Fresh Starts! Still.

 

Fresh Starts, Still

I haven’t written a blog post since 2019. That fact alone makes me pause. Have I been asleep all this time? Have the years quietly slipped by while I was busy doing everything else?

Of course not. And of course fresh starts are real—otherwise what would we be doing here, any of us?

Here I am at 62, still harboring ambitions of pursuing my painting practice and a creative path that feels both familiar and unfinished. I’ve been a public school art educator for 25 years. It’s strange how time moves forward, especially when I remember that this career was chosen mostly so I could be available to my children—and with the intention of “just trying it for a year.” Somehow, one year became twenty-five. A life. A rhythm. A devotion.

And yet, the searching never stopped.

2025 was a dramatic year of growth for me. I traveled alone to Amsterdam to immerse myself in history and art—to walk slowly, look closely, and listen to what rises when no one is asking anything of you. Later that summer, I attended a master weaving workshop in Lima, Peru. I went searching—searching for more language, more lineage, more connection to process and purpose. I didn’t go because I lacked something. I went because I wanted to deepen what was already there.

Along the way, I had a small solo exhibition in Asbury Park and participated in other local shows. Quiet milestones, perhaps—but meaningful ones. Evidence that I am still showing up.

Now, I feel ready for more.

I have always said that as I move toward retirement, my commitment and focus will narrow—not shrink, but clarify—around three essential things: my children, my art, and my health. These are not competing priorities. They are the structure that holds everything else.

What I want, more than anything, is to live without the regret of not having tried. Of not knowing what I could actually accomplish with my painting if I gave it my full attention, my patience, my courage.

I am ready to let go of fear—the fear of failure, the fear of having nothing to say, the fear of mediocrity. Fear has been a quiet companion for a long time, and I no longer need it to keep me alert or safe. Curiosity can do that now. Commitment can do that.

This blog is not a declaration of arrival. It’s a return. A willingness to speak again, to reflect in public, to stay awake to the work unfolding in front of me.

So here I am. Still searching. Still beginning.