Color is also a memory marker. I can still remember the color of my favorite chapstick I had growing up, the shade of gray on my first car and the red rocks that were always scattered around my favorite beach.

I like collecting moments from my life by pulling color palettes out of my photographs. It’s simple: take a picture you love, sample a few colors and save them as a palette. They’ve become my favorite tiny keepsakes.

Sometimes I use those palettes to start a bigger art project. Other times, they’re just a fun five minute exercise for noticing new things.

In this post I’ll share a few palettes I’ve made from travel photos and everyday snapshots, along with what they inspired. Maybe it’ll spark an idea for you too, or just give you a reason to pause and look a little closer at the colors that have been around you.

Kansas City, Missouri

“Steel Petals”

The photo: A quick click from an impromptu trip to Kansas City, taken as we walked past the Kauffman Center right before sunset. The light caught the curves of the building in a way I couldn’t ignore — so sleek!

The palette: I pulled these colors months later as a memory marker, just one of the ways I like to honor moments that mean a lot to me. That day happened to be a turning point in my marriage. For the good, don’t worry!

The artwork: Inspired by the stainless facade, I wanted to impart something of the industrial feel into these flowers. So, tiny rivet points appeared in their shadow. I only used two colors from the palette. Does that matter? Not at all. Sometimes just starting is the point. Pick what calls to you and make a mess.

Bentonville, Arkansas

“Glass Coffee”

Two completely unrelated things: a glass-blown sculpture at Crystal Bridges… and a coffee flight that made my heart pound.

The only thing connecting these photos are the colors: ice blue, dark roast, milk foam, warm maple wood. Chaos and comfort, side by side, just how I felt when I realized caffeine and I are no longer friends.

A silly goodbye to colors I really shouldn’t sip ever again.

Using a palette doesn’t mean a strict adherence to “the rules. The colors I used in my sticker aren’t all seen in the swatches, but they live in between the other colors. If reading between the lines is allowed in literature and life, then I think drawing between the shades should be too.

Atlanta, Georgia

“River’s Path”

It was truly HOT-lanta the day I took this photo. The midday heat was really pressing in. With only one day left in Georgia, there was just one thing left on my list… the gardens. Just one problem: it was August. I melt in the heat.

But, I worked up the gumption and wandered through the botanical gardens anyway, and oh wow, I’m glad I did. The garden was overwhelming in every way, lush and humming with energy (and humidity).

There was a little bridge tucked into one of the greenhouses and I stopped for it. I always seem to take pictures of bridges. They feel like the start of a grand story… as if some great adventure is about to begin, if only you were paying attention.

When I made this palette, I loved how many shades of green were packed into that one frame. Chartreuse, moss, ivy, blackish green, all anchored by the rich soil tones and soft daylight.

I wanted this piece to feel like a page from a well loved fantasy book—something between Tolkien and childhood memories. The stag is always what I imagine at the beginning of a fantasy. Something waiting to scare away the shadows. My symbol of hope.

Omaha, Nebraska

“Floral Abstraction”

These potatoes were a farmers market find. Purple and gold and beautiful. I quickly roasted them with lemon, herbs and a bit of olive oil and they were gone almost as fast as they came out. But I snapped a photo before the tray disappeared. The colors were too good to just eat.

This piece was me just playing around, an experiment with abstract, which is one of my favorite art styles. I started with three colors I liked together and let them move and overlap. A fourth color snuck in during the shifting and I thought it still fit.

The lined florals came when I wasn’t ready to stop drawing. Adding small details, layering color into the centers. Just letting go.

Everyone should have time like that with art.
Unstructured — surprising — full of deep breaths.

Egg Harbor, Wisconsin

“Sumac Waxwings”

This one’s different from the others. Most of the time it takes me months (or a few years) before I turn some of these photos into their own palettes. It’s a way of reliving moments that have already passed. But this photo? It’s the only one (so far) I’ve taken because of a moment I’d just had.

I’m a birder. A bad one. See here:

I always seem to miss the birds. But that day, I finally saw them! My first Cedar Waxwings. Smooth and sleek and super smug about their looks. I’d been trying to find these suckers for so long.

The photo came from the same area I spotted them but I wasn’t quick enough back then to photograph the actual Waxwings themselves. So I looked for the right light, the red sumac and the bay beyond the branches. It was part of the same moment and I wanted these two pieces to reflect the moment together.

The art style here mimics paper cut art: sharp edges with color blocked shadows. I just wanted it to feel bold. It felt like the right way to remember that little bird who took so long to find.

Current life list: 154.
The cedar waxwing was number 61…

Columbia, South Carolina

“Studiously Purple”

I intended this photo to be a simple little color study. The purples on that fern were so varied and I was trying to capture that spectrum of a single color within one plant. That’s all I thought I was getting...

Then later, I zoomed in closer and there it was — a spider! Bright green with pink legs. Absolutely invisible to me in the moment, yet frighteningly unmissable after the fact.

I have no idea how I got that close without noticing. It still makes my skin crawl. And yes, you’re correct, I now religiously check for spiders.

The piece I ended up making from this palette is abstract and strange. It’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever done digitally. The black lines might be spider legs, or they might not. I didn’t plan it. But now I wonder... and I did leave the green of the spider out on purpose. Maybe from spite.

Collecting Color & How I Do It

Everything you’ve seen in this post was done in Procreate — a $12.99 app that turns any tablet into a full art studio. That’s not an ad (you won’t ever find those here). It’s just the truth.

I think everyone should have a space like this: portable, pressure free and permanent. You buy it once and it’s yours. No subscriptions. No catch.

It takes surprisingly little time to learn and the tools grow with you. Whether you’re making full illustrations or just pulling colors from a photo you love. This tool gives you freedom to try something new without needing to know where it’s going or having to go buy new supplies.

That’s the whole point of this post. Creating and enjoying.

A color palette doesn’t have to end in a masterpiece to be worthwhile. Sometimes it leads to incredible illustrations. Other times, to total flops. But even then, bad art can still be good art.

If it brings joy or helps you to keep creating and growing, that’s reason enough. And sometimes, a palette doesn’t need to lead anywhere at all. It can simply exist. A preserved moment. A story in color. The mood of a day.

• You can hang them as art and grow your own collection.

• Print them as postcards and mail that memory to someone you love.

• Let it inspire a seasonal menu — how could you cook in those colors?

• A starting point for journaling, describing each color and mood.

