One last bit of summer before September gets underway, here’s a sticker printable for full subscribers. There’s a couple floral designs, some seals for envelopes and faux tape. I have three nieces in college this autumn (weren’t they just toddlers watching The Backyardigans?!). And I thought these would be fun to add to letters and packages headed their way. For stickers, you can find inkjet sticker paper online or at your local office supply shop. Not a sticker person? You could print and glue these as well, or use like clip art.

Enjoy!

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When the first daffodil emerges, I always think to myself, “Daffodil season is the best season!” But when the peonies start popping off, I find myself caught up in their charm. Same for the roses. And now, the zinnia. Seasons seem too big sometimes, years too expansive. How do you wrap your head around twelve months when any one week can feel like a century? Delineating time by what grows up from the ground and what soars overhead feels more manageable, less conceptual. So that’s where I am as August fades away. I don’t want autumn yet because there’s still sunflower season and blackberry season. And I am here for those seasons.

What else has this part of summer looked like?

• Reading: The Frozen People was read earlier this month, thanks to a suggestion. Time travel and crime solving in one book? Sign me up. A fun summer read, this is begging to be optioned for a television series. And the under eye circles I’m currently sporting are because of Marble Hall Murders, which has kept me up far too late nights. The adaptation airs next month in the states, so I wanted to read before watching (trailer, here).

• Listening: I’m in the middle of picture book sketches, more specifically, I’m working on a round of revisions. And in the process, I burnt through all the episodes of Expert Witness, a CBC podcast that looks at the increasing role of artificial intelligence in the legal system.

• Growing: Am I checking the garden multiple times a day for signs of growth in a completely unhinged manner? Possibly. But in my defense, the watermelon honestly do look like they’re growing overnight. I’m going to chalk this up to using homemade Comfrey tea fertilizer this year. The ghastly smell is absolutely worth it.

• Making: I’ve been experimenting with jigsaw linocuts (the image at the top of this post). With anything unfamiliar, there’s always a learning curve and for me, it’s getting the pieces cut up evenly. But it’s been loads of fun trying something new. Here’s an explanation of the process if you’re interested.

• Teaching: Planning is underway for a picture book workshop that I’ll be (tentatively) running in January. An introduction to children’s books, we’ll look at how a story comes to life, from the first idea to the printed edition. If you’re in or around New Hampshire and want more information, drop me a line! This will be for aspiring authors, illustrators or anyone with an interest in the book making process.

• And… Like so many, I was saddened to hear of Dolly Parton’s passing this week. In 2014, her literacy organization, Imagination Library, selected my first picture book, Bella’s Rules, to be added to its program. The book’s sales numbers had been lackluster up until this point, but its inclusion in the program turned things around. And I’m not unique. Countless other authors’ and illustrators’ careers were positively impacted by Dolly Parton. But most importantly, her deep and lasting commitment to childhood literacy was phenomenal. Dolly was an absolute gem of a human being.
  
  

Do you choose a word of the year? I’ve tried a few times. But somewhere around the end of January it falls out of focus. By spring, it’s forgotten entirely. But if I were to retrospectively choose a word for 2026, it would be, “pivot.”

I’m not a fan of spontaneity, to put it mildly. I like order. I love routine. I jot down notes before making phone calls. My planner never leaves my bag. So no, I will not randomly join you for hang-gliding and Margaritas on a Tuesday afternoon no matter how nicely you ask.

But this year has been full of pivots. Random roadblocks and unexpected detours have popped up routinely. It’s been a year of having to say, “This was what I planned, but this is what I have, so what am I going to do about it?” And that’s had an impact on my art, too.

My goal in 2026 was to be more intentional in creating portfolio pieces. The above is the rough sketch of the most recent illustration I worked on. There were some thumbnails before this and a handful of sketches to get the pose right, also. But by this stage, I’d hammered out the subject, the composition and done a color study, too. This image is the color study I was working on, but flipped to grayscale, to check values (I did the sketch in Photoshop). Values have been a consistent issue for me, so it’s an area I’m focusing on more as of late.

So the sketch is good to go, let’s get painting! Right? Well… I hit some speed bumps:

• The second I stretched the paper something was off; a buckle in the corner felt like an omen. I was rushing, which never works for me when prepping.

• I wanted to try out something different with the underpainting. But in retrospect, this is something I should have done with a small study, first, not a portfolio piece. Building confidence in a new direction would have really helped before jumping into something bigger.

• I decided to go rogue and veer away from my color study. Sometimes this works. In this case, it most certainly did not.

And within a couple hours, this is where I ended up:

Meh. This felt flat in comparison to my sketches. The colors had gone wonky. I was convinced I’d wasted an entire morning. So I did what you should do at times like this — hid the art in a corner, ate a cookie and bitterly complained.

But the next day, I wasn’t quite willing to give up on the concept. So I went for a Hail Mary pass. I wanted to see if things were salvageable, so pivoted to drawing, instead of painting. If after an hour or two that wasn’t looking promising, I’d admit defeat and move on. But things started to coalesce.

This is graphite on Bristol board with a range of pencils (I love this for small details). Working in black and white always feels like a gamble. You have to trust the process enough to believe that when color is added, things will all come together. And the above image in this post was the end result after adding color in Photoshop.

