There’s a particular kind of quiet that settles in when a connection you thought was unbreakable… breaks. No dramatic soundtrack. No slow-motion movie moment. Just you, your thoughts, and deafening silence of a phone that doesn’t ring, or a notification that doesn’t ping, and absolutely no idea what you’re doing. That was me, not so long ago.

My life has not been the one with a tidy narrative, a three-act structure, and a satisfying resolution. What I got instead was estrangement from my first-born, and living grief I didn’t know what to do with. So I came back to art.

I’ve always been creative. Web design, photography, crocheting, cardmaking, I’ve made a whole career out of making things look good enough. But making art for myself was different. I have been left devoid of feeling, in the darkness of grief and there was little to draw inspiration from. I found no joy in the sunshine or flowers or sound of my other daughter’s squeals of joy on discovering something new.

But as it turns out, exactly what I needed. I stumbled into monoprinting kind of the way you stumble into a really good conversation – you don’t plan it, you don’t know where it’s going, and suddenly it’s two hours later and you feel like yourself again.

Monoprinting is this wonderfully unpredictable process. You lay down color, press paper against it, and pull away something you couldn’t have planned. Every print is a one-of-a-kind. Imperfect. Like people.

There’s something deeply comforting about a medium that expects and allows you to let go of control. Because when you’re someone who’s constantly struggling to keep control of her own life, and grieving a soul-crushing amount of loss, control is the one thing your brain is desperately, exhaustingly trying to maintain. Art just laughs at that. Gently.

I’m not saying art “healed” me, because that’s a little dramatic and I’m not a hallmark movie. But it gave me somewhere to put my thoughts, or lose them as the case may be. Somewhere that wasn’t awake in middle of the night, or a message I’d regret, or a loop of happy memories playing like a song you hate but can’t get out of your head.

After all that loss, after sacrificing nearly everything for so long, after living in fight or flight mode for over 25 years, after acknowledging all my shortcomings, after losing everyone I loved, I found escape in art. With art, I’m focused on how colors dance together on paper, not on the empty space in my heart. Even that dark space needs color and flow.

Which led me to teaching this monoprinting class. Not because I have it all figured out, because I absolutely do not(though I feel I’m getting pretty fucking close!). But because I know what it feels like to need a creative outlet and not know where to start. And I figured if I could do this while emotionally held together with coffee, a smidge of stubbornness, and a LOT of confidence driven by a lot of “What’s the worst that can happen”, so could you.

So here’s what I want you to know, whoever you are, wherever you are in your own messy story:

You don’t have to be “an artist” to make art. You don’t have to have it together. You don’t have to know what you’re doing. The gel plate doesn’t care. Neither does the sketch book or canvas. The paint doesn’t judge. There is something deeply satisfying about making something beautiful out of something that felt like a mess.

Sound familiar?

If you’re curious about monoprinting, watercolor, or just want to make something with your hands and breathe for a minute, come find me. I will be teaching at SAGA at the Gallery in Shelbyville or I can be rented out for private parties and team-building exercises. Let’s make beautiful messes together!

Also, if you’re a parent who is estranged from their adult child, feel free to reach out to me. I’d love to talk to you about your journey through estrangement.