Wednesday, 5:01AM.

With clean hands.

Saturday morning coffee run

In the middle of the street.

Full moon adventure!

Pomegranate toothpaste and a made up story

Sky person.

Wait a minute, I have the best idea ever.

72° with 50% humidity

Boundaries.

Post museum moonrise

Crack making.

Sunshine

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thinking it through.

Huevos Sketcheros

It turns out that climbing a mountain is really hard.

Funny path moment.

Been working on a very long Hi post here.

12:06pm on a Sunday.

With fresh white walls, the portraits from Bali get unpacked and hung.

I feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Taskrabbitted

*This* page, *this* poem.

Scrub scrub scrub

Tabula rasa, again.

An Offering

Room 20

A familiar place

I'm holding the dress and I can't stop smiling.

Room 1304.

Resting and reflecting.

They're coming!

One of those moments when it All Feels Right.

Happy hour on the water

His father always smelled of Granado.

We had our work.

A Confirmation.

Their sweet little voices pass by my studio each morning as they walk to school.

On Thursdays at 1pm we'd meet in front of a painting at the museum and he'd tell us stories.

To: The Housekeeper who did turn down service in room 802 Friday evening, From: The girl in room 802

Books

The Chicago Tribune building, now an Argo Tea Shop.

On Paper

Clyde

Doubling down.

I stared at the moon and my chest swelled with gratitude. "It's happening," I thought. And I walked home.

The smell of molten lead and PVA.

Texas childhood summers

Spraypaint fumes and a cheese sandwhich and 36 little paintings.

She told us the story about the river beneath the river.

A moment from my journal.

When she had an affair, he made her stand in front of the congregation and repent.

My neighbor told me about the smell of the tree. So I grabbed a coffee and went to find it.

I tried to clean the squeegee by dragging it across the paper. And just like that, the images arrived.

Tomorrow would have been her birthday.

Wasteland

Clean slate.

For prosperity, she wrote.

No label, no problem.

An egg

A change in plans.

Precious cargo

Belly to belly with a 1,000 pound, 12 foot wide manta ray.

The Manta Ray Ballet

I swam so far this morning. Two whales jumped next to me.

Hello from my patio in Hawaii.

Night light.

A table for one, please.

Working, all of us.

Fresh, volcanic rock surrounds me — raw, gutteral insides spilling open for anyone to see.

Fresh volcanic rock surrounds me — raw, gutteral insides spilling open for anyone to see.

One week, one bag and one hat.

72 hours and counting.

Tired and empty.

She practically taught me everything I know about design. Tonight we completed a painting together, apprentice and mentor, yet again.

After she died, I took all of her flowers.

Cooking a meal for him.

This building keeps making it into my paintings.

A year ago, I was in Tokyo giving a talk on what would have been her 100th birthday.

A coffin of paint. The body has walked away.

A grandfather and granddaughter skip across the water, hand in hand.

Shen Wei performance

Moon rise over Twin Peaks

Far from shore

Room 1804

The most beautiful meeting spot in San Francisco

Sunrise over my bed

Big slow things.