Illustrations don’t always end this well — plenty ends up in the trash bin. But sometimes the pieces that have flopped the hardest have taught me the most. I had a drawing instructor frame it once as, “It’s just paper” (which while true, doesn’t take the sting out of hours down the drain). Sometimes art making is as much about the unfinished pieces as the finished, the zig zags versus the straight lines.

But the idea of spontaneous drinks and hang-gliding still sounds like torture.

Firstly, if you recognized the subject line, high five. Jonathan Richman’s “That Summer Feeling” is always the song that’s looping in my head this time of year.

I can’t compute that it’s the last week of July. There’s so much more summer I want to squeeze into the weeks ahead. But there has been a trip to the beach to sketch, with a detour to Lark Coffee. And I’ve spent as much time outdoors as possible, reading, gardening, drawing and just being.

An assortment of things from this point in Summer:

• Work is mostly picture book sketches right now, but when I have downtime, it’s been devoted to the piece at the top of this post. The paper size is 22 x 30 inches (roughly 55 x 76 cm), so I have ages to go. But I love slowly adding bits to this each day. I bring back wildflowers from walks and use those as reference, but there are some flights of fancy. That pink flower grows nowhere around here, but reality is overrated, so…

• I’m taking Annie Atkins graphic prop making for movies class on Domestika. It’s absolutely fascinating — you can see a preview here.

• Before the pandemic, I did vintage reenacting, but in the years since, have fallen out of the habit. I decided to dip my toe back into that world though, working on this Edwardian sewing pattern from Folkwear.

  

• Gardening has a wonderful way of humbling you. You can use the perfect fertilizer, plant at just the right time and water religiously, all to still have things go sideways. For years I’ve grown peppers with stellar results. This year, the peppers are small and sullen. But the blueberry harvest has been terrific (so much so that I made these frozen treats) and my squash look like they’re going to produce nicely. Regardless of the output though, digging, hauling soil, weeding and watering always do wonders for my psyche. I suspect that when we get too far away from dirt we’re divorcing ourselves from something that our deepest selves need, the magic of green, growing things.

• Addie Best’s newsletter is a new favorite. Full of printmaking, Maine, book recommendations and lots of living, it’s a delight.

It’s easy to assign blame. It’s harder to dig deep within and move forward. At least that’s what I’ve found this year. On an artistic level, I’ve been having to figure out what’s working and what isn’t. And spring cleaning fueled a lot of this.

I’ve been in my studio for over a decade. But around March, I felt suffocated by my surroundings. So I stripped down a wall covered with ephemera and inspiration. I donated unread books. I pitched dried up markers. And I felt like I could breathe again. I was creating space, literally and metaphorically. I also realized that my cleaning procrastination had really been a form of self-sabotage. Having to make decisions about art supplies and old illustrations overwhelmed me. I didn’t want to engage with perceived failures tucked away in the flat file. But going into full ostrich-mode wasn’t doing me any favors. And I’ve been trying to dig my way out of that mindset in the months since.

So a couple areas where I find self-sabotage easy and the workarounds I’ve been trying this year:

1. “My work is junk”
   At some point or another, creative doubt will smack you up the side of the head. You aren’t alone. Everyone thinks their work stinks at one point or another. My goal increasingly is to admit shortcomings, but not to be owned by them. Also, I’m most inclined to indulge in this mindset when I’m hungry, angry, sad or tired. I hate that this attitude can often be fixed by a nap or a cookie, but it is what it is…

2. “Everyone’s got it together except for me”
   When I was growing up, my dad would tell me that there would always be someone smarter, prettier and more successful than me, but that I just had to be the best version of myself that I could be. I’m incredibly grateful for this outlook; it took a lot of pressure off of me as a kid. Whenever I feel myself thinking, “Well, so-and-so has this opportunity” or “Why is what’s-her-face in that show?” I know it’s probably best if I exit out of social media and just make the best thing I can make.

3. “I’m an imposter”
   The reality is, we’re all faking it on some level. Humility is good, but I’m realizing that irrational self-doubt is a reason to pause. There’s a big difference between, “I know I have room for improvement,” versus, “I’m awful. Period.” You can have a realistic idea of your capabilities without denigrating yourself. I’ve mentioned previously that I recently started biking. My fitness app informs me that I’m managing 6 MPH. Go ahead and laugh — I am. But it’s better than 0 MPH. I’m getting outside, I’m improving my health, and in time, I can probably get faster. Or maybe I’ll just poke along at the speed I am. Who knows. At any rate, I’m realistic about where I was yesterday, attempting something more today and hopeful about where I’m going tomorrow.

   

4. “Feedback? Ew…”
   I told someone recently that I’ve come to the realization that the bulk of my illustration work has been in a silo. There hasn’t been enough creative cross pollination. It’s only in the past couple years that I’ve started running work by another illustrator friend; it’s had a big impact on me both as an artist and a person. And it’s made me realize that I should have gotten out of my own head sooner. Find your people — join a critique group, ask trusted friends and family for feedback, sign up for a portfolio review, take a class. And this video about creating in community literally popped up in my inbox this morning; it’s well worth a watch.

5. “I’m making no progress”
   When I feel this way lately, I pull out old work. You can see where you’ve started and get an idea of where you’re going. Conversely, sometimes old work has something that’s missing in new work. Keep moving forward, but occasionally take a glance over your shoulder.

