Whoa and Wow

2018. Wow.

Am I just now realizing the magnitude of this? Nearly two and a half months into it, this number, a big one, it tells where I am, how far along I’ve come since 1965. This year, this 2018, I will be 53 and will celebrate 30 years married and will see my children turn 24, 21, and 16. Lord willing. Wow.

That’s all I can say…wow.

Couldn’t I just spend my days marveling at where I am? Could I not just take a moment, a year, a rest-of-a-life to say whoa.  Stop right here. Let’s pause and gather it all in and look deeply into one another’s faces?

For it shall not stay like this. I feel it already, the pull of years to come. Like Marty in the Future photograph, beginning to fade. Or like the moment’s before Scotty beams us up, pixels waving farewell. Can we not stop the world and get off for a moment to hold one another’s faces cupped in our hands and look, really look and say I love you and always shall?

Please do not forget.

Today, let me do just that with my pen and brush. Let me caress these faces I love, the landscape of Backyard, the hay bales of Silver Dapple. Let me hold them even if for a fleeting line to say I love you and always shall.

To say, if only to myself, please…please do not forget.

This act of loving is feeble and flimsy at best. Pieces of paper in a bound book. But it is how I know to say whoa and wow to 2018. It is my way of cupping my hands around the faces I love, the place that I live, the life that I have. There are miles to go before I sleep, as Frost would say, and there are miles of lines to log in my book through 2018 and beyond.

In this way, drawing and painting my life, I will not forget. And perhaps, when I fade from the photograph and my pixels wave their final farewell, these books will remain,

saying I love you…

and always shall.


Drawcumenting Life

Over ten years ago, when I first began to blog, I was inspired by Alicia Paulson‘s photography of her everyday life. It seems an enchanted life from the viewpoint of her camera lens…walks in the woods, her current stitching projects of all kinds, her home, her cooking. Everyday things, which are indeed beautiful in and of themselves, but made moreso by the art of photography. Her writing was also enjoyable as she chronicled her days, rainy or sunny, chaotic or simple, difficult or restful. I wanted to do the same thing but with sketches and drawings rather than photographs.

I’ve been reconnecting with this love of drawcumenting my days. Not that I had stopped drawing  in a sketchbook, but I was finding an overwhelm with all that I love to create which crowded out the daily practice of looking for, sitting down, and sketching something in my life. Whether it’s the daffodils blooming along our driveway (below), or the end of the day sitting around the living room while husband works at the computer (first one), or sketching a photo of the knitters and crocheters I teach (second sketch), or the loveliness of my daughter as she learns to knit an intricate pattern …this delights me to no end.

I have been in need of some focus. To re-establish what it is that underpins all the creativity, all the mothering, the wife-ing, the teaching, etc. Drawing my life in a sketchbook is how I can see it all for the beauty it is, no matter how hum-drum or exciting it may be. Following a line through my days works to help anchor me and provide insight into what’s going on underneath it all, in and through it all, and sometimes even despite it all.  It is a documentary of sorts, but drawn through a pen, a brush, a sketchbook.

I have just finished an entire sketchbook! I love looking back through it for all that it contains from the date written on the very first page. I am aware that I have jumped around to several other sketchbooks. large and small, for more drawings and sketches of life, but when one is filled up to the very last page, I feel a wistful contentment…herein is a life of love. Go to my Instagram feed to see a very quick flip-through of this sketchbook. The above drawings of knitters around the table and of my husband at the computer are the final two drawings in this book. The video cut off right before these last two sketches.

I have a couple of sketchbooks to choose from to begin another. They are what I call “good sketchbooks”…you know, the more costly kind with paper thick enough for watercolor, pen and all kinds of media. The sketchbook I just finished, with its tons and tons of pages, was very cheap! Same with this brown kraft paper sketchbook. Both bought at Walmart, they contain fairly sturdy paper, but it does buckle and warp, something I don’t mind too much. In fact, a cheap sketchbook can be very freeing! I also loved the really white paper of the first one! White paper makes watercolor sparkle and fineliner pens stark and clear. I’m not terribly crazy about the brown kraft paper, but it’s fun to switch to every now and again. I’m hesitant to start drawing in my Handbook Journal because the paper is cream colored. However, even though I liked the white pages of the cheap book, it was difficult managing the bulk of so many pages not laying flat for a drawing across both pages. That is my favorite way to draw – covering both pages at one go. So I’ve ordered a Stillman and Burn sketchbook because I’ve heard that the pages lay open very flat. We shall see. There are only 26 pages in one sketchbook so that won’t last me very long. I’ll just keep on searching for the perfect sketchbook. If you have a favorite, do share it with me! I am particularly in search of bright white paper, thick enough to handle watercolor, and pages that lay somewhat flat.

