Cinderella

A recent talk I heard entitled Cinderella Revisited inspired last week’s art activity at the Lighthouse, a twelve-month, faith-based residential treatment program for women recovering from substance abuse. The essence of the message was that Cinderella was dead in the enslaved environment of her life with a wicked step-mother and two ugly sisters . . . → Read More: Cinderella

Anger Sort Of

Sometimes I set up an art activity and everything goes as planned. Other times? Not so much. That happened last Friday at the weekly therapeutic art workshop at the Lighthouse, a twelve-month, faith-based, residential treatment program for women recovering from substance abuse. The group of women currently in the program is largely . . . → Read More: Anger Sort Of

Breathe

I’ve been on the road the last two weeks. And in the air twice for long, uneventful flights. In a beautiful part of the world between two gloriously blue lakes connected by a turquoise meandering river. In a village near Interlaken. Near the highest point in Europe reached by train. In the Alpine . . . → Read More: Breathe

Raw

Raw emotions. Red for ANGER. Green for ENVY. Great black looping CONFUSION. Periodic EXPLOSIONS. That’s the mask Ashley describes wearing because she believes expressing her anger is a stronger position than crying although her tears are just beneath the surface. She knows that needs to change….in a safe place…in a safe way…at a safe pace. It’s not going to . . . → Read More: Raw

The Pits

Last Friday was the pits. Not exactly the kind of pit you might imagine. The ladies at the Lighthouse, a fifteen-month, faith-based residential treatment program for substance abuse, were creating their own personal collaged pits using Chinese food take-out boxes. Words and images illustrated the painful pits they’d fallen into as a result of . . . → Read More: The Pits

Box

Over the last twenty years I’ve learned that art-making combined with writing is an efficient way for me to process the “memorable” moments of life – those moments that are so impactful that it takes some intentional time to integrate them into my soul. Frankly, I stumbled into this fast, fun, cheap form of . . . → Read More: Box

Trees

When you’re in your twenties you can’t imagine not decorating for Christmas, especially if you’re the creative type. But I must confess that my Martha Stewart more-is-more gene has aged and I reached a point where I decided we’d get an artificial tree when I turned 60. Alas, my . . . → Read More: Trees

Pieces

Like Forrest Gump I might have said life is a box of chocolates, but at the moment life seems more like a random pile of pieces. Sometimes the pieces are magazine images and words that get combined to tell a story of recovery. Sometimes the pieces are piles of strips or folds of fabric strewn around a workroom. Sometimes . . . → Read More: Pieces

Nothing

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 deserts, canyons, valleys and the forested . . . → Read More: Nothing

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