6. “I’m just going to stick my head in the sand”
   While the sand may look attractive, eventually it’ll get suffocating. When the smoke has cleared, get curious and ask questions. This is hard. And sometimes painful. In the past year, I’ve had to do lots of this. Postmortems aren’t fun, but they can be healing both professionally and personally.
   

   ---

   
   I think the commonality with all of these beliefs is that they come from within. True, others can shape these ideas (i.e, that one awful critique session freshman year, your third grade teacher, anonymous strangers on the internet, etc., etc.). But by and large, I find more often than not, the call is coming from inside the house, like that old horror movie trope. I’m the one gumming up the works. And it isn’t a one and done — I might avoid hating on my work one day and not the next. But baby steps, right? So if you’re in the same boat, hopefully this helps!
   
   Now I should probably clean out the bins I keep my paint supplies in… Talk is cheap, right?
   
   
   

I was reading recently and ran across a word I wanted to look up, but I didn’t want to reach for my phone and risk getting derailed by social media. So I designed a bookmark that has room to add notes and vocabulary. Problem solved!

That bookmark and three other bookish varieties are in this month’s download for full subscribers. In addition to the notes/vocabulary bookmark, there’s a Pride and Prejudice and Wuthering Heights option, as well as one that has a tiny copy of Anna Karenina in the design. Not into bookmarks? You could cut these up for gift tags or print on sticker paper.

Enjoy!

::Download Below::

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Living in New England, there’s an amnesia that kicks in about now. You forget all of winter’s misery as you find yourself suddenly surrounded by a green, glowing landscape. It’s a bit like being Dorothy wandering into the colorful world of Oz. This sounds like hyperbole. But I’ve lived most of my life in these parts and come March, there’s no amount of cocoa and cozy reads that will really, fully banish the winter blues. So when summer finally hits? There’s a mad dash to squeeze every last bit out of June, July and August.

Some of that looks like biking for ice cream. Sitting outside early mornings and writing. Of course, staying up far too late reading. I also might have to head up to Portland, Maine for this Winslow Homer show. But there’s also a lot of work juggling at the moment. So the weeks are screaming by like a freight train.

But a few things:

• Coffee shop sketches: I spent last Saturday doing yard work, so heading out Sunday seemed like a fair trade. On the left is the finished page, on the right is about five minutes in. I find blank pages overwhelming, so my trick is to start with one sure thing. In this case, it was the building across the street. I used that to anchor the page, then began working out from there. And yes, I did drip an iced latte all over the bottom left hand corner. The markers are this brand (a birthday gift last year).

• Detective Hawthorne: On a scale of 1-10, how excited am I about a screen adaptation of Anthony Horowitz’s Hawthorne books? That would be an eleven.

• Writing and Rejection: I’m almost finished with The Adventures of Miss Barbara Pym. If you’ve ever struggled with unrealized creative dreams, this is the book for you. A successful writer, Pym’s career came to a grinding halt in the 1960’s, when editors deemed her work passé. Reading about Pym’s drive to create in the face of personal and editorial heartache was fascinating, as were the passages about cultivating inspiration. A caveat about the book: I’m uncomfortable forming an impression of someone based on their youthful diary ramblings and college antics. I’d have rather had a broad overview than a blow-by-blow look at Pym’s Oxford years. But that’s just my two cents. Also, I’m going to burn any college writing and delete my old Livejournal, now.

• Listening: If you don’t care about sleeping at night, Suspicious Minds and its examination of AI is wild. And The Redefector is a great listen, also. Deadlines mean I’m burning through podcasts rapidly, so if you have any recommendations, send them my way!

• Time Travel: Haunted Homebody is my new favorite Instagram account. It’s delightfully analogue and anachronistic. A time machine that would travel to my childhood would be great, but this account is a close second.

  So what’s inspiring you? What book has you flipping pages way past bedtime? Song you have on constant repeat? Thing you can’t stop drawing? I’m all ears.
  

It’s been 10 years (!) since Finding Wild was published. It feels like only a minute ago that Megan’s manuscript arrived in my inbox.

To celebrate, we’ve interviewed each other about our experiences with the picture book. Below, you can read my questions for Megan and then after that, Megan’s questions for me.

Author: Megan Wagner Lloyd
Website: meganwagnerlloyd.com
Instagram: @meganwagnerlloyd

What was the inspiration for writing Finding Wild? Did the idea come all at once or did it evolve over time?

The short answer is that I was reading a list of one-word writing prompts and the word “wild” just really stuck out at me. I was in a weekly writing critique group at the time, and I needed something to share at an upcoming meeting, so I quickly wrote a rough draft of what eventually became Finding Wild.

The longer version is that I was raising young kids at the time and it was really important to me that we spent a lot of time outside. I had been reading books like Last Child in the Woods by Richard Louv and had big dreams about hiking and camping as a family, etc. And yet I was also finding that sometimes our most meaningful time with nature was found in the simpler, smaller moments, like pausing to pick a dandelion or playing at the closest park. I think I was drawn to the prompt “wild,” and ultimately had a lot to say about it, because I had already been mulling over the topic, and trying to apply it to my life, for a long time.

Did you have a favorite part of the process?

Honestly seeing the text placed into the illustrations was incredibly exciting! I didn’t make any art notes in the manuscript, so seeing the different ways you interpreted and brought life to the text, and also brought in a layer of storytelling with the children and the swirling leaf, was just amazing!