• Or keep them tucked away to look at when the seasons change and you want to remember how the light felt in July.

Sometimes, a palette can be just what it is — something that made you happy.

Something that made you stop and notice.

Something that helps you remember.

There are so many different layouts to use and your imagination is the limit.

For me, building palettes helped me feel like an artist — even when I was still just pretending to be one.

Subscribe now

Before you go…

Harvests are meant to be shared.

If you enjoyed the art shared in this post, I’ve pulled some of this art into wallpapers — already (generally) sized for a phone, tablet or desktop.

A small keepsake, from my seasons to yours.

The pieces I’ve used are:
“Studiously Purple” — “Floral Abstraction” — “Steel Petals”

Since they are higher quality files, you’ll have to go to my Gumroad to download them. I’ve organized them into Phone, Desktop and Tablet collections that you can access for free.

— Visit Here —

Meanwhile, I struggled to remember how many petals a flower had when I looked at a blank page. Five? One? None? What shape were the petals? How will I know if they’re right? What color?!

I’d sit there frozen, trying to decide where the first line even belonged.

Yet when I finally relaxed enough to make something in a way that felt natural to me, I was told I was doing it wrong.

• “Don’t do it that way.”

• “That’s not how you’re supposed to draw that.”

• “You need to learn the right way.”

None of those “lessons” stuck. None of it felt like mine. It felt like I was trying to play someone else’s instrument without ever being shown how to hold it.

So I grew up believing I wasn’t an artist.
Not really. Not compared to them.

For decades, I carried that belief like a stone in my pocket.

Whenever someone asked if I was any type of creative, I’d dodge the question or shrink back. Even when I started making things that felt familiar, like photography or little sketches, experimenting with digital pieces, or my writing and drawing in journals — it never felt like enough to claim a title I thought belonged to other people.

Real artists.
People who could make something from thin air.

My way of making always felt… tainted. Second rate. Like I was cheating?

Because I used references. Because I needed examples. I copied angles and lighting because I didn’t know how to invent them. I traced important lines. I borrowed styles. I leaned on inspiration.

I thought that meant I wasn’t the “real thing.”

Then, years later, I found a truth that changed everything:
Everyone uses references.

• Da Vinci traced.

• The masters often copied each other.

• Artists use reference books, models, grids, projectors, studies and drafts.

• There are entire professions where copying is not only allowed but required, like restoration and conservation.

• There are whole movements made of abstraction, distortion, reinterpretation.

• There are collaborative studios where ten people touch the same piece.

I realized the real difference between me and the artists I admired wasn’t just talent — it was permission.

Permission to start. Permission to learn.
Permission to make something badly.
Permission to make something your way.

It took actual decades before I felt comfortable using the word “artist”.
Even longer before I allowed myself to say “I’m a maker,” without flinching.

But the truth is this: I love making things. Whether it’s food or art, photos, journals, letters, paper or any other craft… I love it!

If it can be made by hand, I want to shape it. If it can’t be made by hand, I’m going to try anyway, damn it.

This is my rebellion — I’m against the idea that creativity has rules or gatekeepers. There isn’t one “right” way.

Most of my first attempts at being an artist were terrible. By my own measure. But then one day, someone else saw some of my “art” and wanted it. That was the moment it all cracked open and I remembered an important fact: not all art is for everyone — but everyone has art meant for them.

That’s the true beauty of artistry: it finds the people who need it and doesn’t bend itself into a different shape for those who don’t. Walk through any museum and you’ll feel how not every room is meant for you. Some pieces grab you, some don’t, even if they’re made by the masters. Your art is the same way, you just need to find the room where it resonates.

Someone, somewhere, will love the thing you make — even if you don’t feel worthy of it yet.

So here is the invitation to my quiet rebellion:
Make your art your way.

You can use references. Use tutorials or don’t! Copy something just to learn how it works and then do it the “wrong” way to see if your hand prefers it. Use someone else’s method until it slowly becomes uniquely yours.

Your hands will tell you what feels right.
Your eyes will tell you when something clicks.
Your heart will tell you when it’s yours.

You don’t need someone else to knight you into being an artist and you don’t need permission from the people who came before you. You just have to make something.

And if you’ve been waiting for someone to tell you that you’re allowed to do it the “wrong” way, here it is: you are.

This could be your quiet rebellion too.

If You’re Still Reading…

Before I ever felt comfortable calling myself an artist, I gave myself four phrases to work from:

• “artist” under attack

• you can be

• be uniquely you

• peace in abstraction

They became the titles of the pieces I shared through this post. They were my verbal anchors I used while I experimented, failed, tried again and eventually let go and let it be. In truth, they were a kind of self-prescribed art therapy, a way to explore until something finally felt like mine.

This week’s gift is a set of printable greeting cards featuring these pieces. Use them or mail them, tuck them into a journal, make a collage with them or use this format to create your own. They’re not here to show you the “right” way to use your art. They’re meant as a reminder that handmade things matter and an invite to make your own version, because your art deserves a place in the world too.

You may have to argue with your printer to get them lined up correctly, but once you win that battle, all that’s left is to cut a straight edge, fold the card and use it however you like.

Greeting Card 1

9.45MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

Greeting Card 2

7.99MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

Greeting Card 3

8.58MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

Greeting Card 4

11.3MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

Years ago, three college friends wanted a way to stay connected after life pulled everyone in different directions.

The idea was simple:
Instead of writing letters back and forth, which is impossible hard to maintain amongst three people, we chose a journal.

One book, shared between three of us, all living thousands of miles apart.

We wrote in it, tucked small gifts in between the pages and mailed it to the next person when we were done. Then she did the same before sending it onward again — round and round it went.

What began as a collection of empty pages soon grew into a time capsule of our early adult years, a record of the lives we were building on our separate ends of the country.

Before I go on, I should say plainly that most of the pages you see in this post are mine. I will never share the private writing of another person without their permission. What you see here is simply the outer shape of a shared practice, a glimpse of the journal that traveled between us without revealing the parts that were never meant for public eyes.

Starting was the hardest part. Once you have the journal in your hands for the first time, it feels almost too blank, too open. You wonder what the others will think of what’s written. You wonder if your pages will be interesting enough, thoughtful enough or even long enough. But once you begin, the hesitation slowly dissolves.

A shared rhythm finds you. An empty page becomes a place to breathe.

