I’ve passed this spot numerous times in my travels. It always captured my attention, but I kept driving past, telling myself I’d capture it another day. Knowing that beautiful moments can easily be missed, and knowing this sight has allowed me to pass it too many times, I decided to stop toying with regret. I pulled the car over took time to document this abandoned beauty.
Lately I’ve been collecting empty liquor bottles for a side project I’m growing excited about. A friend shared a good spot for me to get bottles, and as I’ve been gathering them, I’ve found myself drawn to the shapes, styles, and craftsmanship of particular bottles. I’m finding some amazing bottles I’ve never seen before.
For this week’s artist date, I gave myself permission to visit a local Alcoholic Beverage Control [ABC] Store and simply appreciate the beauty and design of liquor bottles. The act of giving myself permission felt important. A huge part of courting my creativity is allowing myself to be in awe — to pay close attention to what’s around me and be appreciative of what’s available to me.
I went to an ABC store near Uptown. I’ve long appreciated ABC stores in Charlotte. Because alcohol sales are controlled in North Carolina, the stores feel less predatory to me. They aren’t clustered in low income neighborhoods. No matter where you are in the city, the experience is relatively consistent. The lighting may shift — brighter in some places, more dim in others — but the selection is largely the same. In more affluent neighborhoods, the more expensive brands may be more fully stocked, but overall the stores are neatly arranged, thoughtfully displayed, and filled with an impressive range of options.
Walking in, I felt slightly awkward being there for my purpose. I did buy something, but I wasn’t there to make a purchase. I was there to look — to study — to appreciate (and photograph) beautiful bottles. I’m never quite sure how to move through a space like that without feeling conspicuous. Explaining myself can feel overly artsy or strange. I imagine some people wondering what I’m doing. At one store, as I checked out, a worker said, “You were in here for an hour for that Forester’s.” It wasn’t an hour — but yes, I was taking my time. I was savoring the experience.
That comment felt like part of the larger lesson of the day.
After I’d been in the store for a while, one of the employees told me I wasn’t allowed to take photos in the store. I don’t believe it’s a statewide policy — maybe for the store. I didn’t argue. I kept walking the aisles and jotted down the names of brands with bottles I liked. After making my purchase, I visited a few other locations to see if I could capture a few more pics, but I felt even more self-conscious, so I didn’t push it.
The experience stirred something in me. As a creative, it feels strange not to be able to document what inspires me in a public retail space. I don’t love the idea of having to operate in stealth to do something so harmless. It made me aware that I don’t yet know how to confidently position myself for something as simple as photographing bottles for a personal project I plan to write about. People can be surprisingly defensive about photographs. It seems silly when my intent is something so simple, but for someone who doesn’t know me, I understand their wariness.
It made me realize I want to get better at establishing credibility — at speaking to strangers in authority in a way that clearly communicates the legitimacy of my creative practice. I suspect one of my next artist dates will revolve around simply asking for permission to do something that feels slightly out of place.
As I wandered the aisles, I found myself especially fascinated by the variations within the same brands — how one distillery might offer multiple expressions, each distinguished primarily through packaging. It reminded me of an insight an artist once shared about presentation and value: in our culture, art on its own isn’t always highly valued, but art in packaging absolutely is. Design becomes the signal for quality. When you can’t immediately look at the product and tell which is higher-end, “premium” is communicated through craftsmanship — in the label, the glass, the typography, the form.
So many deliberate choices. So many beautiful bottles. I left with ideas about specific brands I’d like to collect more empties from — and how to source them more efficiently (if you’re a bartender in Charlotte, we should talk.)
Beyond simply admiring bottles, I found myself reflecting on how I present my own work — and how I present myself. What signals quality? What communicates intention? What quietly expresses value?
This is why I take artist dates.
They are my way of courting my creativity — of wooing my sense of wonder. Inspiration doesn’t always arrive dressed as a big idea. More often, it appears when I allow myself to see something discarded as special, when I let simple things be engaged more fully.
No audience.
No performance.
No productivity.
Just me, moving slowly through fluorescent-lit aisles, paying attention.
And for now, that’s enough.
Lately I’ve been doing a lot of strategic work — building a small business and outlining operations for my creative practice. The structure is valuable, but I haven’t been energized by it. I’m proud that I’ve been doing better with practical things, but my days still aren’t feeling how I want them to.