How has your writing changed or stayed the same in the last ten years?

The biggest change for me is that I began learning how to write graphic novels soon after Finding Wild came out, and my first graphic novel, Allergic, came out five years ago. I still love writing picture books and novels, but graphic novels like Allergic, Squished, Winging It, and the Super Pancake series, have become the biggest part of my career.

It’s interesting to see how I’ve been drawn to some of the same subjects throughout the decade — Winging It, which came out last fall and is illustrated by Michelle Mee Nutter, is about an indoors-y girl’s journey to connect with the outdoors, and through nature, connect with her mother — who passed away when she was little--her distant grandmother, and her new home. It really is one character’s path to finding wild!

Do you have any dreams for the future direction of your work?

I hope to continue writing books that are meant to be illustrated, like picture books and graphic novels. Working with illustrators to tell stories is a process that I truly adore, and I feel so grateful when an illustrator is willing to put in the time and effort to collaborate with me. I also hope to write more novels, as I want to keep challenging myself to tell stories using only the power of words, as well. And I’ve been increasingly drawn to reading mysteries and learning about history lately, so I’m excited to see where that leads me in my writing. I love trying new things and writing in different ways, in different genres, and for different age groups — it’s what keeps the job interesting for me. One recent development that I’m very excited about is that I wrote the American Girl 2027 Girl of the Year novel Daisy Davenport Saves the Day. It comes out on September 15th (when the doll will be released, too), but can be pre-ordered now. As a lifelong American Girl fan, working on this project was truly a dream come true!

What’s your favorite way to get outside and “find wild”?

Experiencing the changing of the seasons on walks around my neighborhood. It’s a simple everyday thing, but that’s a good thing, because it brings me joy every day!

Illustrator: Abigail Halpin
Website: theodesign.com
Instagram: @halpindraws

Why did you decide to illustrate Finding Wild? What resonated with you about the project?

The decision to illustrate Finding Wild was almost instantaneous. I remember reading the manuscript and knowing I absolutely had to illustrate the story. Having grown up in a rural area, with so much of my childhood outdoors, the manuscript instantly spoke to me.

Did you have a favorite part of the process?

I painted the final art for Finding Wild the winter of 2015 which was one of the snowiest, longest winters I’d ever experienced. Painting all of those outdoor scenes was such a joy after being faced with what felt like a never-ending winter.

How has your art changed or stayed the same in the last ten years?

Finding Wild marked a stylistic shift for me. Prior to that, most of my work had been heavily digital, brighter colors, less traditional materials. While I’d enjoyed that, it didn’t always align with the personal work I was creating. Finding Wild came much closer to the art that I made for fun and it gave me the confidence to keep moving in that direction. In the past couple years, though, I’ve been doing more with printmaking and find that’s begun to inform a lot of what I’m doing lately.

Do you have any dreams for the future direction of your work?

I’d like to move into writing and illustrating some of my own projects. I’ve been working on an illustrated middle grade historical fantasy set in the aftermath of the Irish Famine. It’s been a long process, but things are getting there. And I have a couple of picture book ideas that I keep chipping away at.

What’s your favorite way to get outside and “find wild”?

I love camping! I grew up visiting state and provincial parks throughout New England, Québec and the Maritimes and still thoroughly enjoy camping as an adult. I’m happiest in front of a campfire, listening to loons crying in the distance.

When my nephew was a toddler, he had a very specific birthday dinner request: salad without lettuce. He liked tomatoes. He was fine with cucumbers. But he did not enjoy lettuce. He recognized that lettuce was typically a part of the salad equation, but then opted out. So you can have salad without lettuce. You can have a movie with almost no dialogue. You can make a picture book without pictures. And in that spirit, I’d suggest that sketchbooks aren’t solely for artists.

A reoccurring thing I hear is someone mentioning that they enjoy looking at sketchbooks, but that they themself can’t/don’t draw. And I’ve been mulling this one over lately. My take?

Either:

1. You appreciate art, enjoy viewing, but are happy to leave its creation to others. This is how I feel about baking. I’m an average cook. No one will die eating what I bake, but no one is likely to get excited about my culinary skills. Paradoxically, I love Ainsley Durose’s Instagram account. I am enthralled with her pastries. Her skills are a marvel. I will watch every single video she posts. But I’m not going to start making croissants tomorrow. It’s a joy to see another person make something marvelous, even if I have no intention of doing similar, ever.
   
   Or…
   

2. You really do want to draw. You’d like to paint. But you don’t know where to start. Maybe you’ve had a bad experience with art. Maybe you’re in a season of life where you barely have five minutes to yourself. Maybe you’re overwhelmed by what you see on the internet and have no idea where to begin when it comes to creative pursuits.

So if you fall into the second camp? Here’s some ideas to ease into keeping a sketchbook:

1. Fill a page with squares: Color in each square to match the world around you: the greens of your garden, the grey of a skyscraper, the orange of a traffic cone, the yellow of a school bus. Play around with layering and mixing colors.

   

2. Draw Lines: What lines surround you? Is it the jagged, rough lines of tree bark? The smooth curves of a river? The sharp, packed lines of a bunch of reeds?

