Dyed Silk

53”W x 60”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed Silk

53”W x 61”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed silk

43”W x 62”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about ones previously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed Silk

43”W x 62”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed Silk

53”W x 61”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed Silk

53”W x 62”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed Silk

53”W x 60”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

Dyed Silk

53”W x 62”L

2026

Rebecca Cross revisited these layered pieces as a way to keep developing her thoughts about onespreviously made. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

Cross spends time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, contemplating with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are her modest attempt to respond to the wonder.  Close attention helps Cross keep the “crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.”

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement her paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of Cross’ height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both Cross’ portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale, energy and concerns of her co-exhibitor and art sister, Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as they age.

dyed silk, oil paint and graphite on panel

2026

I loved revisiting these layered pieces as a way to keep developing my thinking about ones I have made before. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

I spend so much time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, I daily apprehend with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are my modest attempt to respond to the wonder. Close attention helps me keep our crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement my paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of my own height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both my portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale,energy and concerns of my co-exhibitor and art sister,Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as we age.

dyed silk, oil paint and graphite on panel

2026

I loved revisiting these layered pieces as a way to keep developing my thinking about ones I have made before. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

I spend so much time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, I daily apprehend with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are my modest attempt to respond to the wonder. Close attention helps me keep our crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement my paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of my own height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both my portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale,energy and concerns of my co-exhibitor and art sister,Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as we age.

dyed silk, oil paint and graphite on panel

2026

I loved revisiting these layered pieces as a way to keep developing my thinking about ones I have made before. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

I spend so much time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, I daily apprehend with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are my modest attempt to respond to the wonder. Close attention helps me keep our crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement my paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of my own height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both my portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale,energy and concerns of my co-exhibitor and art sister,Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as we age.

dyed silk, oil paint and graphite on panel

2026

I loved revisiting these layered pieces as a way to keep developing my thinking about ones I have made before. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

I spend so much time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, I daily apprehend with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are my modest attempt to respond to the wonder. Close attention helps me keep our crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement my paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of my own height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both my portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale,energy and concerns of my co-exhibitor and art sister,Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as we age.

dyed silk, oil paint and graphite on panel

2026

I loved revisiting these layered pieces as a way to keep developing my thinking about ones I have made before. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

I spend so much time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, I daily apprehend with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are my modest attempt to respond to the wonder. Close attention helps me keep our crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement my paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of my own height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both my portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale,energy and concerns of my co-exhibitor and art sister,Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as we age.

dyed silk, oil paint and graphite on panel

2026

I loved revisiting these layered pieces as a way to keep developing my thinking about ones I have made before. These color field lightscapes (of land? lake? sea? ) are color experiments that suggest horizons, and reflections of light. The translucency of silk fabric and the repeated information on both layers creates a kind of visual echo, as the forms and colors oscillate between layers. The effect of perpetual, subtle shifts challenges your eyes to land on something fixed.

I spend so much time looking at ever-changing Lake Erie, and, in general, I daily apprehend with wonder both the intricacy and grandeur of the natural world. These observations inform these pieces, which are my modest attempt to respond to the wonder. Close attention helps me keep our crazy human world in perspective, and makes me remember why a world of such natural beauty is worth preserving.

Perhaps, too, these lightscapes complement my paintings in this show: some are roughly the size of my own height and wingspan, providing serene “bodies” or contexts for all those painted heads. And certainly, both my portraits and silk lightscapes resonate with the scale,energy and concerns of my co-exhibitor and art sister,Liz Maugans’ extraordinary pieces about self-reflection as we age.

Print Media & Collage

42”L x 45”W

2026

When I was twenty, I went abroad with my sister and two close friends and backpacked through Europe with a Let’s Go guidebook and thirty dollars a day. We had no plans or obligations.

In Munich, we met a group of stunning young men from Sweden.  I paired up with Sven, an engineering student who carried a camera everywhere we went. We spent only a few days together, but at twenty, time stretches differently. 

In that time of my life, romance wasn’t about permanence—but about presence. This song brings me back to an age when love seemed to exist in fleeting moments rather than some big grand declaration. Bésame Mucho was written by Consuelo Velázquez, a Mexican songwriter. She composed the song and wrote the passionate lyrics about kissing before she had ever been kissed herself.It’s pretty cool stuff that her own longing and intimacy was able to capture so completely something that has lived on so universally and recognized as one of the most recorded and covered Spanish-language songs in history.

print media & collage

21.25”W x 17.25”L

2026

I AM AN OLD WOMAN is both a declaration and a disruption. It pushes against the invisibility often assigned to women in midlife and instead centers their complexity, resilience, and authority. These are women shaped by sisterhood, endurance, and lived experience— holding beauty and brutality in equal measure.

Through collage, text, and image, I explore the emotional dualities of aging: exhaustion and clarity, grief and possibility, loss and reinvention. This work does not romanticize growing older, but reclaims it as a space that is generative, honest, and radically expressive.

Print media + collage on paper

42”W x 68”L

2026

I was in Kindergarten the last time I laid down on a big piece of paper and traced myself.  I turned myself into a super hero. 

