your creativity. In the meantime, don’t hesitate to drop me a note with what you’re reading!

Get Curious About Now

Let’s flashback 25 years.

I can’t see where you were at that point, but perhaps you can relate to where I was: I was a young professional still new in my design career, with corporate ladders to climb and two young kids at home.

I had my sights set high at work. I had a family I wanted to put my all into.

...And I had a passion -- my painting -- that I’d firmly set aside to make those things happen.

What I told myself: It can wait for later.

Now let’s bring it back to present day. My design career evolved into my own business that I’ve run for more than 15 years. My kids are both grown, graduated from college, and living on their own in California and New York City.

...And up until not too long ago, my painting was still set aside.

What I told myself: It can wait for later.

I couldn’t possibly paint every day -- it wouldn’t be a responsible display of my priorities. I couldn’t possibly build a business around my art -- it would never be able to support my family. I couldn’t possibly take two weeks off to paint in France -- I’d lose design business.

It could all wait for later.

Instead of getting curious about my dreams and asking what if?, I shut the door out of fear.

It wasn’t until I embraced curiosity that I asked myself a pivotal question:

What if “later” is a bad word?

I had to get curious about what was possible now, not resign myself to later. I had to get curious about the possibilities, and start asking what if? I had to get curious about what foundation was needed to make those bigger dreams happen.

Could I paint every day? What if I started weekly?

Could I build a business around my art? What if I start a website?

Could I take two weeks off to paint in France? What if I join a painters’ workshop who travels?

Getting curious about what I could do in the present opened me up to the “what ifs” that would bring those future dreams to life.

Just a few years later, I paint nearly every day. I’ve built a business around my art. And I spent two magical weeks in the south of France for the sole purpose of painting.

And in so many ways, this feels like it’s just my beginning.

It has me curious: What have you designated for later that belongs in the now? What if you get curious and ask what if when it comes to your dreams?

As the Irish poet James Stephens once said: “Curiosity will conquer fear even more than bravery will.”

What If We Had the Courage to Live on Our Own Terms?

It’s the early 90’s, late summer. My husband and I are with our kids on our annual primitive camping trip at Forked Lake in the Adirondacks. The regular haze of August has set in, but we’re fully embracing the dog days as we row our boat over to the island and set up the tent that will serve as our home for a few days.

We’ll read books, paint, and build the campfire over which we’ll cook our meals and roast our marshmallows each night.

There are no cell phones. There are no vehicles. There are no distractions. It’s the perfect breeding ground for setting an intention, and fully exploring it.

We did this each and every year, for several. But one year stood out from the rest: The year I took time during our trip to meet Anne LaBastille.

I’d long admired Anne after discovering her work in college and reading her first book, Woodswoman. Here was a woman who’d devoted her life to environmental conservation. She was a 5-foot-1, 100-pound woman who single-handedly worked to save the (now extinct) giant grebes birds in Guatemala; who authored 16 books, more than 150 articles for magazines, and over two dozen scientific papers; who held a PhD in wildlife ecology from Cornell University, where she also taught; who traveled the world as an environmental consultant; and who served as a commissioner for the Adirondack Park Agency from 1975-1993.

But while her list of accomplishments could go on (and on), what amazed me most is how she had the courage, as a woman in a male-dominated field, to define her own terms, and live by them unapologetically.

She lived solo, save for her trusty German Shepherds, in an electricity- and plumbing-free cabin built by herself and a few friends, in the middle of the Adirondack woods. She never went out in public without her dogs or her red-and-black flannel shirt. She had a practiced, yet natural way of interacting with fans at book signings. (I was one of them.)

Yet despite her chosen solitude and her deliberate way of presenting herself -- or perhaps because of these things -- Anne LaBastille created a world-renowned brand and legacy for herself.

It wasn’t without courage. The courage to live on her own terms. It wasn’t without conviction. The conviction to fight for what she believed in, despite its perceived popularity, or lack thereof. And it wasn’t without persistence. The persistence to keep going when things weren’t easy.  

Anne’s courage can serve as a lesson for us all.