3. Draw Shapes: What shape does a huddle of pedestrians make when crossing a busy street? How do the clouds above move — fluffy cumulus or rippling stratus? Don’t think about details, just go for the simplest shape that reflects what you see.

   

4. Listen to Music: Find a tune that gets stuck in your head. Write down the line that speaks to you. Which word in that line jumps out? Do the lyrics feel jagged and sharp or soft and hopeful? Is the song bright and shiny, or subdued and melancholy? Does the music feel like a color? Listen to wordless music, too. To me, Bach feels like straight lines and intricate shapes building upwards. In contrast, Smetana’s The Moldau feels like curving lines and slowly growing forms. Also, there’s no right or wrong answer here. It’s how the music makes you feel.

5. Collage: Cut pictures out of magazines. Snip words from newspapers. Add bits of cards and letters. Paste in that coffee shop receipt or the concert ticket stub. Arrange to your heart’s content and then glue things down.

6. Be a scientist: Experiment. What happens when you layer pencil over paint? Create swatches with different pens. How does watercolor behave with a little water? How does it behave with a lot of water? Make art with unexpected media (like crayons). Keep notes about your process.

I have a few more sketchbook keeping ideas for someone just starting out here. But the biggest takeaway? Get used to the idea of a sketchbook before the idea of making art.

In the Suzuki method of violin instruction, very young learners sometimes start out on a cardboard violin. Wrangling a violin is tricky — your hand has to snake around the instrument’s neck in a way that feels alien. Your own neck and chin are responsible for keeping aloft this strange object. And then getting a sound out of a violin on the first go that doesn’t sound like a cat wailing? That’s rough. This is where the cardboard violin comes into the equation. The student can get used to the idea of the violin before even sounding a note. You’ve reduced the variables and hopefully the frustrations. So in that spirit, get used to interacting with a sketchbook before imposing any expectations on it (or yourself).

And the nephew who didn’t like lettuce? He’s fourteen-years-old now and has cruised past six-foot-tall.

Firstly, a very big mea culpa to full subscribers for falling behind on downloads! I’m truly grateful for the support and am working to get ahead of the curve on this one. April and May were intense. And then you throw in a jury duty summons and *waves arms around like Kermit the Frog*.

Anyhow, below is a discount code for the shop that’ll give you $5 off any digital download order (my digital products are all that or lower). That’s enough for an embroidery pattern like the Murder Mystery themed motifs above, or a combo of a couple things. Don’t embroider? You can always skip the stitching and use fabric markers to add motifs to a tote bag or t-shirt.

Many, many thanks again!

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Winter felt never-ending. From early December on, the storms came with relentless regularity. The first few snowfalls are always a dream. Once April comes, though, the charm of frozen precipitation runs thin. But this morning, I woke up with the windows wide open and the woods outside green and growing. Without noticing exactly when, everything shifted.

It’s funny how life seems one way for so long and then overnight things pivot. I’ve been thinking about that with art. The above piece felt like it was never going to get finished. It’s a scene in a picture book of my own that I’ve been working on in my spare time. I put the story aside a few years back, but decided to look at it again with fresh eyes. There’s a lot that needs changing, but at its core, there’s still something there that I love. So I decided to take one of the sketches and create a final piece.

But there was angst.

I almost threw out the drawing at one point. The pencil rendering felt never-ending. But things slowly started to click into focus. It’s just getting through that, “ugly,” stage in the early part of making anything. I suspect that feeling of uncertainty in the initial moments never really goes away. Perhaps that’s not a bad thing. It gives you a healthy skepticism when it comes to your abilities and for me, that’s not a bad thing.

I walk by this stream a couple times a week. When it felt like spring would never come, I decided to look for any sign of the shifting seasons that I could find. The first image is from March 30, the last is from yesterday. Sometimes progress is an entire finished illustration. Sometimes it’s just a quick sketch made in a waiting room. But eventually, it all adds up. Much like the passing days and seasons.

Some other parts of May:

1. I’m reading The Adventures of Miss Barbara Pym at the moment. And I’m about halfway through Chatterton Square.

2. I started cycling again. I move slowly. Going downhill on steep hills causes terror. But a half hour on a bike feels like a reset for my brain. I also (full disclosure) occasionally use it as an excuse for stopping at an ice cream stand. But there’s cognitive perks to biking, too. I’m going to remind myself of this when I’m huffing and puffing up hills.

3. I had a couple deadlines this month and last that had me right out straight. I’m behind on downloads for full subscribers — many apologies! I’ll have that sorted out in the next few days.

I’ve reached the point in life where I’m acknowledging that there are things I may never get to. It’s not that I couldn’t do some of these things. But priorities shift and dreams evolve. And you let go of some things to hold onto others. So in that spirit, I recognize that it’s unlikely I will ever become a roller derby star or spend a month backpacking through New Zealand. Not saying never. But I’m okay admitting these are slim possibilities. Another thing I sincerely doubt will ever happen? Me giving a commencement speech. This is only right and just. I skipped my own graduation ceremony, which I now sincerely regret.

But if I were to talk with new graduates? It would be brief. It would be to the point. And it would include some of the below, specifically geared to illustration students:

• Spend time with the very young and the very old. They’re honest, possess unique wisdom and will deeply inform your work.

• Don’t let social media worm its way too deeply into your brain. Detox as needed. Take a Tech Shabbat.