A little gift envelope sewn into the front page became a place to store a ticket stub or a flower we’d pressed, or a couple bookmarks found at a cute shop. A little scrap of wrapping paper became a memory.

It doesn’t take long at all before the journal starts to feel alive.

Letters are wonderful in their own right. They are their own little worlds of wonder, each sealed envelope carries a singular voice across distances. Clearly, letters mean a great deal to me — you can read just how much:

But a traveling journal is something else entirely. It holds not only the words we wrote, but little pieces of our daily lives. It became a place to record those small victories, heavy days, seasonal bucket lists and favorite books. It carried lists, recipes, doodles, pressed leaves, prayers, messy thoughts and moments too fleeting to justify a whole letter.

A journal like this can become a shared history. It can be polished or it can be informal. There is deep comfort in seeing another person’s handwriting fill the pages before yours, or in turning a page and finding a note tucked into the pages with your name on it. Within these pages are the scaffolding of beautiful friendships.

Of course, not everything lasts in the way we imagine. Our journal began with three of us and for a season it moved easily, arriving in our mailboxes with a regularity that felt miraculous. Life changed, as it always does and eventually the journal rested for a while. One friend stepped away from the project and for a long time the journal stayed still.

But the idea lingered and a few years later it was revived between two of us. It became quieter, steadier and perhaps even more treasured because it had already lived one full life before beginning a second.

I share that because it is important to say that your first attempt at something like this might not go perfectly. It might stall. It might get lost for a year. It might even fall apart altogether. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth doing and it certainly doesn’t mean you can’t try again.

Shared creative work has seasons too.

One of my favorite parts of our journal was the way it strengthened every other form of communication between us. Because we had a physical place to share deeper things, we found ourselves texting and calling more often and sending silly snippets of our days.

The journal didn’t replace other types of connection. It enriched them. We saw more clearly into one another’s minds, our tone, our humor, our aspirations, our stress and our relief. The pages gave us space to breathe that texting never could.

And then there was the traveling itself. The physical movement of the journal from one home to another, across states and seasons, added a kind of excitement to the whole practice. The distance it traveled in a single trip reached more than two thousand miles between us. By the time we closed the final pages of that first journal, it had traveled far more than any of us!

It was carried to mailboxes, tucked into bags, taken to coffee dates, wrapped carefully in brown paper or sheet music or even sewn into fabric to be cheeky. Each round trip felt unique and exciting.

I hope you’re inspired to start a project like this. But with that, I would encourage a few simple guidelines, not as rules but as tiny guardrails.

A shared journal needs time to breathe, so resist the temptation to rush it. Give each person enough space to live a little before they write. Choose a loose schedule, something predictable but not strict, such as sending it along on the first day of every other month.

A rhythm like that helps the journal keep moving without anyone feeling overwhelmed. Tuck little fun bits inside it when you find flat knick knacks. Those small additions often become the most joyful parts.

The beauty of a traveling journal is that it holds more than words. It holds the ordinary days that would have disappeared otherwise. It holds the shared spaces between friends who might not live nearby anymore but still want to grow together.

If you love letters, you might find that you love this even more. A traveling journal is not fast, but it is full. It is hopeful. It is steady.

If you feel a tug to start something like this, take the risk. Ask two or even three people to join you. Heck, go nuts and share it with more! But be prepared to see it only once a year.

Pick a journal. Choose a rhythm. Send it out into the world. You might be surprised by the life it gathers on its way back to you.

And if your first try falters, try again. All of the most beautiful things in my life began with the second try.

A Few Ideas to Get You Started

If you decide to make a traveling journal of your own, sometimes the hardest part is mussing up that first page. So I’ve added a few examples below.

These aren’t meant to follow word for word, just templates and ideas you can use as inspiration for layout.

The gear tends to accumulate in tandem with your passion.

Now… this post is mostly photos, meant for comparing two different visits to the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. The first year I flew into Atlanta with only an iPhone 12 Pro and a clip-on macro lens. The next year I was able to drive down with my Canon 80D and a full camera kit.

If you want to see some of what I’ve used and my tips for building out your own kit (at your own pace), you can visit the post linked below.

Trips like these remind me that photography, no matter the gear, changes how you move through a place. It slows you down and sharpens your eye, making the small moments feel as extraordinary as the sweeping views.

Taking photos isn’t about getting the shot. It’s about the joy of finding it.

To keep the comparisons fair, I edited all images as little as possible. My raw camera files were exported as TIFFs, then I lightly adjusted the colors using Apple’s native photo editor, just like the photos taken on my phone. Nothing fancy, just enough to stay true to what I saw.

If you’ve ever hesitated to start because you don’t have the “right” equipment or software, let this be proof that you don’t need it. Start with whatever camera you have, even if it’s the one in your pocket.

The art of seeing is what makes you a photographer and an artist.

Every photo can teach you something, even the bad ones… maybe especially the bad ones. Keep that in mind and give yourself grace as you grow.

These are a few reminders I keep close when I start to overthink it:

This is my To Don’t List. Feel free to keep it on your phone (right click or press and hold) for when you need a gentle nudge to look, hit the shutter button and most importantly, enjoy the process.

Current Life List: 130 birds.

How long it took me to get those birds… I’d rather not say. But we can all agree I won’t be having any “Big Years” anytime soon. A few nemesis birds still seem to laugh at me every time I step outside and I struggle for each and every lifer… but I love it.

Here’s a quick primer on the major birding lingo:

• Life List — the running tally of birds you’ve identified since you started keeping track. For me, that’s five years… and 130 birds. Oof.

• Lifer — a bird you’re adding to your list for the very first time. (Usually celebrated with a digital confetti display in the Merlin app.)

• A Big Year — the legendary challenge: see as many birds as you can in twelve months. Also the title of the film that pulled me into this mess.

• Nemesis Bird — the one species you keep missing. Even when you go out especially for it, you never can quite manage to find the turd bird.

The Benefits of Birding (aka Noticing)

There’s a lot of good that comes from doing something you’re not instantly good at. People like to say, “practice makes perfect,” but that’s never true. Practice just makes better. In my case, practice makes less pathetic.

Most of us aren’t good at the things we first try. I certainly wasn’t when I started birding… and I’m only marginally better now. But better is enough for me, it means progress.

The beauty of birding is that it changes how you see the world. A park you’ve visited fifty times before feels different when you walk it with the hope of spotting a new lifer. Trails that once felt familiar feel new again when you start looking up, listening and searching for flashes of color or movement. Even when I’m traveling through a new state, I find myself pulling over just to log a bird (any bird) so my eBird map can proudly claim another territory.