Instead of forcing myself to be more productive, I decided to return to regularly scheduled Artist Dates. I’m working to rebuild the habit of courting my creativity.
A friend suggested I check out Habitat ReStore on Wilkinson Blvd. It’s been a while since I’ve been, so I decided to make that my artist date.
’Habitat ReStores are nonprofit home improvement stores and donation centers open to the public. They offer a wide range of new and gently used home goods, often at prices below retail, with varied brands and styles. Proceeds from ReStore sales support the work of Habitat for Humanity.’
As someone who likes to build and flip things, Habitat ReStore is a great field trip. It’s filled with old and new items that are very inexpensive. It’s a place to find something to upcycle and resell, or decor for a home or art studio.
It feels like a thrift store. Some finds are expected; others feel completely random — like small packs of shampoo and conditioner tucked between cabinet doors and tile samples.
As I walked around, I felt inspired to build things — especially by combining unexpected items into something unique, practical, or beautiful. It reminded me that having what I want doesn’t have to be out of reach. If I let go of everything needing to be brand new — or using consumption to signal success — I can use creativity to create what I desire without breaking the bank.
I was also reminded that sometimes you have to move when an opportunity presents itself, because it doesn’t last forever. When I entered the store, there was a section of large mirrors. One in particular was big, ornate, and gorgeous — something I would love to create art on. It was only $60. I hadn’t planned to buy anything, so I avoided the impulse purchase and told myself I’d decide at the end of the date. By the time I circled back, it was gone. I don’t necessarily regret not buying it, but it would have been a worthwhile investment.
I’m also trying to get better at documenting my creative process — including my artist dates. At one point, though, I realized trying to tell a full story with photos was overwhelming and pulling me out of the experience. I remembered how I documented my IKEA artist date (which I’ve decided will become a quarterly ritual). I chose to focus on two things:
Photograph what inspires me.
Photograph anything that feels visually interesting — whether or not it tells a specific story about the day.
The images I usually share are the second type.
Another thing I’ve been wanting to explore — and probably still will — is how visually comforting I find abundance. I love seeing large quantities of frequently used items. Because of how the ReStore functions, there are certain categories where you can find things in bulk. I took a few photos of that.
This artist date reminded me how much I enjoy making things. I should absolutely visit places like this more often. I’m not committing yet, but it might be fun to buy one item each week and turn it into an art piece.
More than anything, I enjoyed giving myself permission to simply enjoy a space — without a goal beyond being there and seeing what happened. What if a future artist date was simply going somewhere and waiting in line? Going to the DMV and people-watching for an afternoon. Sounds crazy, I know. But maybe.
My Artist Dates are how I court my work. How I stay in awe. How I remind myself that inspiration doesn’t always arrive dressed as a big idea. Sometimes it’s a brass hinge. Or noticing the patterns created by rugs hanging from a wall.
No audience.
No performance.
No productivity.
Just me, wandering a store, paying attention.
And for now, that’s enough.
I'm in a new relationship. Or more accurately, rekindling an old one.
A friend invited me to join a cohort for The Artist's Way—a 12-week program for creative recovery. It couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ve been feeling stuck lately. Which is wild, considering a lot of great things have been happening for me. But there's also been a lot of transition, and some heavy things to process. A lot of breaking out of familiar habits and comfort, if I’m going to be ready to step into new, great experiences.
One of the main tools in The Artist’s Way is the “artist date”—a weekly solo outing to woo your creativity. If it benefits couples in a long-term relationship to make intentional time to stay connected and keep the spark alive, creatives have to do the same with their muse. Especially once you’ve had some success—getting paid gigs, selling work, showing in galleries—it’s easy to shift into productivity mode and forget to nurture what got you here in the first place. You have to treat your creativity like you want her around.
What are the things that really inspire you? Do those things. Maybe it’s hiking in nature, hearing the kind of noise that isn’t man-made, or filtered through an algorithm. Maybe it’s walking through a museum and seeing work that’s bold, masterful, clever, or just plain weird in the best way. Maybe it’s having a few of your favorite beers at a local brewery—and taking the tour, just because you love seeing the process of how things are made.
For me, this week, it was a trip to IKEA.
