Go Take a Walk!

There’s something magical about taking a walk in the woods early in the morning. When the world is still quiet and the sun is just beginning to filter through the trees, everything feels a little more open—especially my mind. It’s during these moments, with no distractions and no pressure, that I feel the most creatively free.

In the woods, the noise of everyday life fades away. There are no emails to answer, no deadlines to meet—just the sound of birds waking up, leaves whispering in the breeze, and my own footsteps on the trail. It’s a kind of peace I don’t find anywhere else, and it gives my mind the space it needs to breathe. With that space, new ideas seem to come more easily, almost effortlessly. Thoughts connect in unexpected ways, and I often find myself inspired by the simplest things—a pattern of light, the texture of bark, or the way the air smells after it rains.

I’ve noticed that walking in nature helps clear out the mental clutter. The things I’ve been stuck on or overthinking suddenly don’t feel so heavy. My brain resets a little, and with that comes a fresh wave of creativity. Whether I’m writing, sketching, or just trying to solve a problem, the woods always help me see things from a new angle.

I’ve noticed that walking in nature helps clear out the mental clutter.

What’s even more special is the time alone with my thoughts. Out there, it’s just me and the trees, and something about that allows me to dig a little deeper. I get more honest with myself, and that honesty feeds my creative work in a big way. It’s like I can hear my own voice more clearly, without all the noise.

So for me, a walk in the woods isn’t just a walk. It’s a reset, a source of inspiration, and a reminder that creativity doesn’t have to be forced—it just needs room to grow.

In morning light, the forest wakes,
A hush beneath the pine and brakes.
The world falls quiet, thoughts run free,
As whispers drift from tree to tree.

Each leaf, a spark; each breeze, a guide,
To places hiding deep inside.
The path unwinds, the clutter clears,
Ideas bloom where once were fears.

No screens, no noise, just earth and air,
And sudden truth found everywhere.
In solitude, I find my start—
The woods redraw the map of heart.

A walk, but more—a sacred space,
Where stillness makes the mind embrace
Its wildest, truest, untamed grace.

Periods of Art: Mannerism

The Mannerism period of art history emerged in the late Renaissance, around the early 16th century, and lasted until the beginning of the Baroque period in the early 17th century. It developed as a reaction to the harmonious ideals and balanced compositions of High Renaissance masters such as Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, and Michelangelo. Instead of striving for ideal beauty and naturalism, Mannerist artists embraced complexity, artificiality, and exaggeration.

Mannerism is characterized by elongated proportions, distorted poses, and ambiguous spatial environments. Figures often appear in unnatural, contorted positions, with exaggerated elegance and tension. Rather than focusing on calm, rational compositions, Mannerist works are often dramatic and emotionally charged, pushing the boundaries of proportion and perspective.

The movement originated in Italy, particularly in Florence and Rome, and was heavily influenced by the later works of Michelangelo, whose muscular, twisting figures and intense emotion were admired and imitated. Key figures of Mannerism include Jacopo Pontormo, Rosso Fiorentino, Parmigianino, and later, El Greco. Parmigianino’s Madonna with the Long Neck is a prime example of the style, with its unnaturally elongated figures and spatial ambiguity.

Mannerism also reflected the cultural and religious turmoil of the time, including the Reformation and the sack of Rome in 1527. These events contributed to a sense of instability and uncertainty, which was mirrored in the art. Unlike the confident, orderly world of the High Renaissance, Mannerism often conveyed anxiety, tension, and complexity.

Although initially criticized for its departure from classical ideals, Mannerism has come to be appreciated for its innovation, emotional depth, and bold experimentation. It served as a bridge between the perfection of the Renaissance and the dramatic flair of the Baroque, leaving a lasting impact on the trajectory of Western art.

Finding Meaning in the Abstract: Pointers for Understanding Modern Art

Modern art can feel like a mystery—like you’re being let in on a joke but no one’s actually explaining the punchline. I used to walk through contemporary galleries feeling like I was missing something important. A canvas covered in one solid color or a sculpture made of tangled wires didn’t look like “art” in the traditional sense. But over time, I realized that understanding modern art isn’t about decoding a secret language—it’s about learning to see differently.