On my worst birding days, I still win. I’m outdoors. I’m moving. I’m breathing fresh air and soaking in the sunlight. Even if I don’t find the turds I initially set out to chase, I still see new sights. That makes the pursuit of those elusive nemesis species all the more enticing. Some days are explosive with bird song and sightings and other days… well, at least you got some exercise.

No One Right Way

Once I crossed my milestone of 100 birds on my life list I decided to take on a different challenge: expanding my art repertoire. Nine birds at a time, I’m working through them in different styles, my own version of a naturalist’s field notes. Birding gave me a way to practice art; art gives me ways to grow.

Art isn’t the only way birders “branch” out. What begins as adding lifers often introduces you to other fields. Some fall in love with chasing elusive audio recordings. Others devote themselves to cataloguing. Many are drawn into photography — myself included. Everyday people quietly become amateur contributors to science and art.

Birding doesn’t just tune your eyes to birds, it sharpens them toward everything. Tiny flowers that usually go unnoticed, varied tree trunk textures and macro photography moments directly underfoot. Searching for “just one more” bird taught me to notice those hundreds of small things I would’ve otherwise walked right past.

The birders I’ve met along the way have all been so generous. Always eager to pass along encouragement, to share what they’ve learned and to show you their way of doing things. The clearest lesson birding has given me: there’s no one right way.

Birding is like art — subjective and imperfect. It’s more of a journey toward your own version of competence. You don’t need the fanciest binoculars or perfect shoes. You don’t even need the “right” locations. You can bird wherever you are, however you are. More often than not, I’m in flip flops, without binoculars, frantically checking Merlin to assure myself that yes, I really did just see a Red-tailed Hawk from fifty feet below.

If you’re interested in getting started with birding, there are really only two apps you need to feel like a pro: eBird and Merlin Bird ID.

• eBird — the central hub for recording your sightings, keeping your life list, tracking your hikes and exploring sighting reports near and far.

• eBird Essentials (Course) — a free, beginners course that walks you through using eBird and Merlin effectively (certification included).

• Audubon Beginner’s Guide to eBird — a walk through for new users, teaching you how to navigate eBird and birding in general.

• Merlin Bird ID — THE app for quick bird identification by photo, sound or description — integrates with eBird.

Creating an account with eBird unlocks a surprising number of related websites, all using the same login. Some require subscriptions, but many are free and filled with great resources:

• Cornell Lab Academy — home to online birding and ornithology courses, from beginner to advanced ($$).

• Birds of the World — an encyclopedic resource with detailed accounts of every bird species on earth (subscription mostly required).

• Celebrate Urban Birds — a community science project designed to connect cities with the birds around them.

• Great Backyard Bird Count — an annual global event each February where anyone can submit bird sightings to help track populations.

• Macaulay Library — archive of bird photos, videos and sound recordings collected from everyday birders worldwide.

• NestWatch — a program for monitoring nesting birds and learning about breeding habits.

• All About Birds — a free, user friendly field guide to North American birds, plus news and tips from the Cornell Labs.

Here’s why I still (and probably always will) call myself a bad birder: it took me until Bird #61 to finally spot my first Cedar Waxwing. And I still haven’t seen a Western Kingbird, even though they’re common in my area. Every time I set out determined to find one, I come back without my mark.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped seeking specific birds and started enjoying the little adventures instead. Now, when I step outside, I bring my camera and let the sun and songs pull me further down the trail until I eventually wander back, muttering that I should’ve turned around sooner. It’s no longer about the challenge of seeing every possible bird — it’s become a way to see, a way to be.

That’s the thing about birding: you don’t need to be great at it for it to be good for you.

Subscribe now

For Anyone Who’s Ever Missed a Bird

I made a Bad Birder Bingo card you can save or print. Check off whatever feels familiar and if you fill a whole line (or the whole board), you’ve officially earned your wings and bragging rights.

No prizes, no pressure — just a little camaraderie for everyone who’s ever scared off the bird, mistook a leaf for a bird, or logged something with “questionable confidence.”

Bad birders unite!

Bad Birder Bingo Blue

16.2MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

My first attempts at jumping in left me frustrated. I was confused. I was overwhelmed by the prices of the “nice” cameras. I started to wonder if I should just find a different hobby…but…I loved taking photos….

I’m sure these feelings are familiar to anyone starting something new. There’s just so much out there and everyone seems to have the right way to do it. No matter where you look, there’s another listicle telling you what gear you must have, what you should pay for it and how it’s impossible to do anything worthwhile without their exact kit.

Oh, and don’t forget: here’s their special link so they can make money off your confusion... yay.

But here’s the truth: nothing is as hard as it seems.

Sweep away all that noise and focus on the shape of these words:
You don’t need a list.
You don’t need someone else’s camera.
You don’t need to worry.

I also panicked when I looked up what other photographers were using.
I also panicked (and poured a glass of wine) when I saw the price tags.
I also almost gave up.

My first camera was a gift, an old Canon 30D. Beat up. Barely worked. It gave me about a year before dying with the dreaded Error 99.

Error 99 is Canon’s way of saying: “So much is wrong I can’t even begin to tell you where to start. Let me die.” At least that’s what mine said to me. Now it’s just decoration on a shelf.

So, I knew I needed something new, but where to start? I started looking up what “real” photographers were using. And that’s when my heart sank.
$4,000. $5,000. Just to… click a shutter. That’s not even factoring in the lenses, accessories, filters, programs, bags, tripods… ugh! Overwhelming!

It took a year of missing photography before I found a deal I could live with, even if it still hurt. A renewed Canon 80D with an 18–55mm lens for $800 in Canon USA’s Renewed section.

I still wince at that price. But that’s where I started again. It wasn’t flashy. It was already outdated. It wasn’t part of anyone’s curated list of “essential gear.” But for me, it was enough.

It took another two years before I had what I feel is a complete kit.

It’s not perfect — it’s better than that. It’s mine.

Canon EOS 80D + 18–55mm Lens — $800
Renewed from Canon USA. It’s an APS-C DSLR body with a general purpose lens. Great for learning composition, lighting and the basic controls. I use this lens for everyday scenes, portraits, food and travel.