• Draw everyday. Draw while you’re on hold with tech support. Draw while you’re waiting at the dentist. Draw when you’re bingeing that new series. Even if it’s two minutes a day, that’s almost an hour of drawing by the end of a month.

• Read constantly. If you have an interest in children’s books, also be sure to read outside of kidlit. Learn to recognize aspects of storytelling (the heroes journey, for example).

• Your frontal cortex is still developing. You will make bad choices. That’s what youth is for. Learn from your mistakes, then move on. To quote a certain modern troubadour, “Shake it off.”

• Take care of your body. Get your eyes checked. Make a point to move every day. Also instant ramen noodles and soda might do the trick now, but you will pay dearly tomorrow. Don’t make caffeine your personality.

• You don’t have to have it all figured out at 21. Or 25. Or 30. Or (fill in the blank). The past six years have been a doozy. We’re all figuring it out as we go.

• Step outside of yourself. Volunteer. Call your grandma. Donate to a cause. Write letters. Listen, really listen to people.

• Criticism stinks, but is crucial for growth. That said, you can’t make everyone happy. As the quip goes, even the pyramids have one star reviews.

• Identify what your strengths are. Work on your weaknesses. Trust your work, but be willing to evolve.

• It’s okay to be human. The night my grandfather passed away, I stayed at the nursing home until late, then got up the next morning and went right into work like nothing had happened, all in order to meet a deadline. I didn’t even think of requesting an extension from my art director. All I wanted to do was to fill up that empty space his passing had left. But when you don’t reckon with grief, it comes back to find you at an even more inopportune time. Keep disasters in perspective though. A death in the family is a valid reason for needing more time. Your goldfish’s untimely passing, not so much. That said, padding your schedule to help avoid deadline collisions is always a good thing.

• Cultivate friendships that challenge you, particularly with other artists. You want people in your life that can encourage, but also know when to make you squirm. I’m grateful for the handful of friends and family that I share my work with privately. Each one is supportive, but each one is brutally honest. Some even make me angry on occasion, until I admit that they’re right. These sorts of people are a rare gift — I wouldn’t trade any of them for the world.

• I wrote some other suggestions for new illustrators a couple years back.

Alright, graduates. Time to toss that mortarboard in the air and go eat some sheet cake. Congratulations!

This is not an aesthetic post. But it is an honest post. I am knee-deep in book sketches right now. The above is the unvarnished state of affairs: half-finished coffee, discarded hair clips and general chaos. Add in some true crime podcasts and the regular swing between jubilation and self-doubt and you have the gist of things here.

Some spreads come easily. Others are more of a push-pull affair. In 32 pages, I tell a story, moving from point A to B with pictures. I’m conscious that in the past I’ve approached this from too linear a perspective. While an illustration might tell the story, does it serve it? Does it really get to the heart of the matter or does it just literally explain the text? Those questions feel like heavy lifting. And wrestling. Cue “Eye of the Tiger.”

Other than book sketches?

• When Autumn Falls is an absolute gem of a movie. The trailer gives the appearance of a whodunit, which is unfortunate — the film is so much more than that. There’s quiches and cakes. Graves being carefully tended. An end of season garden being put to bed. It’s quiet and slow. But what won me over was its story of redemption; we’re all works in progress.

• The Invincible Brain was a great read. It’s inspired me to queue up foreign language learning podcasts in the car. Also, the memory tips are doable and helpful (I say this as someone who can’t remember names for love or money).

• This interview with Erin and Philip Stead on is gold (you can also find it on iTunes, Spotify, etc.). It’s an honest, hopeful conversation about making books, making mistakes and making art that is decidedly you.

• The giveaway is closed and the illustration headed to its home, but thanks to all who commented! I’ll plan to do another one of these in the future, for sure.

Last month, I had an email from Erin Bonner that caught me off guard. The gist of it? Would I be interested in some art supplies in search of a good home.

There had to be a catch. I read and reread the email. But it was a true random act of kindness.

I speak sarcasm fluently. It’s easy to adopt a glass half-full mentality. We’ve all been burnt by human interaction that’s more transactional than relational.

But that’s a rather jaundiced view of the world. Or at least it’s not the view of the world that I want to live by (even if it is sorely tempting).

Erin’s kindness inspired me. I created the above illustration using the materials she sent, with details added in pencil. The illustration is small (3 x 4 inches / about 8 cm x 10). And I’d like to keep the chain that she started going. I’m giving away this illustration (the rules are below). My only hope if this art goes to your home? Keep the kindness going and do something to pay it forward to another. Bake your grandma a cake, leave flowers for a stranger, pay for the coffee of the person behind you. Your pick. Let’s see how far we can keep this going.

Alright. Here’s the nitty gritty:

1. To enter, leave a comment (one comment per person). Tell me something you’re loving lately: a book, movie, song, podcast, etc. Your call.

2. One comment will be selected via the random number generator (i.e, if you’re comment #4 and 4 is the number selected, it’s you).

3. Comments can be left from now until 11:59 PM Thursday, April 23, EST. If your number is selected, I’ll respond to your comment and we can coordinate email and then snail mail information privately from there.

4. You can live anywhere in the world. I’m going to ship this as a letter to keep the cost down (the price of international shipping, oof). So whether you’re in Osaka or Omaha, it’s all good. If for any reason customs fees are incurred, though, that will be your responsibility.