I love walking through IKEA and seeing how each room is staged. There’s so much creativity in how they display and use furniture—it sparks ideas. I love looking at the art on the walls, imagining how I could present my own work in ways people can picture in their homes. I get affordable, clever ideas for presenting my art. It’s simple, colorful, and fun—and it fills me with inspiration.
As I walked around IKEA, I started taking photos so I’d remember the things that inspired me. Then I thought about sharing the experience with my audience, which shifted my approach to capturing images, and heightened the way I experienced my artist date. I started looking for more interesting ways to document displays, and it was fun to practice my photography in such an informal way and play with visual storytelling.
I was also supposed to document how I felt—which I didn’t do very well. But as I look back through my images a week later, I am reminded how simple it can be to create an engaging experience. Things don’t always have to be brand new. Pattern, color, and texture go a long way in making a space feel alive. Being in that environment gave me so many ideas and made me want to create from a place of joy again—not just obligation or commerce. Business is business. Art is art. They exist at opposite ends of the spectrum, though you can always find ways to make them meet and play nice in the middle.
It also got me thinking about ownership—how I dream of one day having land, maybe with a few tiny homes that could be a shared creative space for community. I would love to create spaces that people would want to inhabit to nurture their own creative experience.
So yeah… My first artist date was a success. I'm already looking forward to the next one—possibly a visualization exercise at a brewery. And a tour. We’ll see.
Located at 22 N. Brevard St in Charlotte, NC is TAOH (The Awakening Of Humanity) Outdoor Gallery. Founded by painter and muralist, Osiris Rain, in collaboration with Piece For Peace and Proffitt Dixon Partners, TAOH Outdoor Gallery is Charlotte’s first graffiti park. Put together by a few of Charlotte’s more well known muralists, this space is a 24/7 communal space designed to foster collaboration and create opportunities for less experienced artists to learn from and showcase their creativity.
This Saturday morning, before the Grand Opening, I took a moment to walk around and capture some images of the park before the big event. It’s a beautiful space, and something much needed in Charlotte. A new space that reflects the true nature of artists and creative work - a grassroots way of providing resources to make it easier for people to express themselves and grow their skills.
“TAOH Outdoor Gallery is more than just a space—it's a catalyst for transformation, enriching lives, and shaping the cultural identity of Charlotte for generations to come.” For more information on how to support TAOH Outdoor Gallery, please click here.
A month ago, I pulled the trigger and finally started a newsletter. The goal was to share it twice a month, and tomorrow, the fourth newsletter will go out on time! When people ask me, “What’s new?” the thing I’m most excited to talk about is my newsletter. There are quite a few things using this new tool has helped me appreciate, and here are four lessons that my newsletter has taught me.
Engage your core (audience)
My newsletter allows me to speak to the people who love what I do. It’s exhausting fighting an algorithm to get 10% of your followers to see your posts. With the newsletter, the majority of the subscribers open the content and see what I am most excited to share! Also, social media is great for introductions, but the space doesn’t give a lot of room for engagement with depth. When people are paying attention, I want more effective ways to offer a deeper connection. Being able to speak to people and direct them to more substantial content is a big advantage of my newsletter. I love using it to link people to my website or other platforms where I can share more substance.
Align yourself with the space
Why are people on social media? I know for myself, I'm just usually trying to find some way to connect. I usually open it when I’m bored. Occasionally, I get on there looking for something specific, and usually end up getting distracted. For me, that’s what social media is - a seemingly pleasant distraction. That's not how I want my art to be consumed. My newsletter lets me be more intentional about where and how I share my art and my process. I still enjoy introducing myself to people on social media, and sharing pleasant distractions, but that is not primarily how I want to share my creative work.
Quality over Quantity
I don't know if you find social media overwhelming, but I do. We're fighting for each other's attention, and social media platforms are designed that we have to make noise to be heard. As a friend recently shared, when we sit back and pause, really we're all just screaming at each other. I’m not trying to go viral. I don't want to come up with 90+ posts a month. My newsletter is my opportunity to share a few things that matter most to me, with the people who care about it. I hope I pop up less in your social media feed. I also hope when you see my newsletter, you are excited to see what I'm sharing. I want to be heard, but I have no interest in adding to the noise.
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It can be said that "everything is content". But less time on social media gives me more time to work on my art. It also frees up my mental space. Having more time to sit with my thoughts and feelings makes me realize how big a part of my process they are. And while it doesn't make me want to post every thought in a feed, it does make me want to find meaningful ways to document my story and share my process.