I hope you can drawcument your day through the lens of your sketchbook! Draw on my friends…draw on!


Were my life four seasons of twenties

I would be in late Fall.

Spring and Summer past, so too the brilliance of leaf and coolness.

Only a few bright jewels remain quivering on their branches

knowing full well they await their last flight

of wind before gravity takes hold.

From here I can feel the chill of coming winter.

And I now see, with other limbs bare,

the evergreens standing sure and unmoved by the seasons’ ravages.

They have been there all along playing

a lesser role to oak and maple.

Providing scaffolding for all of nature’s

hoopla to dance and frolic.

Now they have their day…their deep values

fencing the path, marking the way.

I walk on. For I cannot go back.

Stopping to rest beside an evergreen

I admire its solidity, if prickly and severe.

I touch the bark, the needles, and I inhale something rich, resinous, comforting.

Surely in my winter, evergreens will guide with pointy fingers

and lay out a carpet soft for travel-weary feet.

Here in late autumn I can still feel the sun of summer’s day,

the blush of spring’s blooming.

It is all encompassed by memories of brilliant colors against a bright blue sky.

The hint of woodsmoke brings me to now, as I walk forward

into winter’s snowy embrace.



I have received word that my dear friend, Marion Gagan Kovach, has gone home to be with her Savior. The following Reflection was written just this morning, knowing that He might be coming for her very soon. While I am bereft, already feeling lost without my friend’s presence here, I wholeheartedly affirm the words of this Reflection and rejoice that she is no longer suffering.


A dear friend of mine is at this moment struggling for breath in a cancer ICU. We typically think of the celebration of Advent as a happy and lighthearted time. It is not always so. Though I have known and been friends with her for 30+ years, I feel as if I’ve known her all my life. She and I both were dancers in our young girl years and I imagine we would have been BFF’s in dance class, working our plies, tandus, and pirouettes together. She has been valiantly battling esophageal cancer for 2 1/2 years, and it has been my privilege to walk alongside her, trying to keep in touch as best we can through it all.

We speak of Advent as an anticipation of Christ’s coming to us as a babe in a manger. Indeed it is just this. But we sometimes miss the fact that He comes to us in a multiplicity of ways. The entire Christmas story is rife with numerous ways God comes to His people: an Angel of the Lord comes to Mary to bring her the news that God is going to come to her, overshadow her, and birth in her His only Son. An army of God’s messengers come to the Shepherds in the field to announce the birth of Christ. God comes to Joseph in a dream to allay his fears and give instruction for the path ahead. God comes to the Three Kings in a dream to tell them to travel another way. In fact, the entirety of the Scriptures is an unfolding of all the ways God has come to us. Not the other way ’round.

I astonish myself with how I know this to be true, that the King of Heaven comes to His children, but I live as if I’m the one who has to reach, grasp, and work my way to God. There is not a single story in the Bible where people have successfully gotten themselves together, cleaned up their act, been nice enough, smart enough, wise enough, to achieve the status “made it to heaven.” In fact, usually their efforts to earn salvation or God’s approval go horribly wrong. But God…

He comes to us in Advent as a baby, because that is what we are…helpless, vulnerable, dependent babes. He does ALL the work of coming to save His own. He alone rescues. He alone provides. He alone comforts. He alone grants faith, grace, and mercy. He also comes to us in our death. We do not travel that lonely dreadful path alone. Soon He will reach out His hand to my friend and say those precious words…“Talitha, koum”. He will take her by the hand and say “Dear little one, get up and go with me into eternity! Breathe freely, plie, tandu and pirouette to your heart’s content! ” Yes, even in death, He comes to His own. Emmanuel. God. With. Us.

Artfully yours,



The people walking in darkness
    have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness
    a light has dawned.

Isaiah 9:2

When Magic Happens


It happens at various times along the way. Magic that is. Years ago, when I first swiped watercolor on a white page…I drew in my breath and held it as I watched the color move on the paper, blend with other colors. Something special was happening that was just for me. The magic of watercolor has never left me. It’s oozles and wazzles delight me endlessly.


Then one day, again many years ago, I got out a wooden box filled with Rembrandt soft pastels that my grandmother had given me when I was  child. Holding a stick on its side, I swooshed the pigment on the page, and there it was again…that feeling that magic was afoot. In neither instance did this magical feeling have to do with WHAT I was creating on the paper. In fact, if you saw these early attempts, you would not be particularly impressed as they looked much like what a kindergarten artist might create. I did not care. The magic was in the process of putting color onto paper. Or was it in the seeing of these colors as they went onto paper? Or was it simply the initial discovery of new mediums?


