On a downtown Oklahoma City walk, I expected steps, not drama. Instead, I found a tiny bird in a puddle having the worst bath of its life. My Garmin buzzed, my steps stalled, and I stood there laughing. Sometimes, the best part of walking isn’t the miles—it’s the detours.

My Merry Men of Mount Rushmore painting is still wallowing in the ugly stage. Eyes are straight, heads are forming, and I’ve promised to keep at it—progress-ish.

As I wandered through the exhibit, I realized that most cooks (and creators) tend to fall into one of three distinct categories: The Recipe "Stickler" The Recipe "Guideliner" The Recipe "Free For Aller" Each style reflects a different mindset. And while they can evoke everything from anxiety to exhilaration—let’s be honest—sometimes they’re also a recipe for disaster.

Quirky museums remind me inspiration is everywhere — even in the smallest, most unexpected places.

The stingray’s background is fixed, the colors are flowing, and it’s happier than ever. The only problem? This little guy (or girl) has no name.

My art—and how it's interpreted by others—has especially taught me to appreciate different perspectives. Something I see as a whimsical robot might look like a propane tank to someone else. Or a rock shark to me might just be a pile of granite to another. And that’s okay.

Looking back at my earliest works compared to the newest, I was genuinely surprised. You know you grow as an artist but seeing it all side-by-side was like discovering my old middle school diary… a little embarrassing, but fascinating.

They say once a painting is finished, you should walk away. I say… let’s grab a brush and see what happens.

Valerie was all in, hunting down the perfect mosaic design for her frame. Meanwhile, I decided that instead of working on my pad plant frame, I would swap out the window in my half-bath with a sea-themed mosaic instead. Matt’s only rule: “No flamingos, for heaven’s sake!” So naturally, I went underwater—sea turtles, fish, seaweed, and none of those pink feathered party crashers.

That’s the thing about making art - inspiration doesn’t show up on command. Sometimes it hits like lightning. Other times, it sneaks in quietly while you’re folding laundry or wondering what to make for dinner. It’s unpredictable, a little wild, and occasionally rude.

Ten siblings, constant “help,” and years of creative chaos—find out how sibling shenanigans inspired a quirky grotesque art series full of expression and mischief.

The first grotesque wore a purple robe, which clearly pushed me into monk territory. So, I leaned into it. Every monk after that wore the same purple robe. Each one stands against a bold background — green, orange, and pink. (After all, why settle for one color when you can use three?) The repetition gave the series some visual unity — like a weird, slightly disheveled, color-coded choir.

The Art of Small Talk on Postcards: My Postcrossing Journey (And Why I Almost Stamped My Life Away)

When you’re traveling, postcards are everywhere - tourist traps, convenience stores, gas stations. You can’t throw a rock without hitting a stand full of them. But when you're at home and looking to buy a postcard just because, it’s surprisingly difficult. My first stop was a small local store that did have postcards for sale. But, to my dismay, they were priced higher than I expected. Almost $3 for a single postcard? Not quite the price I had in mind.

Sometimes a goat is a goat. Other times, there is a deeper meaning.

In art, the smallest details can make a huge impact to the overall effect of piece of art. The artist knows exactly where they adjusted the shading, added a stitch, changed a shape, or yes—tweaked the cadence of a drum roll.

Road trip to Mount Rushmore leads to painting.

Embracing the Rollercoaster: Challenging the Notion of Artistic Consistency

Rules of blogging.

The evolution of painting which leads to painting grotesques.