Whether I’m back on that island living primitively for just a few days as Anne did full-time, or I’m standing behind my easel capturing the magical landscapes of the Finger Lakes en plein air, I know that I, too, can -- and must -- do everything in my power to fight for what I believe in, to choose how I live my day-to-day life, and to live courageously in alignment with the things that matter most to me.

In fact, we all can -- and I hope you choose to, as well.

P.S. In honor of Anne, I just finished “2 Sides of Anne LaBastille”, the painting you see above, celebrating both her love for the Adirondacks and Guatemala.

The Unbreakable Courage of Harriet Tubman

March: The end of winter. The turn to spring. And, perhaps most importantly: The celebration of Women’s History Month, when we honor the contributions of women to events in history and contemporary society.

I’ve always known that despite paving my own path through life, I’ve been able to do it bravely because of the courage, the curiosity, and the persistence of the women who came before me.

This Women’s History Month, I’m marveling at the strength of Harriet Tubman, a woman who, after a hard-earned journey to freedom, called the Finger Lakes home.

Born into slavery, Harriet Tubman managed her own escape from Maryland via the Underground Railroad. Once she’d reached the safety of Pennsylvania, though, she decided to return and help others make the safe journey north as an Underground Railroad conductor. She ended up leading her parents, several siblings, and more than 60 others to freedom.

During the Civil War, she worked for the Union Army, initially as a cook and nurse, but eventually as an armed scout and spy. In fact, she was the first woman to lead an armed expedition in the war -- one that liberated more than 700 slaves in South Carolina.

Her’s is a story that required courage, curiosity, and persistence. What’s truly amazing, though, is that her work was done from a place of love, of obligation, and of joy -- even in a time when she herself had suffered the monstrosities of slavery.

A $40,000 reward on her head and bounty hunters set to earn it couldn’t measure up to the thank yous of the souls she led through the Underground Railroad. Being a woman wouldn’t hold her up from leading armed expeditions in the War. And neither bounties nor her gender could stop her from courageously doing work that would change the world.

While painting her Auburn, NY home after a visit there, I could feel her strength. Her courage. Her unbreakable backbone that gave her the necessary persistence to pursue her work.

The women who’ve come before us have truly done remarkable things.

I’ve written about many here before:  

> I’ve stood on the same sacred ground as Susan B. Anthony, and Jigonsaseh.

> I’ve witnessed Georgia O’Keefe and openly admired her unparalleled conviction.

> I’ve felt the courage that emanates when you visit the birthplace of women’s rights, thanks to Elizabeth Cady Stanton and her Center of Rebellion.

Today is our chance to write the current course of history. To find our own source of courage, curiosity, and persistence. To leave this world in better shape than how we found it.

P.S. Fun fact: Our 1799 post-and-beam home in Bloomfield, NY, is speculated to have been a stop on the Underground Railroad. A local historian whose mother previously owned our home described a hidden room behind the upstairs fireplaces. Might Harriet Tubman herself have guided a group through these very walls? Wonder is everywhere, friends.

On Self-Expression + Standing Up: Art is the Way

Last year was a big year, in so many ways. But one thing stood out far beyond the others in my world: 2017 was a year where women took a stand.

We marched. We ran. We said #MeToo.

The year kicked off with a sincere admiration for the fearless women of the early 1800s as I, along with thousands of women, descended upon the small town of Seneca Falls, NY -- the birthplace of women’s rights and town where Elizabeth Cady Stanton appropriately dubbed her home the “Center of Rebellion” -- for the first annual Women’s March.

The year ended with ever more admiration for the women speaking out as part of the #MeToo campaign. From A-list stars to friends and neighbors close to home, women -- and men, and young adults -- dug deep to uncover stories that are much easier to keep stashed away, in the name of setting a new precedent for what’s accepted in our society.

I showed up to the Women’s March, then returned back to my day-to-day.

I quietly added #MeToo to my feed, then moved on.

But now, I know that I can’t stop there.

Because I know what it’s like to feel stifled. To feel taken advantage of. And to feel like you don’t have a voice.

Let’s rewind. I’m about to get vulnerable (practice what we preach, right?). As a little girl, I experienced something traumatic that would affect the rest of my life. It was a time of fear, of guilt, of sadness, of loneliness, of anxiety.

