The cardboard box left on the front porch by the stealthy delivery guy was surprisingly heavy. Heavy with more fabric purged from my generous friend’s stash back in Ohio. Within a few days I was standing before of the washer sorting the box’s contents into warm lights and cool brights wondering what inspired . . . → Read More: Chopped


I know nothing. At least that’s what Sgt Schultz used to insist on Hogan’s Heroes in the olden days. His I-see-no-evil comment was usually in response to the POWs latest shenanigans. My not knowing was more the result of a quiet mind, the gift of hours traveling through the colorful emptiness of autumn’s . . . → Read More: Nothing


It’s not very often I get to use the words blissful and BuMPy in the same sentence. But then we’ve never enjoyed a blissful early morning, open air, BuMPy ride in the bed of a pickup truck through the back country of Monumental Valley National Park, escorted by our exceedingly gracious Navajo guide . . . → Read More: Harmony

Broken Open

Not every broken pot gets rebuilt as a recognizable terra cotta garden pot. Some of them get broken open. Broken open and rearranged. Broken open and painted. Broken open and filled with larger meaning. They begin as one thing and wind up as another. That’s pretty much the story of Nicole’s pot. Quickly . . . → Read More: Broken Open

No Complaint

Five, ten, fifteen minutes. No grousing. No whining. No complaints. Whatsup? I’ve NEVER not had someone begin to complain about the glue not setting up, or pieces of a broken pot falling apart during the highly metaphoric “Broken Pot” art project I’ve been doing for over twenty-five years. The dining/art room was full . . . → Read More: No Complaint