Canon 70–300mm USM — $300
Snagged from the used section of a local camera shop. It fit my camera and my “splurge” budget that month. It’s an older lens, and while USM (Ultrasonic) typically means quieter focusing, this one really growls. I love it anyway. Telephoto lenses are great for wildlife, sports, some portraits or getting those compressed landscapes.

Canon 40mm “Pancake” — $150
An Amazon Renewed find. This is a prime lens, meaning it has a fixed length = no zoom. Compact and sharp, it’s perfect for street photography, food and detail shots. Pairs great with the macro tubes below.

Micnova Macro Extension Tubes — $65
A low cost way to convert standard lenses into macro lenses. They let you get really close. Flowers, textures and tiny objects. They require you to use manual focus, but I think they’re worth the fuss.

Clip-On iPhone Macro/Wide Lens — $40
This little guy got me through that year without a camera. It helped me slow down and encouraged me to look closer. Lightweight, pocketable and surprisingly capable. Some of my favorite floral close ups were taken with this clipped to my phone.

Grand Total — $1,355

Now remember, I took two years to slowly build my kit from where it started with the first $800 investment. It slowly grew with me, my interests and my skills. There was no frightening deep dive or immersion. Just working with what I had and gradually adding new pieces when I felt ready and interested.

You don’t need all of my kit to begin.
You need a camera, a lens and a strap.
Just start.

No matter what brand you choose, you’ll need to learn the basics but you don’t need to drown in them. It’s much easier when you know what to ask. Here are some of the questions that got me moving:

• How are —brand name here— cameras categorized? Which are the beginner, intermediate and advanced models?

• What kind of photography do I want to do? (This really helps with finding what lens you’ll want to start with.)

• What are Aperture, Shutter Speed and ISO?

These are just a few of the questions that got me going. Today, you have tools I didn’t. You can plug them straight into something like ChatGPT and have an actual conversation about it. You can learn what you need at your own pace and in your own way.

Since Canon was my starting point, I decided to stay there. I knew I didn’t want to go with the Rebel Series as it was too limiting — I wasn’t a professional, but I didn’t want to bar myself from becoming one. I also wasn’t ready for the Mark II pro line, too expensive. And I wasn’t ready to jump into mirrorless back then because the prices were also too high. Someday, maybe.

The 80D felt like the right middle ground. Familiar. Reliable. Affordable. It matched the old Canon I’d learned on and that mattered to me.

All of this understanding came from asking good questions and trusting what felt right, not what was trending.

Manual Mode

It’s how you stop guessing and start creating.

Yes, it seems complicated at first. But honestly? It only takes a couple of hours (or a few days, if you’re a little dense like me) to get the hang of it.

After that, it’s just practice and play.

The key to shooting in manual is actually a triangle. The Exposure Triangle.
Aperture — Shutter Speed — ISO

1. Aperture — How wide the lens opens.

Imagine your camera’s lens like the pupil of your eye. Aperture is how wide it opens to let in light.

• A wide aperture (like f/2.8) lets in more light and gives you those blurry backgrounds (portraits, close ups).

• A narrow aperture (like f/11) lets in less light and keeps more in focus (great for landscapes).

Low f-number = more light, blurry background
High f-number = less light, sharper focus front to back

2. Shutter Speed — How long the camera stays open.

This is how fast or s l o w the shutter clicks.

• Fast shutter (like 1/1000) freezes motion.

• Slow shutter (like 1/10) shows movement or blur — great for waterfalls and also in low light (the longer it’s open, the more light gets in).

Fast = crisp shots, no motion blur
Slow = motion blur, more light collected

With slower shutter speeds, you’ll need a tripod or really steady hands!

3. ISO — How sensitive your camera is to light.

This one’s like turning up the brightness on a screen.

• Low ISO (100–200) = clean image, use if you have lots of light naturally.

• High ISO (1600+) = works in low light, but adds grain or noise.

Typically you want to use the lowest ISO you can get away with.

These numbers are just a starting point. You have to fine tune. You have to see what looks right and feel what fits your style.

Comfort with a camera only comes through practice. By getting it wrong, adjusting and always trying again.

Don’t be afraid to fail. Just be willing to learn from it.

So often I see people posting rigid “rules” for beginners. They suggest that using their exact settings will yield those perfect shots.

But it doesn’t work that way.

Give ten photographers the same scene, at the same time, from the same spot… and you’ll get ten different images. That’s the whole point!

The magic isn’t in the settings or the camera. It’s the photographer. YOU.

There’s no secret sauce. No shortcuts. There is only the oldest truth in the book: Practice makes perfect.

…Scratch that.

Practice makes better.

Nothing is perfect this side of heaven.
But we can keep showing up.
We can try.
And we can grow.

Subscribe now

A Little Challenge for You

I’ve put together a set of seasonal photo checklists — little prompts to get you looking through your lens again. Save the image to your phone and use your markup or editing tools to tick things off as you go.

You can do it alone or challenge a friend and compare what you each found.

Do it again next year to see how your eye has changed or how the same world looks a little different in new light.

No rules. No pressure. Just a reason to pick up your camera again. Your phone counts as a camera too! Some of my favorite photos are from mine.

All four seasons are below.
Just press and hold (right click) the image to save it.

Disappearance of Delay

The internet — intended to be a gathering place of wisdom and collaboration, was brought to the people by the work of Tim Berners-Lee, the inventor of the World Wide Web (www.) as we know it. His vision wasn’t driven by profit or power, but by his determination that knowledge should be accessible to all.

The web was built to link ideas across borders, serving as a shared space for questions, connection and collaboration.

But over the decades, that worthy foundation eroded, overtaken by the noise and manipulation of a modern online world. It’s been optimized and shaped by algorithms to value engagement over facts and driven by momentum and monetization rather than truth. This space once meant to link us, is now a crowded hall of echoes. Online connection is promised, but so often, only the illusion of community is delivered.

Real relationships can still form online, but too often we’re left with diluted conversations and a lingering sense of distrust. We live in an age where we are constantly accessible yet rarely fully present.

Think of how alienating it feels to be sharing something meaningful, only to watch the other person glance at their phone, pulled away mid sentence by a notification. Or how shallow it feels to receive a quick “like” on a photo compared to the warmth of sitting beside a friend, sharing memories and sparking real conversation.

When our interactions are reduced to taps and emojis, we lose the nuance, curiosity and empathy that form the foundations of true connection.