One of the biggest shifts for me came when I stopped asking, “What is this supposed to be?” and started asking, “What is this trying to make me feel?” Modern art often moves away from realistic representation. Instead of painting a tree, an artist might evoke the feeling of standing in a forest through texture, color, and shape. Once I gave myself permission to respond emotionally rather than analytically, things started clicking.

“What is this trying to make me feel?”

Another helpful pointer is to read the artist’s statement or title when available. It’s not cheating—it’s context. These often give you a glimpse into the artist’s mind and the world they were responding to. Modern art is deeply tied to the time and place it was created. A chaotic painting might reflect social unrest; a minimalist piece might be pushing back against visual overload.

Also, don't underestimate your own interpretation. The beauty of modern art is that it invites participation. There isn’t always one “correct” meaning. If a piece reminds you of something personal or stirs a memory, that response is valid—and probably just as valuable as the artist’s intention.

Finally, give it time. Let yourself sit with the discomfort of not knowing. Some pieces won’t resonate, and that’s okay. But others might stay with you longer than you expect, slowly unfolding their meaning.

Modern art challenged how I thought art “should” look, but it also taught me that art doesn’t have to look a certain way to be powerful. It just has to make you feel something—and once you approach it with curiosity instead of judgment, the whole experience becomes a lot more rewarding.

To Art: a Poem

O muse of art, thou vision born of perfect grace,
A lady fair, whose beauty none can name,
Thy gentle hands do carve in time a place
Where all that’s bright is born from thy pure flame.
With every stroke, thou paint'st the perfect dream,
Thy lips untouched, yet whispering soft and true,
Each curve and line a tale that dares to gleam
As though the very stars had seen thee through.

Thy eyes, a mirror of the heaven's light,
A depth so vast no mortal heart could hold,
Thy form, a vision born of endless night,
Where shadows breathe and secrets do unfold.
Thy skin, as soft as petals kissed by rain,
Thy spirit, woven deep in every hue,
Thy touch, a balm that heals all earthly pain,
A quiet force that stirs the soul anew.

Thy colors weave a love, both soft and bright,
Like evening's glow upon the setting sea;
Thy gaze a mirror of the starry night,
In thee, all passions find their sanctuary.
Thy hands, with grace, do mold a world divine,
Where dreams take shape and memory takes flight.

Thy voice, unspoken, fills the heart’s design,
And we, the watchers, yield to pure delight.

In thee, O Art, we see all beauty born—
As stars that glisten on the velvet sea,
As roses kissed by the first light of dawn,
As love itself, too deep for eyes to see.
Thy soul, transcendent, whispers like the breeze,
A muse eternal, floating in the night,
Thy art, a flame that kindles hearts with ease,
A beauty ever vivid, ever bright.

"What was it like going to art school?"

I was asked recently about my own experience at art school. Actually, I attended a Design school, and though art was a large part of the training, the education at Art Center College of Design was much more extensive than just art. Attending Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, California, really was one of the most unforgettable chapters of my life. Out of all the memories I made during my time there, one experience stands out above the rest—the collaborative design project in my third term.

That project was part of a transdisciplinary course where students from different design backgrounds, like graphic design, industrial design, and interaction design, teamed up. Our goal was to come up with a product that would make urban life better. Working with such a talented and diverse group of people opened my eyes to new ways of thinking and solving problems. Each person brought something unique to the table, and that blend of creativity was electric.

“(this was) really was one of the most unforgettable chapters of my life…”

Our team landed on the idea of creating a modular public seating system that could adapt to different urban spaces. I focused on the visual branding and user interface, while my teammates handled product engineering and environmental design. We hit some roadblocks trying to balance style with function, but we worked through every challenge together, determined to make something both beautiful and practical.

What made the experience even more special was the feedback we got from our instructors and visiting professionals. Their honest critiques pushed us to keep improving and paying attention to every little detail. Art Center had this way of demanding the best from us, and it made us better designers.

The day we presented our final prototype at the end-of-term showcase was one I’ll never forget. Seeing our hard work come to life and hearing positive reactions from our peers and industry pros made it all worth it. It was a real reminder of how design can shape the world around us.