I have now been actively pursuing art-making for almost 20 years. Wow! That seems like a long time to me. You might think that the magic has worn off, the blush of first love at swiping color on a page might have become ho-hum over the years. It does, in some sense, become a normal state of enjoyment for an artist…surely this is what keeps us coming back to make more art! But there are still moments when our breath is taken away; we stand back in awe or delight at the page or canvas before us, and simply are amazed at the loveliness. It isn’t an arrogance or prideful thing. It is merely showing up to the page every day, being present for magic to happen. Some days you feel it. Some days not.


And then there are days when the convergence of something new…or at least it feels new…suddenly hits you and you know that magic has happened once again. Its outside of you. It came through you. And it now exists in front of you. This is what happens when I put my favorite creamy pastels over top of random swooshes of watercolor.


The first magical moment with this happened soon after our daughter’s wedding this summer. I had pulled out this neglected sketchbook from years ago. I had not made many marks in it for various reasons. Two, maybe three pages had a few half-hearted attempts. So with a what-the-heck attitude, I dashed on some random washes of watercolor, page after page, and let them dry.


As I was into abstraction over the summer, I swiped pastel over top of one of these pages and knew instantly…I was in love! I couldn’t make any more sketches or drawings that day due to its loveliness. I just walked by my drawing table often to gaze at the soft colors dancing around on top of the watercolor. The next day, I turned the page, and worked again in the same manner. Light touch. Gorgeous color. Again…magic!


On and on, page after page now in this book, some abstract, some representational. This particular one, made last week after being blown away by the cloud formations at the top of our hill on Silver Dapple Lane. You see, the magic begins with inspiration, with beauty seen, with a desire to lasso it onto paper, or free it for interpretation, or something. But after I stepped back from trying to recreate what I saw and felt up on my favorite lane, I knew…


It was there on the page.

I held my breath for only a little while, exhaling gratitude all day.

***Magic may also be due to the tea one drinks while painting! The message on this bag of Green Tea set the tone for this painting. Kinda cool!

Placemat Pattern for YOU!


Some years ago, my mom gave me a couple of white cotton placemats that my Grandma Bowen had crocheted. She was an avid maker (artist, knitter, crocheter, embroiderer), as is my mom, and now me, and well… my girls are makers too!! It’s lovely to have a heritage of creativity, art and making!


So for some time now I’ve wanted to figure out how Grandma made these placemats. Since I only have two of them, they are used as centerpiece “doilies” (you can see the white one under the wooden pedestal in my photos) and I’ve often wanted to have a set of them to use under plates.


I’ve worked it out now in pattern form to share with you! It’s FREE for you to print off and enjoy! Do let others know about it if you like this pattern, but please give credit where it is due! I changed the edging a bit since I love the fan stitch and added the picots in keeping with Grandma’s version.


I’m now working on a set of them in multiple colors! I have the Fiesta dishware so I thought it would be fun to crochet different colored placemats to mix and match with the plates. I can still use just one if I like for centerpiece decoration.

I hope you enjoy making a set of these for yourself or for a gift. They work up quite easily, round and round you go.

I hope you are having a lovely weekend!


P.S. You might enjoy these other Free Patterns as well, or browse the ones for purchase Here!




Drawings from a two-day sketch crawl in Boone, NC with my parents!

Tips and techniques for you to try as well!


Artfully Yours,


My Trellis


There’s been lots of livin’ and therefore lots of drawin’!!

Somehow I thought life would slow down after the wedding, but since it hasn’t, filled to the brim with all good things, I’ve taken to drawing to slow down the moments a bit, to lean into all the goodness jam-packed into my days and weeks.

Even before my birthday last week, I had been drawing, drawing, drawing. Not even stopping long enough to Instagram them all!! Lately it feels as if I cannot get enough of it. Like there isn’t enough paper to catch all the lines and wrangle them into memories. Yet with each drawing, I can sense the haphazard jaunts of living being groomed into something more steady, upright, and ordered. Or at least somewhat ordered.


Drawing is a trellis for me. Laying down line after line, offers a solid trellis for the color and textures. Scaffolding is another good word for it…a solid form upon which to hang all manner of splashed-on, riotous color. Without a trellis, the vine just takes over. With a trellis, there’s peace, order, structure. I like structure.


Even without any color added. Just lines. Lots of lines. Line as the ultimate abstraction. I love them. Yes I do. I’m putting lines down every day. Must. Draw. I’m nearly half way finished in a brand new sketchbook I just recently purchased. Fun. Good medicine.