Science of Meaning

Consider the letter — pouring out your heart in a way that a quick call or hurried text hardly allows. Alone at your desk, pen in hand, your thoughts and feelings flow onto the page. You aren't speaking into the void or to the multitudes; but to a singular someone.

Consider the journal — pouring out your heart so that your future self, or even the next generation, can hold a piece of your history. The hurts you’ve survived, the wins you experienced and the beauty found in your ordinary days. You aren’t speaking to the void here either, you’re giving your mind a place to safely walk through both pain and joy, step by step, to find peace.

Science even backs this up.

When writing by hand you make conscious choices: what to say, what to leave out and what tone to use. There is time to refine your thoughts into something lasting, maybe even something cherished by later generations. Letters can be held, reread and rediscovered years later. Physically holding words written years before gives you a tangible bridge to history, offering a deep sensory connection that digital communication rarely provides.

I won’t just lean on research, I’ve lived it. The peer reviewed studies quoted above (and linked at the bottom of this post) dig into the points I’ve quoted above with circuitous and exhaustive detail, but for me, the evidence has always been personal.

In college, I alternated between handwritten and typed notes. The difference was stark. On paper I could map out the ideas in a way that made sense to my mind, allowing me to fully grasp a subject by wrestling with how to lay it out. A laptop, by contrast, pushed me toward transcription, faster, yes, of course faster, but much emptier.

I’ve seen the power of handwriting in my own friendships, too. Nearly ten years after college, I reconnected with two friends I’d lost touch with and suggested we start a traveling journal. We mailed it between the three of us, each living in different corners of the country, filling its pages with drawings, musings and memories.

For a time, that journal was a lifeline. It kept us deeply engaged in one another’s lives in ways that social media never could. It encouraged us to better use the instant tools we had (group chats and phone calls) because at the core was this deep connection from our shared writing.

But as time and life inevitably got in the way, the journal stopped moving… and so did our conversations. Social media became our default connection and over the years the closeness we once shared faded yet again.

Just another proof for me that “social media" is often unsociable.

Build or Burn

“Words kill, words give life; they’re either poison or fruit — you choose.”Proverbs 18:21 — The Message

From the beginning, scripture has told us that words shape the world. The Bible itself is a testament to this truth, not because the papyrus or ancient leather bindings were precious, but because the words they carried were worth more than gold. These words have endured across the centuries, handwritten by trusted scribes, each stroke of ink preserving divine truth. The breath of God woven into words.

“A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”Proverbs 15:1 — NLT

Words deserve our time. They should demand deeper thought. This was more easily understood in early America where letters were the backbone of connection, debate, influence. Every word mattered, because committing something to paper was no small deed. The paper, ink and postage all cost money. Once you add in the effort required to sit down and write before sending it off, it’s an even greater investment, both of time and heart.

In earlier years, if you read something in the local paper and wanted to respond, either with praise or protest, here’s what it took:

• Take up a quill and ink it.

• Find clean paper — often bought by the sheet. Not cheap.

• Thoughtfully craft your words, knowing they might travel weeks or even months before being read.

• Fold and seal the letter.

• Walk it to the post office or give to a courier.

That long, deliberate process naturally built in a much needed filter. Is what I want to say, something that needs to be said? Every sentence carried its own weight because you had to decide if it was worth the ink, the paper, the money and the time.

Now, we live in the age of rage. It takes two thumbs and ten seconds to toss our thoughts into someone else’s life. Outrage is instantaneous, and our thoughts are unfiltered.

“The tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts. Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark.”
James 3:5 — NIV

How many fires do we light daily, without even realizing? A forced pause, a breath between thought and action, can save us from setting the world, or even just one heart, ablaze.

I won’t pretend I’ve never harbored cruel or bitter thoughts. But what I have learned (and try to practice daily) is restraint. It’s a lost art.

We are all called to remember that words bless and curse with equal force. They can spark compassion and ignite anger in tandem.

We’ve forgotten that words have both started wars and ended them.

Connecting Slowly

In this world speed is everything; even modern mail (arriving in just a few days) can feel unbearably slow. But maybe that slowness can be part of its beauty? Like a home cooked meal, it takes more time, but it nourishes more deeply. After all, doesn’t a scratch made dinner mean more than something grabbed from a drive through window?

Texting, for all its conveniences, doesn’t often offer much substance. We dash off instant replies, quickly skim each other’s thoughts and often don't need to return later to reread anything. The messages keep us connected, yes, but only on a surface level.

Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not against fast connection… it’s just that there is room for both. A quick text can update, reassure and bring a needed smile. But sometimes we crave more than immediacy, we crave depth.

That’s what a letter offers. It’s the slow food of the soul, crafted with care and delivered with the weight of time. It’s not just the words that matter, but the space they traveled to reach us.

Legacy of Letters

The written word often outlives the author. A letter is not just ink on paper, it’s a living record of a single moment in history. Letters are today’s stone tablets — they are the words that endure.

Think of Benjamin Franklin, who sent clever essays to Philadelphia newspapers under the name “Silence Dogood.” His words, written under a fictional woman’s name, sparked debate and displayed a wit that remains memorable (and on display) centuries later.

Remember Thomas Jefferson, whose letters, both personal and political, reveal the astonishing depths of his mind, shaping not just the birth of America but also the future of France. He drafted visionary writing that far outlived him. His ideas still echo in the American conscience today.

Here in modern times, letters have also built legacies. Julia Child’s rise to fame, for example, began with a simple letter exchange: she wrote a response to an article about kitchen knives, which led to a reply from the author’s wife. That single little letter grew into a lifelong friendship and was a pivotal step toward a leading a life that would change how America cooked.

Calling for Stewardship

Instant gratification chips away at the soul. We’ve trained ourselves to expect everything from answers to entertainment to validation—now. Each quick interaction delivers a small hit of dopamine, the brain’s “reward” chemical, but the pleasure fades almost as soon as it arrives.

Neuroscientists have found that this constant loop of scroll-click-react, rewires the brain to crave speed and novelty, making it harder to focus and reflect. It also makes it more difficult for us to find contentment in slower, more meaningful connections.

Scripture speaks to this too:

“Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.”
James 1:19 — NIV

“The words of the reckless pierce like swords, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.”
Proverbs 12:18 — NIV

What does this mean for us? It means we must fight the urge to voice our thoughts without considering their weight. Stewardship over our words calls for a stillness before speaking, texting or even writing a letter.