I kept quiet and did the best thing I knew: I escaped into art. At the time, it was drawing. I’d channel that fear; that guilt; that sadness into my sketchbooks, feeling powerless in the real world but limitless in my art.

It’s not an exaggeration to say this: Art saved me.

Having an outlet for self-expression was my saving grace as I battled internally with far bigger issues.

Decades later, I know that it isn’t about escaping; it never was. It’s about tuning into a higher power and finding your voice. It’s about turning inside and charging your own batteries.

It’s about utilizing our ability to express ourselves that frees us and empowers others.

It’s self-expression that drove Elizabeth Cady Stanton, a young mother living in a man’s world, to organize the Women’s Rights Convention. It’s self-expression that inspired Alyssa Milano to bring New York Activist Tarana Burke’s #MeToo campaign to the spotlight 10 years after its inception.

Of course, no act of self-expression can be done without courage. The courage to stand for what you believe in and to share it beyond yourself, not knowing if anyone will stand with you.

It’s self-expression that brings my brush to the easel each and every time I paint. But it’s courage that empowers me to amplify that self-expression; to make it stand for something; to share my voice.

It’s time you and I both acknowledge the power we have to stand up -- and summon the courage to make it happen.

For me, it’s painting. For you, it might be something else. But no matter the means: Choose your art. Fuel your self-expression. Be courageous.

Beyond the Physical Toolbox: Essential Intangibles for All Creatives

Not long ago, I embarked upon my own version of Wild: two weeks of unfettered painting in the hillsides of France. As I carefully packed, I reflected on the fact that the best supplies are important to support the work we want to create.

Without my much-loved pack, easel, paints, boards...painting en plein air would not just be more difficult; it would be less enjoyable.

Yet while physical tools are necessary to get the job done, they’re a secondary necessity for creativity, only working when we first have the essential intangibles in place -- in particular, the mental muscles that create an impenetrable foundation for creativity.

The mental muscles I’ve found most important to hone are ones I’ve also written about several times before, in different ways: Courage. Curiosity. Persistence.

Courage

When fear makes us question whether we’ll fail or whether we’re good enough. When ego makes us question whether anyone else will like our work; whether it will be accepted. It’s in the face of fear and ego that we need the courage to embrace stillness and focus inside.

When our inner naysayer rears her negativity and imposter syndrome has us wondering who we are to do this work, we need the courage to put our soul on display.

When we’re tempted to keep our work under lock and key, depriving it of its chance to be seen, to be improved, and to grow, we need the courage to show our vulnerabilities and practice gratitude for those around us.

When we’re determining how we want to live and what that looks like, we need courage to make choices; to have conviction.

Curiosity

When the busyness of life sets in and we’re feeling just a little too “adult” in both creativity and personal matters, we need curiosity to light the childlike exploration that forgets rules, relies on more than learned skills, and lets imaginations wander.

When we are in a constant spiral of to-dos and anxious to check the next thing off our list, we need curiosity to encourage us to make time dedicated for exploration without an end goal.

When we’re on our way to burnout and creative blocks begin to set in, we need curiosity to burst open our minds and take us to a place where adventure leads and little miracles follow.

Persistence

When we’re distracted by the plethora of ideas known to any creative who loves to dream, we need persistence to complete the projects that are already lighting our fires.

When we’re tempted to give up because of overwhelm, because of fatigue, because of fear...we need persistence to seek both the internal and external validation that keeps us going.

When we aren’t confident in our path or the work we’re creating, we need persistence to remind us that art is a generous act, and that someone, somewhere, needs what we are creating.  

Creating your impenetrable creative foundation

The importance of each of these cannot be overstated. Likewise, they cannot be compared -- without curiosity, courage and persistence lead to hustle without exploration. Without courage, curiosity and persistence lead to exploration without conviction. And without persistence, courage and curiosity lead to fearless wandering without consistency.

Building courage, curiosity, and persistence is lifelong work that amplifies our creativity and the work we put out in the world. That creative work? It’s a gracious act; the tangible manifestation that shows the courage, curiosity, and persistence are worth working for, no matter your creative pursuits.

Because the world needs more creativity. And that creativity requires courage, curiosity, and persistence.