5. No purchase necessary. No need to be a subscriber. To comment, you have to be over 18 years old.

I’m working on sketches for a picture book and it’s caused me to go on a deep dive through old work. It’s amazing what some distance and time can do. I see things now that I’d do very differently if given the chance for a do-over. There’s ideas I should have pushed further and explored more robustly. But one thing I’m asking myself is why does an illustration “work?” What makes a piece of art captivating? That’s the million dollar question, one I struggle with.

But one idea I keep coming back to is wonder.

Wonder is a strange concept in the 21st century. I’m a fan of cars and penicillin and a whole host of other aspects of modern life. But sometimes I wonder if we have all of the facts, but none of the answers. I’ve been reading The Metamorphoses and at one point found myself smugly thinking how quaint that anyone could believe a tree was a woman changed by the gods. This was closely followed by a sense of sadness that I didn’t think of the world with such a sense of wonder. Granted, you still find glimmers here and there, with highways rerouted for fairies and such. But that’s the exception, not the rule.

When I look at illustration through the lens of wonder, things begin to click into focus. There’s the otherworldly vibe of The Mysteries of Harris Burdick. Anything and everything by Gyo Fujikawa. Aaron Becker’s Journey is pure magic. Emily Sutton’s illustrations in Many are proof that non-fiction can be mesmerizing. And while Treehouse Town was a gift for my niece and nephews, I found myself desperately wishing I could live in that sort of a locale.

In art, I’m trying to figure out how to bring more wonder into my work. I’m trying to look up more. And down. To ask, “what if.” To sit in silence. To ask seemingly foolish questions. Does the sky have to be blue? Is the imaginary friend actually real? Is the frog just sitting on a lily pad, or is it waiting for the 3 o’clock shuttle service operated by Turtle and Co.?

It’s time to open my eyes and look for the wonder hiding in plain sight.

I like March. In the northern hemisphere, October and June usually get all the glory and for good reason. But March feels anticipatory — hope is just beginning to stir (see also: Thursdays). Granted, you can’t let that hope get out ahead of you too far here. In New England, March can mean sun and short sleeves on Monday and a blizzard on Tuesday. Those sorts of conditions always make me think of The Secret History, a March snowstorm hiding Bunny Corcoran’s fate…

Anyhow, winter has been mostly deadlines and shoveling, but outside of that:

• I read Wuthering Heights in February for a book club and spent 75% of the book complaining raging about it to anyone in earshot. But the advice I got to stick through to the end was well worth it. I’m glad I stayed around to see the redemption and healing found in the final chapters. The above pattern was inspired by the book.

  

• Reduction prints have long fascinated me (this is a terrific explanation of the process). But the idea of essentially destroying the block bit by bit made my head spin. So I decided to start small with very low expectations. I learned a lot in the process (you can spot registration issues in the bottom examples). But I’m definitely planning more of these in the future and had a blast printing.

  

• The predominant outdoor winter colors here are grey, brown and white. So imagine the surprise something like the above triggers on a walk. I wasn’t aware that there are native ferns that overwinter and the science behind how they last in cold climates is fascinating. Talk about hope…
  

I spotted the first few bulbs wrestling their way out of the ground this week. I think hope the worst of winter has passed.

To celebrate, here’s a mini print for full subscribers. She measures 4 x 5 inches and I painted her last year, inspired by springtime flowers.

Or you can turn her into a card. I have a friend who sends wonderful handwritten letters, usually on stationery of her own making. She’s made me realize I need to up my card game! Also, it’s such a delight getting something in the mail other than a flyer for the grocery store or my car insurance bill…

:: Download Below ::

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I was sorting linoleum blocks the other day. This looks like a lot, but as context, the above is 18 years worth of making. I don’t carve quickly — illustration jobs, work and life all are at the front of the queue. But I go at a speed I can sustain, one that assures that printmaking stays an enjoyable hobby and not a grueling side hustle. I am fine being an occasional, poky print maker. But sometimes I forget this.

It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of content online. And then the guilt kicks in. Should I be producing as much as so-and-so? Have a body of work as impressive as fill-in-the-blank? In the middle of deadlines, I have plenty of art finished, but nothing to show publicly. This just feeds the unease.

It’s hard not to conflate creative output with personal worth. Everyone, everywhere seems to be making constantly, sharing regularly and moving ahead predictably. But art doesn’t always come that easily. Babies want holding. Elderly family need care. Health requires attention. We’re all faced with a myriad of constraints and commitments that pull us in a thousand directions. But sometimes the detours shape us more than the destination. Sometimes the seeming distraction is the greater good. We are not machines that can operate with unerring accuracy at all times.

I have to remind myself of this continuously.

If I just add one more piece to my portfolio.

If I spend a few more hours on my shop.

If I just blur all the boundaries, that’s all it will take to move myself forward.

And then I’ll be miserable, without a shred of creativity left. I know, because I’ve lived that reality before.

There are times to move with speed. That idea that just won’t quit? Go ahead and stay up until the wee hours of the morning if that lights you up. Deadline fast approaching? Keep it moving. But when you have the time and the space? You can give yourself permission to work slowly. You are still an artist whether you make one drawing or a hundred in a year. I’m saying this as much for myself as for anyone reading this.

