A restless wind stirs up the trees outside my studio. The night is thick with humid air, a prelude to the coming thunderstorm. My mood is neither thick, moody nor dark, but rather light and cavalier. I am drunk with conversation, filled with friendships far and near.

I am giddy with connection.

Not so long ago I stood outside the human circle, pained by loneliness, driven by a goal whose end could only be more suffering: mastery.

I drove myself unrelentingly, my skills improved, my output of art remarkable. Some accolades came my way, and recognition. I got the job I wanted (traveling calligrapher) and realized a dream or two from long ago. But I did not live happily ever after. In my quest for ME, I grew further from essentials bonds of family and friendship. Having crashed and burned (my psyche is so wise!) in a breakdown of sorts, I realized that making art could not be the WHOLE point of my life.

Ah, the awakening. The realization: LIVING is art. Artfully living is the deeply satisfying experience, not merely the solitary and isolating one of sweating over a canvas. Or even reveling in it. I don’t need to be alone to create, and I don’t have to suffer so much existential angst in the process of making art. Give me a good glass of Merlot (thanks, SIDEWAYS, for making Merlot so appealing to me!) friends, family–and especially my calligraphic tribe, and I am content. And I still make art –quite a lot of it–nd I enjoy it a whole lot more now that I am a part of an ongoing conversation with so many loved ones.

There is so much more to say, but the thunderstorm is gathering momentum. I must rush into the house before I get soaked so I can spend these next precious hours with my brilliant 12 year old Maeve who has many concerns about the environment and just admonished me to use canvas bags for shopping.

I am connected therefore I Am.
All is well in my world.