I’ll share more of them soon! In the meantime, I hope you are able to set down a trellis or two in your own sketchbook! Keep ’em flowing…hang onto them…cling to the trellis and you’ll grow a bit more every time.

All My Attention


Every drawing tells a story. It doesn’t matter whether it is abstract or representational, detailed or dashed off, unfinished or complete…it speaks of life in that moment, what was going on either in the artist’s physical world or in their feelings and thoughts. More often than not, it encompasses both.


I often feel like Irene, in the Princess and the Goblin, whose been given a near invisible thread to take with her into the world outside the castle and to follow where it leads so that she might be led back home. Life has a way of calling me out of my comfort zones regularly, which in turn creates a storm of thoughts and feelings that are not easily sorted out. The very best way I have to quiet the storm and be led through it (even good storms such as a wedding!) is to follow the lines of whatever is around me, pinning them down on paper as I can, catching them by the tail, and following them home.


Bringing the full weight of all my attention to particular moments is what drawing affords me. Even knitting doesn’t quite rival this focus of mind and quieting of jumpy thoughts. I can still ruminate to beat the band whilst knitting and crocheting. (Unless of course I’m learning a new stitch pattern or following a chart, but even that is not the same.)


I look back through this Moleskin and I can see so much that has happened in the past few months. Though there are no actual wedding drawings, I see and remember little moments leading up to it and beyond…that thread that reminds me I have a rope, a life-line, leading me in and through life’s big events as well as small ones.


I finally got around to reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic several weeks ago. The one thing that has stuck with me is a phrase she mentioned once or twice. “So here’s the part where I…” She recounts that after so many years of living this creative life, she now recognizes the patterns of her emotional and mental landscape that are repeated time and time again. This SO resonated with me! “So here’s the part where I get so busy I can hardly think straight let alone feel focused in my art.” “So here’s the part where I’m humming along with creative juices flowing daily.” “So here’s the part where I haven’t been able to create much and now that I can, I’m so backlogged with ideas I’m flailing around making anything and everything that comes to mind.” etc. etc.


It is helpful in the midst of it all, to realize these patterns and that a thread runs through all of it, leading me out to a wide open space where I will regain a sense of harmony and direction in what I want to make. Drawing leads me through. Drawing makes all the jumpy thoughts and questions bed down for a time, allowing a sense of calm to flood back in.


I’ll keep following the line. I feel it already bringing me through the overgrown brush, the frenzied forest of life, and I know it will lead me out into that spacious place which may not be home yet, but a place to hang my hat for a time.


I sincerely hope that you too can follow a line today, pin it to paper, catch it by the tail and hang on for dear life, bringing the full weight of all your attention to small moments.  In so doing, your sketchbook will be a full, beautiful and rich account of the journey.

Be All Here


I sat on the edge of the steps leading down to the ocean from our beach house. Saying goodbye is always hard. A week of family, fun, rest, relaxing, walking, reading, drawing and knitting…hard to top that.

I drank in the gorgeous sky above the water, trying to notice and take in everything about it so I could take it back with me, remember it, paint it when I returned home. It is how I could transition from this lovely week back to my everyday life. Even though I’d been drawing and painting it all week, I felt I had only just begun to capture the force, the movement, the textures and colors of the ocean and its ever-changing sky.


My intent this week was to make marks. I have a tendency to become seized with a love for a particular medium and I’m compelled to use it as much as possible over a period of time. For this week it was oil pastel and watercolor. An exciting and whimsical combination. Yet when I got home, I wanted just watercolor for the first image above. Just paint to depict how the ocean’s waves mirrored the sky’s clouds. Just a brush to sweep and flood the sky and water with the colors that reflect off of each other.


There are too many qualities in the sky and ocean that make it necessary to limit oneself to just a few of them for depicting in paint and crayon. Color. Texture. Movement. This week was less about shape or perspective. Impressions. Emotion. Joy. Freedom. That’s what I was after. For my sketchbooks, as well as for my life.

I’m back at home, filled with gratitude in my heart and with numerous drawings in my sketchbooks. It is as if each one was drawing out of me the weariness that had accumulated over the past months. Each mark, sketch, swoosh of color unleashing burdens, yet harnessing peace, drawing all the color and light into myself, ready for what life has in store for the rest of the summer.


P.S. I’m always hopeful that you will find drawing to be as immensely poignant and helpful to you as it is to me. I am renewed in my desire to draw daily as a way to bring my full attention to the life I have. I need this. We all need this. So I’m planning future blog posts on this topic, to encourage you, inspire you to draw, take up your brush and dip into the ocean of your life to see the beauty that lies therein.

You might enjoy this little video I made from a beach trip a few years ago. Same house, family, and fun.

Artfully yours,