It’s in this stillness that wisdom has the space to take root and grow.

We can compose better texts. We can write real letters. We can choose to give more of ourselves. Choose clarity instead of reaction and thoughtfulness over impulse. Both heartfelt letters and meaningful texts share the same ingredient: undivided presence.

Quiet Rebellion

At the heart of Forthwith Journal is this quiet rebellion — intentionality. Making the choice to step away from the superficial societal norms and challenging them with our presence. The heart of all of this is this belief: that small acts, like a quarterly letter, or even a text that lingers a little longer than usual, still have the power to make a difference.

Maybe in your circle, you can be the first to raise the flag of this rebellion. Start something new. Be rebellious.

Write a letter.

Peer Reviewed Studies observing the benefits of handwriting:

Digitizing Literacy Reflections On The Haptics Of Writing

432KB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

Emotional And Physical Health Benefits Of Expressive Writing

71.5KB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

The Pen Is Mightier Than The Keyboard

584KB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

Subscribe now

If you’re still here…

Here are a few extras to make writing a letter or putting thoughts to paper feel a little bit more special.

Here are some stationery sets you can print out. Use as nice of paper as your printer can handle - you might need to play with the settings to get it to print to the right edges. My printer is temperamental, I can only assume everyone else’s has just as much sass.

The file for the stationery is all four designs shown below, in one PDF. So all four will print at once, if you want a specific design, rather than all four pages, you can visit my Gumroad to get the individual files.

All Four Designs

11.6MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

And here are some quote cards to help pad out your envelope. There’s a faint cut line in the file, so you can see where to divide them up.

All four are on one page, so again, if you’d prefer a single design, you’ll also need to visit my Gumroad.

Quote Cards With Cut Lines

2.87MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

I grew up around lots of people who called themselves artists. People who could practically breathe their imaginations into existence. Members of my own family — they just had it. Give them a blank page and something beautiful would appear. No reference, no hesitation. Just pure creativity, flowing straight from mind to hand.

That wasn’t how I worked. Still isn’t.

For a long time, I thought that meant I wasn’t an artist. I wasn’t able to sit down and draw from nothing. I needed prompts. References. Structure.

Deep down, I felt like that disqualified me.

But it doesn’t.

It took me years (and a lot of “failing”) to realize there’s more than one way to be creative. More than one way to make something meaningful. Needing a starting point doesn’t make you less of an artist! Time spent trying, borrowing, experimenting — it isn’t wasted. That’s how you learn.

That’s what this post is about.

I want to show you something I made. But more than that, I want to share how I got there, not because I think you should follow it step by step, but because it might spark something you can try your way.

I don’t believe in handing out precise shopping lists or rigid instructions. I believe in inspiration that invites improvisation. You can start where I did and end up somewhere entirely your own, and that, to me, is art.

I’ll walk you through how this piece came together, from a digital sketch to paint on canvas. Not as a tutorial, but as an invitation:

What could this look like in your hands?

I got started on my iPad using Procreate — my preferred way to sketch quickly and try new things. I’d seen a photo on Pinterest (my all time favorite app) and it sparked an idea. So I pulled it up as a reference and started sketching florals with bold blacked out backgrounds. Procreate makes it easy to experiment while keeping the original image nearby as a guide.

This piece isn’t going to be put up for sale. It’s just for me, something cheerful to keep me company. And honestly, I think that’s one of the best parts of exploring art: it can be just for you. That’s what makes it feel safe. You don’t have to share it, sell it, or explain it. These early pieces are your stepping stones — ways to grow your skill, follow your curiosity and fill your space with something your own hands made.

Side note: This is the music that plays in my head when I’m breaking things down and getting started on a new project.

Months ago, I found these frames at a craft store, art included. But the pieces inside just weren’t for me. The colors, the style… they didn’t fit me. Still, the price was incredible and that meant only one thing: they were about to become mine.

And mine they were… even as they sat gathering dust in the back of my studio until this piece finally called them forward.

I pulled them out, took everything apart, cleaned them up, measured the insert and got to work. I brought those floral designs to my Cricut, cut them out and started weeding away the areas I didn’t want.

Onto the painting part. I covered the surface with a paint I mixed myself, to get the shade and consistency I wanted. I saturated the original background, then came back later for one more coat to make sure none of the old colors showed through. Looking back, I probably should’ve sanded the whole piece first to help the paint sink in better… but that’s the point of doing new projects like this. We learn. We grow.

Once the base had set a bit, I brushed on another layer, this time using it as glue, crinkling the tissue paper onto the surface, pressing and shifting it until the texture felt right. I covered that with my paint mix too. At this point, there was no chance the old art would peek through. Mission accomplished.

After that layer was dry, I mixed Mod Podge into my paint and brushed on a fresh coat before placing the stencil I’d cut with my Cricut. I pressed it in firmly, then brushed it with water to help it make full contact and soften into the texture underneath. This layer wasn’t pretty, but it didn’t need to be. It was just the map for what would come next.

Final Steps.

One last mix of paint, this time thickened with baking soda and sifted with my favorite trick: a tea infuser to smooth any lumps. I brought it to a thick spackle consistency. I wasn’t going for smooth, I wanted something with weight and texture.

This is the part where I exhale a little. I follow the stencil, guiding the paint where I want it to go, letting it dry in peaks and ridges. Then I muss it up with a dry brush until the surface feels interesting.

Line by line, it starts to feel familiar.

Projects like this encourage me to try more next time. They remind me to be brave. And when my brush slips or the lines get too thick? So what. It’s my flower. It can grow however it wants to.

What will you try?

Subscribe now

Want to Try It Yourself?

If you’d like to explore your own style using the same shapes I started with, I’ve put together two ways to begin:

1. Ready to Print Pages
   With the original starting shapes — just download, print it out and start experimenting with color, texture or layering however you like. There’s no right answer here. Just space to play.

Forthwith Textured Flowers

5.34MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

2. PNG Cut Files on Gumroad
   For if you’d like to take the original elements into Cricut, Procreate or any digital design program. I’ve made the cut ready (transparent) PNGs available on Gumroad. Just plug them into your design space, size to your liking and enjoy the process of making them your own.

Download from Gumroad.

What started as paranoia, thankfully, turned into something else entirely. Over time, it became a practice… a habit. Eventually, it became a kind of meditation: searching for light, odd shapes and the unnoticed things above.

My photographic interests are wildly varied, but skyward shots and tiny close ups have held a front row seat in my mind for years.