I’ve been working on this cast drawing of St. Andrew since autumn (lesson here). This is from January and I finally finished the piece last weekend. If there’s one thing that classical drawing has taught me it’s this: slow down. Building up values with care and restraint still doesn’t come naturally to me. But I am learning. Learning to continually check measurements. To think deeply about the relationship between shapes and lines. To move at a pace that in the 21st century feels nearly alien. I haven’t found a way to speed up this sort of art — it’s created with layers and layers of time and offers no shortcuts. I think that’s why I’ve come to like it so much: it’s art making completely at odds with the modern world.

I know firsthand the dangers of thinking that what I make is who I am. It’s something I’ve struggled with for eons. A solid work ethic is something to take pride in. Soldiering away until you’re a hollowed out hull of yourself, not so much. So make as much (or as little) as you want. Share it (or don’t). Just don’t think of yourself as less-than for making at a seemingly different pace than everyone around you.

Let’s be humans, not robots.

You own a sketchbook. You have assorted drawing tools. You’d like to take said sketchbook and drawing tools out and about. Great idea! But there’s a catch.

You don’t want to draw around other people.

I get this. Seriously. As a kid, my mom kept a constant supply of ballpoint pens in her purse. If we were out for breakfast with my grandparents and I was getting antsy, mom would hand me a pen. To my seven-year-old brain, waiting for our order felt purgatorial. But offered a pen and faced with a paper place mat? My mom was assured I’d stay quiet, happily drawing until the waitress came bustling along with scrambled eggs and bacon. The only hitch was if the waitress noticed.

“Look at that! Did you draw that?” She meant encouragement. It was incredibly kind! But as a self-conscious kid, the attention had me ready to melt under the table. I wanted to be left alone to draw princesses and slather toast with as much strawberry jam as possible.

And somehow, that feeling has never left me. Well, maybe the strawberry jam part. But you get the picture. When I say I understand the desire to draw unobserved, I can absolutely relate. On the Myers-Briggs personality test, I’m almost 100% introverted.

That said, many get energy from engaging with others while making art — that’s absolutely terrific. You might create from a deeply empathetic place and need to interact with people for your creative practice. Or you work collaboratively and want a give and take with the world around you. Again, terrific! That said, if you make art that feels more extroverted, some of the below might not be as relevant. In short: you do you. We’re all the richer for our differences in temperament.

But if you struggle to make art in public, here’s a couple things that have worked for me:

• Most likely, no one’s paying attention to you drawing: Seriously. Next time you’re in a busy spot, look around. A substantial amount of people will be staring at a device. Many more will be in conversation, either in person or on the phone. A few will be reading (befriend them immediately). But almost no one will pay attention to you. Our modern brains are generally too full to notice the person sketching in the corner. Which means…

• Situate yourself out of the way: If I’m drawing in public, I like to tuck myself into a corner, or on a bench away from foot traffic. I like having the freedom to observe and ponder, quietly. And if you feel self-conscious drawing in public, finding an out-of-the-way spot can help.

• Gaze Perception is a thing: You’re observing a group of friends catching up over a coffee. You start sketching them. Something about your drawing doesn’t look quite right. You look up, studying your model and it happens: they spot you drawing them. There’s an evolutionary reason for this (gaze perception) and the science is fascinating. TL;DR: if you look at people for extended periods of time, they will eventually notice. That can get uncomfortable. So casually observe, but try to keep the looking low-key. Unless, of course, someone’s asked you to draw them, in which case, lucky you! Also, as a rule of thumb, I avoid sketching those who look like they’d prefer privacy (i.e, anyone involved in a serious conversation).

• Keep it simple: While I do love taking a travel paint kit on the road, if I’m sketching in a coffee shop or in a waiting room, I tend to keep things pretty basic. Most of the time, I’ll stick to a ballpoint pen. Sometimes I’ll add marker. The less variables I have to think about, the easier the process is and in turn, the less self-conscious I’m likely to feel. I’ve minimized the possibilities, making the process feel more predictable and comfortable.

If someone notices: Don’t take criticism from strangers to heart. Accept compliments graciously. That said, wearing headphones/ear buds can give you a buffer if you’d like further privacy and want to cut down on din and distraction.

• Things will go wrong: It’s not a matter of if, but when. I have spilled coffee on sketchbooks, broken pencils, lost my seat when I got up and the like. Roll with it and embrace the disaster. Which brings me to the next thing…

• Have fun: If you’re sketching in public, you aren’t trying to make the next Mona Lisa. You’re working on your observation skills. You’re enjoying some community. You have zero expectations other than to make art. Don’t put yourself under huge amounts of pressure — it’s just a sketchbook. You wouldn’t strain over a spelling mistake in your diary, so just adopt the same laissez-faire attitude here.
  
  Also, go ahead and get that cookie you’ve had your eye on in the cafe bakery case.

Valentine’s Day is right around the corner, so here’s a banner to celebrate. This is a free download for full subscribers, but I also have this available in my online shop here. To make, you’ll need a hole punch and twine. I’d recommend using cardstock for printing. However, if you’re like me with a printer that’s perpetually crying out for more ink, you can always send the file to your local copy center instead.

Not a banner person? You could skip punching holes and use these as Valentines instead. They’d probably look fun with a dash of glitter, too.

Download below the paywall — thanks and enjoy!

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