The wild ink workshops I just hosted at the Plains Art Museum this March and April began in my head over two years ago. I sat upstairs in Brewhalla to sip on my usual oatmilk latte with the hum of chatter, offbeat tunes, and an open Word doc to brain dump. How could I begin pulling together all of the little things I had learned from this wild color practice? It has always felt like a mad science practice with a dash of chaos and smidge of the obscure. 

 

Or, back to high school science class, whichever they'd prefer.

 

Folks, I don't like to call myself a teacher. I am 40 now and finally came to terms with a singular fact: I hate pedestals. I learned from folks who came before me who did amazing things, and there will always be folks after me to do the same. Plus, we all learn from each other. Ecocentric >>>egocentric. Circles, not pyramids. You get it. 

 

This spring, I realized that everything I want to ‘teach’ is part of creative way finding and a pathway back to parts of ourselves that went off line. Pathways to ways of feeling and working with our hands and our Earth Mother, unsticking us to drop back down out of our overstimulated minds into our soft earth bodies. 

 

I am also planning to offer two workshops per year that are related to my series focus. This year, my focus is on pollinators and what we can do to help these tiny neighbors of ours. These offerings would be in tandem with exhibiting new work in my front gallery space. Seeing art in person is good for us!