That project at Art Center didn’t just sharpen my design skills—it taught me the value of teamwork, resilience, and staying open to new ideas. It was a perfect example of what Art Center stands for: excellence, innovation, and pushing creative boundaries. Those lessons and memories will stay with me wherever my career takes me.

Why I Love the Rococo Period

The Rococo period has always fascinated me. There’s something about its elegance, soft colors, and playful charm that makes it feel almost dreamlike. Emerging in the early 18th century, Rococo was a reaction to the grandeur and seriousness of the Baroque era. Instead of dark, dramatic themes, Rococo artists embraced lightness, romance, and beauty. Their work feels like an escape into a world of luxury and fantasy, and that’s exactly why I love it.

One of my favorite things about Rococo art is its attention to detail. Artists like Jean-Honoré Fragonard and François Boucher created paintings filled with soft pastels, flowing fabrics, and delicate brushstrokes. Their scenes often depicted aristocrats lounging in lush gardens, playful love affairs, or even mythological figures surrounded by golden light. Looking at their work feels like stepping into a fairy tale—one filled with music, laughter, and endless beauty.

One of my favorite things about Rococo art is its attention to detail.

But Rococo wasn’t just about paintings. It influenced everything from architecture to fashion. Ornate furniture, gilded mirrors, and intricate ceiling frescoes filled the homes of the wealthy, making everyday life feel like a work of art. Even today, you can see traces of Rococo style in modern design, proving that its charm never truly faded.

For me, Rococo is more than just an art movement—it’s a reminder that art can be lighthearted, joyful, and enchanting. In a world that often feels heavy, sometimes we all need a little Rococo magic to brighten our day.

Whirls of gold and light,

Soft pastels and joy take flight,

Elegance in bloom.

Art at the Very Beginning

Art has been part of human life for as long as we’ve been around. One of the oldest examples of artistic expression comes from prehistoric cave paintings, like those in Chauvet Cave in France, Altamira in Spain, and Sulawesi in Indonesia. Some of these paintings are over 40,000 years old, created by early humans using charcoal, ochre, and other natural pigments. They mostly show animals, handprints, and abstract symbols, and while we don’t know exactly why they were made, they were clearly important to the people who created them. Maybe they were part of a ritual, a way to communicate, or just an early form of storytelling.

What’s incredible is how much these ancient works still speak to us today. Even though our world looks nothing like theirs, the need to create and express ourselves hasn’t changed. Whether it’s through painting, music, movies, or digital art, we still use creativity to tell stories, connect with others, and make sense of our surroundings—just like our ancestors did on the walls of those caves.

…”the need to create and express ourselves hasn’t changed.”

There’s also something really inspiring about the simplicity of these paintings. They didn’t have fancy tools or endless colors to choose from, but they still found a way to make art that has lasted for tens of thousands of years. It’s a reminder that creativity isn’t about having the best materials—it’s about using what you have to say something meaningful.

Even modern artists draw inspiration from cave paintings, using their raw, minimalist style in contemporary work. Beyond that, just knowing that humans have always felt the urge to create reminds us that art isn’t just decoration—it’s part of what makes us human. The people who made those ancient paintings might not have imagined that their work would still be admired today, but their creativity has outlived them by thousands of years. And that’s pretty amazing.

Monet and Renoir: A Personal Reflection on Their Differences

Claude Monet and Pierre-Auguste Renoir are two of my favorite artists from the Impressionist movement. Both of them captured light, color, and movement in a way that changed art forever. Though their works share similarities—like soft brushstrokes, vibrant outdoor scenes, and a focus on those fleeting moments of life—I’ve always felt that their artistic visions are quite different. Monet was obsessed with light and the atmosphere, while Renoir focused on the warmth of human interaction and emotion.

When I look at Monet’s paintings, like his Water Lilies or Haystacks, I feel like I’m seeing more than just a landscape. It’s almost like I can feel the sunlight changing through the day, or the breeze gently moving the water. Monet’s brushstrokes are soft, blurring the details, and it makes me feel like the scene is slipping into a dream. His art isn’t about the specific subject—it’s about how the light shapes everything around it, how it breathes life into the scene.

It’s almost like I can feel the sunlight changing through the day, or the breeze gently moving the water.

