There’s a strange kind of beauty in stepping away from the life you know. It reminds me of my first trip to Europe years ago—three months of traveling from Paris to Ireland and everywhere in between. When I came back, I felt like I had changed in ways I couldn’t even fully explain—but the people around me were still doing their things, in the same rhythms. It felt odd, like suddenly I was a total outsider. And now, stepping away again, I feel that same shift—but this time, it feels right.

Especially now, with the U.S. in a state of so much chaos and uncertainty, I feel even more grounded in Europe. In a strange way, the distance has given me not just perspective, but a kind of peace.

Piece by piece

Currently, I’m back in the States for a month—a short but meaningful visit. These past few months have been a mix of endings, beginnings, and hard work. I’ve been setting up the studio in Quillan—tearing down discarded pallets from around town and building easels—and searching for gallery space, which I think I’ve found. There’s a real thrill in seeing a space take shape, rough and raw, piece by piece.

What floor is this?

At the same time, I’ve been working to set up the middle floor as a rental unit (the French call the 1st floor the ground floor and the 2nd floor the 1st floor and the 3rd floor the 2nd floor, very confusing.), —deciding what kind of energy is welcome around the place (long or short term rentals). In the background of all this, I’ve been slowly closing down the United States chapter of my life. Selling, giving away, saying goodbye. Letting go of an old version of me so that something new can grow. It’s bittersweet. There are days I feel lighter with every box I pack, and days when the weight of everything going on catches up to me.

For sale

Part of that process has been selling the house in Maplewood. That chapter came with more twists and turns than I ever could have expected: Renovations, last-minute repairs, more repairs, and surprises that come when you think you’re at the finish line. Through it all, the biggest lesson was about trust—trusting my gut, trusting the process, trusting myself to keep going even when things didn’t unfold the way I believed they would. There were moments it felt overwhelming, like the setbacks of money and timing might drag me down. But they didn’t. And they won’t. None of this will hold me back. Every challenge just made me more certain that it’s time to move, to let go, fully and completely, with my trust intact.

Some people have started to slip away, too—quietly, naturally. And while that used to bother me, now I’m beginning to see it differently. As some fade, new ones begin, without much effort, I might add— reminders that not everything needs to be forced. That shift, while sometimes painful, is necessary and strangely hopeful.

A New Home

And there have been these moments of pure happiness too. Like finding a home for three of my paintings with some truly lovely people—people who connected with the work in a way that felt real and meaningful. An it seems I may have a few commissions coming my way. Moments like that remind me why I’m doing this at all: to create something that continues to live and breathe beyond me.

The Truffle Who?

In the middle of all this change, something unexpected happened: I unearthed a children’s story I wrote years ago—”The Truffel Chef” a story I had written and set aside for “someday.” I’ve started illustrating it, finally bringing it to life. Much like the long pause I once took from painting, this book is blooming now, finding its moment. It feels like another piece of myself shaking out the cobwebs. I hope to have the drawings done by June and the book out soon after that.

Where are you going?

I think about my dog Maggie, who isn’t with me right now. I still see the look in her eyes when I left—Where are you going?—and I miss her every day. But I also know she’s in the best hands she could be, loved and cared for until we’re back together again, going to rock shows or throwing sticks by the river with her new friend Charlie.

I think about my coming visit with my parents in Arizona, sharing time with them now feels more precious, knowing how rare those moments will become. I’m looking forward to it.

Hang proper

And I think about seeing Gerek—still the same brilliant, big-hearted boy I’ve always known. My best bud and my son. There was an unexpected twist this time: Gerek’s wisdom teeth have been giving him a lot of pain. With the house in upheaval—boxes everywhere, furniture gone—it’s probably for the best that he’s somewhere quieter and more comfortable while he deals with it. He’s in good hands too and I’ll see him mid-month, and we can hang proper.

Rebuild

And now, looking a bit ahead, I’m planning a visit to Asheville for a couple of weeks to see two of my favorite people—Jeremy, an amazing artist setting up his printing press again, and his wife Misia, one of those rare friends who is always there for me. We’re going to get his press up and running, make prints, I’ll paint alongside him, help him build a fence, and catch up on everything and nothing over a pint at one of the many breweries in town.

They moved to Asheville just a week before the hurricane destroyed the River Arts District—before Jeremy even had a chance to plant himself into the creative community he had dreamed of joining. The storm wiped it all out. But that won’t deter him. He’s no quitter. He will always find a way to bring his creativity into the world, and together, he and Misha are building something solid and beautiful.

Rebuild

Maybe that’s the part that speaks to me the most right now: the idea that plans don’t die when things don’t go as envisioned—they shift. They find new energy. Sometimes it feels like a lightning bolt zapping straight through you—sharp, shocking, but maybe that’s exactly the jolt you needed to get moving.

That’s the plan in Quillan, too. Not just starting over—but building something new, something lasting, from the ground up.
Something with some zap-zap, something sharp.

Maybe that’s the point. Distance doesn’t just make the heart grow fonder—it makes the vision clearer. It reminds you what matters. Who matters. What kind of life do you want to put your energy behind?