A mantra for this year is “Do one small thing consistently, watch something big happen”. This definitely applies to my newsletter. Although it feels like it took me forever to follow through, sharing my newsletter with consistency has been incredibly rewarding. I feel like it gives me momentum to grow in significant ways. If you're in business or striving to connect meaningfully with others, I encourage you to take charge of your communication platform. Build an email list, use your website more fully, and perhaps, start your own newsletter.
If you haven’t already, please subscribe to follow along with my journey.
The beginning of the end of my 30s.
On the last birthday of my 30s, I decided to share a series of nude self-portraits on my Instagram page. At the time, I had been photographing others nude for more than a decade, but I had almost never shared images of myself. In sharing these images of myself, I wanted to do two things. First, I wanted to show that the bare, vulnerable way that I love photographing others, was something I am willing to turn the camera around and do for myself. I also wanted to document a level of acceptance of my body as I am getting older.
I enjoy photographing the nude figure. When photographing others in a bare and vulnerable way, it’s fairly easy for me to approach it with an appreciation for the body as an object of beauty, and something to be celebrated creatively. My approach is generally to document the figure without pretense, expose the beauty of imperfections, and celebrate people as they are! Sometimes it can be a way to challenge myself, and beautiful norms. I enjoy the opportunity to engage people’s vulnerability, and play with angles, light, and shadows to make interesting images and share the beauty of others as I see it.
While I am willing to make my own body available in the same way, I find myself lacking a fixed perspective. While it’s easy for me to see others as art, and document something uniquely beautiful, I often perceive my own body as simply the vehicle I use to get around. In regard to my own beauty, I struggle to see myself as more than a genetic combination of the two beautiful people who made me, with the moderate slender build of someone who eats too much pizza, drinks a lot of beer, and rarely exercises. I don’t put a lot of effort into my physical appearance. Even when I’m complimented on my hazel brown eyes, the thought in my head is, “I rarely see, or notice them. I’m honestly more impressed that I have 20/20’ish vision, and don’t yet need corrective lenses.”
I appreciate the functionality and form of bodies, including my own, but I struggle to perceive my body through the same artistic lens I see others. But still, I am intrigued by the challenge of viewing my body as a subject for artistic exploration and creativity, and I am eager to explore this idea further through photography.
As I approach my 44th birthday, already half a decade since I posted those self-portraits on Instagram, I am overwhelmingly aware of how much uncertainty accompanies this creative endeavor. I have no solid ideas how I’d like to see myself. I am completely unsure of how to pose or present myself in the photographs. But I am drawn to the potential benefits of celebrating myself with my camera, as I have celebrated many others. This project is a means of self-exploration and acceptance. By confronting my body through the lens of photography, I hope to build a clearer understanding and appreciation of myself. Ultimately, this journey represents a quest for self-discovery and self-expression, as I navigate self-identity through my creative practice.
Often, I find myself propelled towards ideas without a clear end result. An artist friend, Laurie Smithwick, has helped me appreciate that approaching new ideas in a series of 100 can be a great way to get into a flow state. Create a body of work without any set expectations. Just enjoy following my creative inclinations, reserving judgement until a substantial amount of work is completed. Taking this approach will allow me to learn without the burden of external pressures, something that is very important to me as I navigate this phase of my creative journey.
I aim to embark on two series of 100 creations:
100 textured small works, and 100 nude self-portraits.
Regarding the nude series, I want to photograph myself nude. I like photographing others in a bare state, showing them as I see them, but I rarely capture my own likeness in the nude. Part of the reason is, self-portraits are considerably more difficult, especially for me to photograph myself the way I capture others. Also, I am unsure how I see myself.
I am uncertain of my intentions, perceptions of myself, or the fate of these images, but capturing 100 images of myself that I like - just to do it - seems like an "easy" approach to figuring some things out.
Similarly, for a few years, I have created some small works driven by my fondness for texture and words. That fondness now demands deeper inquiry. While making these monoprints offers simplicity, it lacks the challenge I crave.
