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.

The Enchantment of Art Nouveau

Art Nouveau is exciting in my opinion. I love this period of art. It is art that is whimsical , fluid and themed after nature itself. Art Nouveau speaks like a whisper from nature itself, a dance of lines and light that turns the ordinary into the extraordinary. Born in the late 19th century, it bloomed in defiance of the cold, mechanical world, weaving beauty back into life’s fabric. It was more than an art movement—it was a celebration, a rebellion against the rigid and the mundane, a return to nature’s embrace.

Its fluidity is mesmerizing — the way its curves seem to breathe and flow like vines reaching toward the sun. Alphonse Mucha’s women, draped in golden light and cascading hair, feel like ethereal muses of a forgotten dream. Gustav Klimt’s shimmering canvases, rich with gold and longing, seem to pulse with hidden magic. Even Gaudí’s buildings twist and turn like ancient trees, growing from the earth with wild, organic grace.

“Its fluidity is mesmerizing…”

But what I love most is how Art Nouveau makes art part of life. No longer confined to fancy gilded frames, it spills into the world—etched into wrought iron balconies, swirling through stained glass windows, carved into the very wood beneath our hands. It reminds me that beauty is not something distant or rare; it can be found in the smallest details, in a curve, in a pattern, in the way light filters through glass.

Art Nouveau is a reminder to slow down, to look closer, to breathe in the poetry of the world. It is nature’s art, forever blooming, forever alive.

Graceful curves unfold,

Nature’s whispers in the lines,

Beauty’s breath entwined.

"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.

Expressing Joy Through Art

Joy is one of the best feelings in the world, and I’ve found that art is one of the most powerful ways to express it. Whether it’s through painting, writing, music, or even just doodling, art helps capture happiness in a way that makes it last. For me, joy often comes from my family (my wife, four kids and my fourteen grandchildren) and the big and little moments we all share together. Art allows me to hold onto those moments and express how much they mean to me.

One of the reasons I love art is because it makes joy feel even more real. A bright, colorful painting reminds me of laughter-filled afternoons with my grandkids. A favorite song takes me back to dancing in the kitchen with my children when they were younger. Even writing down a story or a simple memory helps me relive it. Art doesn’t just describe joy—it lets me feel it all over again.

“(art) makes joy feel even more real.”

Creating art is also a joyful experience in itself. When I paint or write about a happy memory, it deepens my appreciation for that moment. I’ve drawn pictures inspired by my grandkids’ energy, written stories about the funny things my kids used to say, and even found joy in capturing the beauty of a sunset we all watched together. Art helps me celebrate life and the people I love.

The best part is that joy through art isn’t just for me—it spreads to others. A painting or a heartfelt story can bring a smile to someone else’s face. Sharing art, just like sharing laughter and love, connects us. And in the end, that’s what joy is really about—holding onto what makes us happy and passing it on.

The Connection Between Art and Frustration

I’m kind of a control freak, and because of that, frustration is something I know all too well (because I can’t really control even my own life, let alone the world around me. Whether it’s from feeling stuck, overwhelmed, or just having one of those days where nothing seems to go right, I’ve struggled with finding ways to deal with frustration in a healthy manner. But…I’ve learned that art is one of the best ways to let it out. Whether I’m drawing, painting, writing, or even just doodling, creating something helps me process my emotions and find a sense of relief.

One of the biggest ways art helps me is by giving me an outlet. When I’m frustrated, I need to get the feeling out somehow—otherwise, it just sits there, making everything worse. Sometimes, I take a pencil and press hard against the paper, sketching out messy, chaotic lines. Other times, I write down everything I’m feeling without worrying about structure or grammar. Just the act of creating something helps me feel lighter, as if I’m transferring my frustration onto the page or canvas instead of carrying it inside.

“Just the act of creating something helps me feel lighter…”

Art also forces me to focus on something other than my negative thoughts. When I’m painting or writing, I get so caught up in the process that my mind quiets down for a while. Mixing colors, shaping forms, or playing with words takes all my attention, and…there is peace. Like magic. It doesn’t actually solve whatever problem was frustrating me, but it does give me the space to breathe and reset. Sometimes, after stepping away from my frustration for a while, I come back with a clearer perspective.

