For years, I filled notebooks.
Tight, desperate script—
an attempt to turn emotional chaos
into something legible.

Pen to paper is good for the soul.

(No one tells you that once you start taking notes,
something in you already knows it’s over.)

When I got sidetracked from my art career (for just a handful of decades — no big deal), I conducted job interviews.

I don’t remember much about them — there were hundreds over the years — except the discomfort. The chair. My shoes. The lights. The stale air. The way the candidate and I smiled at each other, both pretending we actually wanted to be there.

“What did you want to be when you grew up?”

Painting, like life, rarely unfolds the way we imagine. In this reflection, I explore unfinished endings, creative surrender, and the quiet hope that keeps me returning to a blank canvas again and again.

After years of working in traditional, representational art, I found myself drawn to the freedom and emotional honesty of abstract expressionism. In this post, I share what that shift unlocked for me - from creative boundlessness and healing, to embracing imperfection in an increasingly AI-shaped world.