Then there’s Renoir, whose work is full of warmth and life. His paintings, like Luncheon of the Boating Party or Dance at Le Moulin de la Galette, are filled with people enjoying each other’s company, smiling, laughing, connecting. Where Monet’s figures blend into the scenery, Renoir’s are alive with texture and emotion. You can almost feel the joy radiating from the people in his scenes. His work feels like a warm, inviting moment, where you can almost hear the music and feel the happiness in the air.

Despite their differences, both Monet and Renoir were true Impressionists. They didn’t care about rigid details—they wanted to capture movement, emotion, and the fleeting beauty of life. Monet painted the world as it shimmered around him, while Renoir painted it as he felt it—with affection, charm, and warmth. Both of them remind me to appreciate the beauty in life’s little moments, whether it’s the changing light or the joy of being with others.

Brushstrokes blend in light,

Monet's blooms, Renoir’s glow,

Impression's soft flight.

The Fount of Creation: A poem

Creation’s fount! thou queen of beauty, pure and bright,
With grace and majesty, thy hands impart
A radiance that fills the world with light,
And stirs the deepest secrets of the heart.
Thine eyes, more tender than the morning sky,
Reflect a truth that cannot fade or die,
And in thy gaze, all mysteries are told,
A wealth of wonders more than can be sought or sold.

Thy form, a vision born of heaven’s bliss,
A perfect harmony of love and grace,
Each movement like a soft and fleeting kiss,
Each breath an echo of the sainted place.
Thy colors weave through time, both bright and fair,
Like autumn leaves, caught in the golden air,
And every line thy hand does softly trace
Becomes a story written in thy face.

In thee, O Art, we find a noble soul,
A love that heals, a peace that makes us whole,
Thy presence lifts the burdens of the mind,
And in thy beauty, all our hearts are twined.
For thou, eternal as the stars above,
Art beauty’s form, art love’s own sacred dove,
Thy hand has touched the world with gentle grace,
And left upon it beauty's sweet embrace.

The Relationship Between Music and Painting

What do music and painting have in common? Actually, a lot. Music and painting, though distinct art forms, share a real connection rooted in their ability to evoke emotions, tell stories, and express the depths of human experience. The interplay between these two mediums can result in powerful, inspiring works of art that transcend boundaries and create a holistic sensory experience. One of the most enjoyable art projects I’ve ever undertaken was to paint four large paintings, each painting representing what I SAW in my mind as I listened to the four movements of Beethoven’s fifth symphony. It was a wild experiment for me!

I think the connection works because the way music inspires painting is through its capacity to evoke emotions and moods. Music, with its rhythm, melody, and harmony, can transport listeners to different emotional states. An artist can translate these feelings into visual elements, using color, texture, and composition to mirror the emotions stirred by the music. For example, a piece of classical music with a slow, melancholic melody might inspire a painting with cool, muted tones and fluid, gentle brushstrokes, capturing the essence of sadness or introspection.

Music also has the power to stimulate the imagination and conjure vivid imagery. Listening to a piece of music, an artist may visualize scenes, landscapes, or abstract forms that resonate with the sounds they hear. This synesthetic experience allows artists to create paintings that are a direct response to the music, blending auditory and visual elements into a cohesive artistic expression.

Listening to a piece of music, an artist may visualize scenes, landscapes, or abstract forms

The rhythm and dynamics of music can influence the composition and movement within a painting. Just as music has crescendos, diminuendos, and varying tempos, a painting can incorporate contrasting elements, such as bold, energetic strokes juxtaposed with soft, delicate details. This rhythmic interplay can create a sense of movement and flow within the artwork, making it visually engaging and dynamic.

Also, the themes and narratives within music can inspire artists to explore similar concepts in their paintings. An orchestral piece that tells a story of heroism and adventure might lead an artist to create a dramatic, epic scene filled with tension and excitement. Conversely, a folk song about love and loss might inspire a more intimate, personal painting that delves into the complexities of human relationships.

Music and painting are intertwined in their ability to inspire and enhance each other. The emotions, imagery, rhythm, and narratives found in music provide a rich source of inspiration for painters, enabling them to create visually compelling works that resonate on a deeper, emotional level.