As I contemplate refining and enlarging these works, I recognize the need for growth and complexity. This year, I'm going to engage my texture project as part of the #100dayproject. I'm going to start with “one small thing”, hoping it grows into something larger than I can imagine! I would like an accountability partner, and I'm hoping that will be you! I do not seek a critique right now, but I do welcome your engagement, making sure I show up! I've set up this page to share daily progress, and I'll drop a link in the notes on substack, occasionally sharing something I'm learning in the process of developing this work.
I really appreciate you being here. I hope you'll stay!
I am trying to think of things that would be good, or extremely uncomfortable to enjoy alone.
This week, I leaned more heavily toward good. I decided to get out into nature. I do enjoy hiking, but I rarely go hiking, and never hiking alone. So I did something to change that. I looked at what areas there are in Charlotte to hike, and narrowed it down to Ribbonwalk Nature Reserve.. It was easy to get to, a decent length to hike, and when I looked at pics online, it looked a little creepy, but not overwhelmingly so.
It was an extremely hot day, and I’m not going to go into why I didn’t have water on me, but the canopy of trees kept me sufficiently cool that I wasn’t on the verge of dehydration or heat stroke.
I checked out the trail courses before I went in, which was somewhat helpful, but not quite as helpful as I pretended it was going to be. Apparently, the first trail I went down, wasn’t even a trail, as much as an unofficial path that enough souls had cut through, so as to keep greenery from growing on it.
As I walked, I took pictures, and asked myself, “Why am I out here?” The most satisfying answer I came up with was “To be here and enjoy the fresh air.” And I did. And I also noticed some familiar thoughts coming to me. An ex-girlfriend used to love to go to the beach in the off-season - usually, the first week of December, and I used to love that trip because it was too cold to get in the water. So it was a great time to do nothing but rest and reflect.
When I would actually go outside, and sit by the beach, I would enjoy just observing the waves crash, reflecting on what I was seeing. The consistent thought that hits me in natural environments is that nothing is trying to impress. Everything is just a tiny part of a big ecosystem. It doesn’t have any grandiose purpose. It just shows up, and does it’s work. A wave is not a wave, but a bunch of water droplets moving in the same direction carrying all kinds of things to and fro. A tree doesn’t go anywhere. It blooms where it is “planted”, and just grows. Its leaves purify the air. It feeds on things. Things feed on it. And then it dies. Bugs burrow in the decaying logs Fungi show up to break it down, and it fertilizes the next beautiful thing that will grow. It just does its job. And it’s impressive. I’m not sure what the best tree is. I wouldn’t event think to call one more important than another, or have a metric to decide that. In nature, things just are. Things just do. And they are beautiful. And they are impressive. A lesson.
So I enjoyed my hike. I look forward to doing it more. If I actually go hiking, then I can honestly tell people, I love hiking, and can make plans to go more and be social about it. I haven’t decided what my next artist date is, but I’ll figure it out soon. I do plan to go to Carowinds by myself, and possibly a brewery tour, but I don’t think these will be the next excursions. I’ll just keep you posted.
Growing up, my dad was forced to work alongside my grandfather building things - like additions to their small rural home, a small church, and I’m sure a number of other things. My dad always explained to me that he did not always love it, but he learned skills that were very valuable for him as an adult. This is why he would force me to work alongside him when he was fixing things around the house and occasionally building things - furniture, a bar in the basement, a rabbit cage, a clubhouse for me.
At first, I didn’t usually love it, but sometimes I kinda liked it - more so the building, than the fixing. But now, as my dad intended, I know how to do a few things. So friends and family are often impressed that I know how to fix basic things around the house, and make simple things for myself - a desk, a rolling cart, easels, panels to paint on. If it involves wood, right angles, glue, screws or nails, I can probably build it or figure out how it’s done. Most of my creations are basic, but I think they’re cool, and people seem to agree.
A few months ago, while out having beers with a friend, I noticed a coffee table where we were seated, and thought to myself, “I want to make coffee tables” (I especially wanted to make them from odd or reclaimed materials). A month or so later, I got to paint a big picnic table for the Immersive Van Gogh exhibit. Seeing the finished product made me really want to get into furniture design and embellishment.
Painted Van Gogh quotes on table at Immersive Van Gogh Exhibition
Last week, I came across an online course that teaches Professional Woodworking for Beginners. I signed up as a small investment in myself. My goal is to watch the videos and share some aspect of my experience on Patreon. I might just talk about. Maybe recording something I work on. Maybe pics of a finished product. But however this works out, I want to share my progress with you.