So here’s a small reminder from me to you: slow down & look up. Search for the unusual, the overhead, the thing no one else sees. If it feels right, snap a photo. Start your own odd collection. Here’s one of mine:

1. Bentonville, Arkansas — Crystal Bridges Museum

This museum is built over a pond. It sits on stilts, suspended above the water and it might be my favorite museum. Even more surprising, is that it’s not in a city you’d expect, but tucked away in Bentonville, Arkansas.

I’m a big believer that you shouldn’t have your camera out constantly when you are exploring somewhere new. Sometimes, you should just be there, especially if someone is walking with you.

But this moment couldn’t be denied.

In the middle of a glass walkway, stretching over the water, with all the art lining the center lane — was this chandelier. Threatening and thrilling.

I circled underneath it more than once, taking shot after shot until one just… fit. And to this day, it remains one of my favorite skyward views.

Other Things to do in Northwest Arkansas

• While still in Bentonville — Visit the first Walmart and enjoy the tiny museum in about 25 minutes. Super quick and really interesting.
  105 N Main St

  Bentonville, AR 72712

• Get lost in Dickson Street Bookstore — aka Heaven.
  325 W Dickson St

  Fayetteville, AR 72701

2. Atlanta, Georgia — High Museum of Art

If you can’t handle the heat (which I can’t) go indoors! On this particularly hot day in Atlanta, I retreated into the museum and ended up having the High almost entirely to myself.

Wandering around a museum when your only company is the occasional art guard could be unnerving, but on this day, I loved it.

It was here I found the largest indoor art installation I’ve ever seen: a four-story mural, winding its way up the walls toward a skylight.

Places in Atlanta I Never Skip

• Atlanta Botanical Gardens — worth suffering the heat. Visit Alice!
  1345 Piedmont Ave

  Atlanta, GA 30309

• Georgia Aquarium — one of the first audible gasps I’ve ever uttered.
  225 Baker Street Northwest

  Atlanta, GA 30313

• Distillery of Modern Art — Just trust me. Go.
  2197 Irvindale Dr.

  Chamblee, GA 30341

  ---

3. Downtown Omaha, Nebraska — Lauritzen Gardens

I didn’t even make it through the doors before I had to stop. I looked up as I approached — and froze.

That botanical chandelier…. I remember it better than the rest of the gardens. The leafy lines above my head made my shutter finger dizzy.

No other photos were taken that day. I knew I’d be back the next day, and I wanted this visit to belong to just one image.

Day two, I returned with my macro lens, but that’s a story for another time.

4. Central Omaha, Nebraska — Public Library Lobby

Whenever I travel, I always visit the public libraries if I have a little free time. Why? Because they often sell books for a dollar or less. And I… well, I have a problem. There are a few things I'll always collect: whisks, whiskey, rolling pins and books.

In this small Omaha branch, I found this. What is it? I haven’t the faintest… but it caught my eye and made me pause. That qualifies it for my wandering camera collections, yet another thing I collect.

That’s part of the joy in photography like this. The subject doesn’t have to be grand or even recognizable. Just something that interrupts your stride long enough to make you look again.

Spots Worth Visiting While in Omaha

• Gene Leahy Mall — Omaha’s tiny version of Central Park
  Insider tip: circle the park a few times for great parking.
  1110 Farnam St

  Omaha, NE 68102

• Grab a reservation downtown at Gather in the Old Market. Don’t forget to visit their basement to be amazed. Just ask about it before you leave.
  1108 Howard St

  Omaha, NE 68102

• If you’re up for a drive and crossing from Nebraska to Iowa several times in one trip — check out De Soto National Wildlife Refuge
  1434 316th Lane
  Missouri Valley, IA 51555

  ---

5. Upper East Side, New York — The Guggenheim

I’d waited years to see these spirals myself. Having seen a few of Frank Lloyd Wright’s buildings before, it’s impossible for this one to not soar to the top, in terms of notoriety.

I thought the art collection is what would blow my hair back, but it wasn’t. It was the spiral. I stood at the base and just watched it rise. It was like the building was inhaling and stretching to the sky.

No lens could properly do it justice, but I tried anyway.

6. Financial District, New York — Trinity Church

In the middle of all that steel, finance, bustle — there it was: stone, weathered and unmoved. A quiet holdover from another time, standing strong amongst the modern giants.

I wandered the graveyard and stopped at Hamilton’s grave, where everyone leaves a scattering of pennies.

There’s Too Much in New York - But Here’s What I Liked

• Fraunces Tavern — Historic, Interesting, Incredible Food.
  54 Pearl St

  New York, NY 10004

• Mercer Labs — Feel like existing in a painting? Do it here.
  21 Dey St

  New York, NY 10007

• Kitchen Arts & Letters Bookstore — Told you I had a book problem.
  1435 Lexington Ave

  New York, NY 10128

  ---

7. Door County, Wisconsin — A Quiet Beach

I don’t remember the name of the park. Just that it was near the water, and mostly empty.

I found a big rock and sat for a while, listening to the soft, steady rhythm of waves against the shore. Until it started raining. In looking for shelter I also found something my camera could linger on.

The underside of the gazebo was simple, nothing grand. But I liked it.

8. Green Bay, Wisconsin — Botanical Gardens

Gardens are another place I often visit in new cities. Here, in Titletown, I found a stone ring of seats and a wrought iron dome overhead — part sculpture, part shelter.

I looked up. The lines were clean and weightless. How could I not?

Titletown Treasures

• Bay Beach Wildlife Sanctuary — Walking Trails and Friendly Otters
  1660 E Shore Dr

  Green Bay, WI 54302

• Joe Rouer’s for a burger and onion petals that will haunt. your. dreams.
  E1098 CTH-X

  Luxemburg, WI 54217

• Grab your morning coffee at Copper State Brewing Company
  313 Dousman St

  Green Bay, WI 54303

Eight places where I looked up and found something worth keeping.
Your turn. Look for the unusual & the overlooked.

Subscribe now

A Keepsake for You

If this collection of skyward moments made you pause, here’s a way to linger a little longer. I’ve turned four of my photographs into coloring pages, a small token for you to print and enjoy.

Make sure to select “Scale to Fit” when you go to print it out.

Arkansas

4.54MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

Georgia

4.12MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

New York

3.12MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download

Wisconsin

7.55MB ∙ PDF file

Download

Download