I love finding the paintings within the painting. My brother is really good at pointing these out.

I’m showing at the Public Library again. July and August 2025.

It’s a bit strange to think that I have been writing one story for 25 years. Like my life over that time, the story has morphed to fit the lay of the land my path has traversed. In the early days, I was mentoring creative young people in a wide variety of mediums. Photographs of them were the seed from which The Adventures of Flash Meridian grew. Those young humans also grew, and went off to settle in their own sector of the universe. I wasn’t done, and so I adapted. My daughter, who was four years old when I began this project, morphed from the powerful little space girl to K.D. Bazinga, to the KD Head, to Flash Meridian’s daughter, living in the mountains of Olo. I had to find the new characters in my mind, and so I populated my own universe with a floating bucket, a humming sphere, a benevolent king and queen, and my pets, who have comforted me in that world and this one. They have been joined by many others who have flown, swum or walked to my doorway. I lift the iron latch and pull the heavy door open to welcome them in, as I welcome you, reader. As I, the writer, have gone through the transitions of life, the story has also changed in ways I couldn’t have anticipated. I grieved the losses along the way, unaware that the best was yet to come.

I inspired myself this week. I went back and read my own words written over the past several years. When I write, I imagine an unseen audience out there somewhere, that will be moved to take a chance and tell their own story through art. I hadn’t really anticipated needing that reminder myself. Coming full circle like this really makes it all worthwhile for me. I picked up a brush and smeared paint on a canvas, just like I told myself to. Yes, it was a familiar theme, my go-to trees against a cloudy sky. After a few days of building up the paint on a loose forest, I saw unintentional fish in the branches. They just appeared everywhere on their own, and they made me happy. They swim inside me, and they wait for an opportunity to slither out my fingertips and onto the canvas. About a year ago, I lost my cat, Lempi. I loved her for 10 years, and felt her loss every day for a year. Recently, I met a cat at the shelter who had a face like hers. This past week, we brought Neeta home. Neeta had lived for months in a small kennel, surrounded by other cats, and hearing the constant barking of dogs. Now she has a quiet house to explore. She is clumsy, learning to use her muscles for running and playing again. She’ll wait by a closed door, for an opportunity to dart into the bedroom, or out into the hall. She’s like those fish, waiting for a chance to flash in the light as they escape my hand and enter the painting.