But perhaps the best part is the sense of accomplishment art gives me. When I finish a painting or write something meaningful, I feel like I’ve transformed my frustration into something real and tangible (and hopefully beautiful). Instead of just feeling stuck, I’ve created something, and that makes a huge difference.

Art doesn’t make frustration disappear, but it helps me transform it into something productive. It gives me control over my emotions, even when everything else feels chaotic. And that, to me, is incredibly powerful.

Neoclassicism: Bringing Ancient Style Back to Life

One of my personal favorite periods of art is Neoclassicism. That is an art movement that took off in the mid-18th century and lasted into the early 19th century, was all about going back to basics—specifically, the basics of ancient Greece and Rome. After the crazy-fancy, over-the-top Rococo style, artists and architects decided it was time for a change. They wanted to embrace simplicity, balance, and ideas rooted in reason, which fit perfectly with the Enlightenment vibe of the time. I’ve always found it very relaxing art to spend time with.

A big reason Neoclassicism became so popular was the rediscovery of ancient ruins like those in Pompeii and Herculaneum. These archaeological digs got people excited about the past, and suddenly everyone wanted to borrow the clean lines and timeless elegance of classical art. Wealthy Europeans traveling on the Grand Tour also brought back ideas and inspiration, which helped spread this new (or really old) style.

In painting, Neoclassicism was all about telling meaningful stories, often based on history or mythology. Artists like Jacques-Louis David led the charge with works like The Oath of the Horatii and The Death of Socrates. These paintings weren’t just pretty—they were packed with messages about duty, sacrifice, and patriotism. The style itself was sharp and clean, with strong lines, dramatic lighting, and carefully balanced designs.

“Neoclassicism was all about telling meaningful stories”

Architecture during this time also looked to the past. Buildings like the Panthéon in Paris and the U.S. Capitol were inspired by ancient temples, with their grand columns, domes, and symmetrical layouts. They weren’t just impressive—they symbolized ideas like democracy and reason.

Even sculpture got in on the action, with artists like Antonio Canova creating marble masterpieces that looked like they could’ve been made in ancient Rome. His work, like Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss, showed emotion and elegance while sticking to the classical style.

Neoclassicism wasn’t just a style—it was a way of connecting to the past while creating something timeless. Its influence is still around today, proving that sometimes, old ideas never go out of style.

Marble whispers grace,

Echoes of ancient glory—

Timeless forms reborn.

On my walk

On my walk to the studio this morning, I found myself thinking a lot about creativity. It wasn’t something I set out to do—honestly, I was just trying to wake up—but somewhere along the way, my mind started to wander. There’s something about walking that does that to me. The steady rhythm of my steps, the cool air against my face—it kind of opens things up in my head.

I started noticing little things: the way the sunlight spilled over the rooftops, a bird sitting on a crooked street sign, that colorful mural I pass every day but don’t always stop to look at. It got me thinking—creativity isn’t always about big, brilliant ideas. Sometimes, it’s just about paying attention. Noticing what’s around you. Letting your mind drift a bit.

“…it’s just about paying attention.”

It hit me that creativity isn’t just for artists or writers. It’s everywhere. It’s in the way we solve problems at work, how we figure out what to cook when the fridge is basically empty, or how we make a conversation flow when it’s getting awkward. It’s those little choices we make all day, shaping things as we go.

The walk also made me realize how often I’m too busy to let my mind breathe like that. I’m usually rushing from one thing to the next, staring at my phone, or ticking things off a to-do list. But creativity needs space. It needs those quiet moments when we’re not forcing it—when we’re just walking, noticing, letting thoughts come and go.

By the time I got to the studio, I felt lighter. I didn’t have some groundbreaking idea or anything, but I felt more open. More aware. Like maybe creativity is always right there—I just need to slow down and let it catch up with me. And then…paint what comes to me!

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.