On the Whiteboard, at Year’s End

2025 is drawing to a close.  Holiday best wishes have been sent, the art studio tidied, the decks cleared — all but one tiny handwritten Post-it note on my whiteboard.  It reads,

“A vision in motion is the greatest adventure.”

The note had appeared sometime over the summer, after I’d put the blog writing on pause.  Why is it still here?

2025 had started with a happy momentum. Ways of drawing had begun to work for me — especially a larger format to surface connections and composition. I was in love with my materials (sumi ink, monotypes, and pastels at the forefront), making the pictures I wanted. Pictures of crows filled a drawer.  On my whiteboard were thumbnails for a different take on the Ham story, along with sketches about animals and people.

I was in my sweet spot — almost. I was making things and developing ideas for a series, but I wasn’t yet landing them.

Then the year shifted. A long-planned trip to the UK pulled me out of the studio. I brought the Postcard Printing Press along, thinking I’d solved the problem of how to keep making work while traveling.

I loved that journey. But I spent far more time writing in my journal than making postcards — and that bothered me.

What if I collect impressions in a radically different way — sketching far more and writing far less? Can I still capture meaningful impressions?   

Back home, with the summer ahead, I put the blog writing on hold and dug into that question.

What followed was a series of experiments. I had been reading Anne-Laure Le Cunff’s book, Tiny Experiments: How to Live Freely in a Goal-Obsessed World, and it made sense. Instead of looking for answers all at once, I began trying small, concrete things. And iterating.

The illustrated journal came first. What began as Danny Gregory’s sketchbook journaling course became an eight-week immersion.  Drawing before writing changed everything.  Starting with a first layer — texture, color, and image — helped me key into mood and feeling quickly.  This practice is a keeper.

Next came regular reviews of my artwork — short video inventories guided by a few prompts. What I might once have spent days overthinking, I can now see in half an hour.  And I'm freed to move on.  This practice, too, is a keeper.

As things began to land — more finished pieces, less psychic drag —  the days felt more open. I volunteered at our Island’s Rotary Auction and Rummage Sale, hosted family visits, took a class with the Seattle Barista Academy, and entertained ideas as they emerged.  One of these ideas became a new collaborative project with Neil, which by summer's end had taken shape as Yard Signs for Our Times.

For this project, another tiny experiment:  a single sketchbook for thumbnails and word stacks — a place to start ideation, not necessarily finish it.  One rule: I don’t share its contents. This sketchbook has become a thrilling place, where I can see ideas coming together.  It has even led me back outdoors, collecting thumbnails instead of making finished drawings.

The summer ended with a monotype and pastel workshop with the wonderful Dawn Emerson — three days at Dakota Pastels in the beautiful Skagit Valley.   

October took me away from the studio again, this time to Connecticut to help my sister and brother-in-law move house. A simplified art kit came with me. The illustrated journal held steady, filled with trace monotypes and pan pastels.

November brought me back to the studio: time for making, video art reviews, and the launch of our Yard Signs Substack.  I made some pictures working small alongside big — a more conscious integration of my illustrator and artist selves. December meant another brief return to Connecticut, then back home.

These last few weeks, I've slowly rearranged my studio to support what I can see coming. It feels good. With a vision that's still in motion, the tiny handwritten Post-it note stays on the whiteboard.

One last note

Here’s a snapshot from my audiobook list.

While I enjoyed all of these, I treasured two.

The first I’ve already mentioned above — Tiny Experiments, for its tools that cut my overthinking in half — one small experiment at a time.

And Impossible Creatures, for its storytelling — and for re-igniting my desire to make pictures that explore relationships between animals and people.

Well, that’s my year.  Thank you for your generous companionship.

A very Happy New Year to all. Wishing you good health, peace, and adventures for 2026.

Monotype in process.

On my phone this year -- work I wanted to see every day. Trusting the feedback loop will make a difference.

The work accumulated.