The Cuban-American conceptual artist Ana Mendiata,  did this too. Her performative body tracings were part of the Earthworks movement where she often used flower petals and other materials to mark her naked body outline on the beach, in the woods and in other natural environments. So, I did it too. It was a freing ME-moment when I felt bare and open to myself. It made me surprisingly emotional,  and was like a  “this is what I got to offer you world” anthem. 

This song Feed Your Head,  was Inspired by the book Alice in Wonderland and lead singer Grace Slick embraced Alice’s same psychedelic perspective,  as Ana Mendieta embraced her body and the earth. They both were charmed with forever vulnerability and  curiosity, and a longing to find a connection with the universe.

I have never been as curious as I am today-at this very moment.  I am fascinated by everything, all at once, and it seems to only be increasing, What about you?

Print Media & Collage

50”W x 42”L

2026

 I never imagined I would live in Bay Village. Growing up in Lakewood, we called it “the Bubble” and used to make fun of it.  But in 1989, ten-year-old Amy Mihaljevic disappeared here in broad daylight, and the world I understood suddenly felt scary-breakable. I remember thinking: How could anyone bring a child into a world with the inexplicable chance of them disappearing forever?

And the losses came anyway. My nephew Gabe died suddenly in 2023. Then Dylan, a sixteen-year-old from my son’s class, died in a tragic accident. His family lived in the very house where Amy once lived. Grief had found the same place again.

Garden Song is about what we do when a young life is cut short. We plant. We tend. We remember. We make sense of how we will remember them. Gabe’s name now grows in his childhood garden among strawberries, rhubarb, and fig trees.

Maybe this is one of the small, stubborn things love can do: keep something living where someone should still be. 

Print Media & Collage

59”W x 42”L

2026

Most kids don’t want their parents’ things. 

My late mother Fern, was a realtor, and she needed help emptying a home of a man named Bob, a WWII veteran and engineer whose wife had also died years earlier. Bob’s two sons lived on the West Coast and wanted nothing from the house,  just to get everything out so my mom could sell it. 

I packed up sixty years of their life. Their photographs, travel souvenirs, Bonsai hobby books, stamps, board games, cocktail glasses, china, jewelry, and beautiful old hats. Objects that told me who they had been. Things that had been used, loved, and held onto—waiting, perhaps, to carry their stories forward.

I use some of Bob’s things now. I remember him, even though I never knew him. I have some of my mom’s things, too. Together they make up my own unruly family archive.

Someday, my kids may have to decide what to keep of me. I hope a few things will still whisper, I was here. I loved this. Remember me.

print media & collage

12”W x 12”L

2026

I AM AN OLD WOMAN is both a declaration and a disruption. It pushes against the invisibility often assigned to women in midlife and instead centers their complexity, resilience, and authority. These are women shaped by sisterhood, endurance, and lived experience— holding beauty and brutality in equal measure.

Through collage, text, and image, I explore the emotional dualities of aging: exhaustion and clarity, grief and possibility, loss and reinvention. This work does not romanticize growing older, but reclaims it as a space that is generative, honest, and radically expressive.

Print media + collage on paper

48”W x 42”L

2026

Adho Mukha Svanasana—Downward Dog—is my favorite yoga pose because it asks the whole body to work while giving the mind a little place to rest. It is a reset and a mini-vacation moment of the yoga flow without the pina colada.

This is why I love gathering with women. We bend toward one another, toward the earth, toward whatever is keeping us upright. We laugh, cry, celebrate, bitch, moan, tell the truth, and somehow, someway, it tells our nervous systems we are allowed to soften.

Women show up with casseroles, garden flowers, hugs, and the kind of truth that arrives like a missile when you need it most. We become our own little coven of radical care and recovery.

Maybe it is because we are biologically wired for this. Maybe I learned it from the women before me. Either way, I keep bending toward the earth—with my girls beside me, pulling weeds and dahlias alike, hunting for seashells, and finding, every now and then, a little grace in the downward dog.

print media & collage

24”W x 32”L

2026

I AM AN OLD WOMAN is both a declaration and a disruption. It pushes against the invisibility often assigned to women in midlife and instead centers their complexity, resilience, and authority. These are women shaped by sisterhood, endurance, and lived experience— holding beauty and brutality in equal measure.

Through collage, text, and image, I explore the emotional dualities of aging: exhaustion and clarity, grief and possibility, loss and reinvention. This work does not romanticize growing older, but reclaims it as a space that is generative, honest, and radically expressive.

print media & collage

24”W x 32”L

2026

I AM AN OLD WOMAN is both a declaration and a disruption. It pushes against the invisibility often assigned to women in midlife and instead centers their complexity, resilience, and authority. These are women shaped by sisterhood, endurance, and lived experience— holding beauty and brutality in equal measure.

Through collage, text, and image, I explore the emotional dualities of aging: exhaustion and clarity, grief and possibility, loss and reinvention. This work does not romanticize growing older, but reclaims it as a space that is generative, honest, and radically expressive.

print media & collage

24”W x 32”L

2026

I AM AN OLD WOMAN is both a declaration and a disruption. It pushes against the invisibility often assigned to women in midlife and instead centers their complexity, resilience, and authority. These are women shaped by sisterhood, endurance, and lived experience— holding beauty and brutality in equal measure.

Through collage, text, and image, I explore the emotional dualities of aging: exhaustion and clarity, grief and possibility, loss and reinvention. This work does not romanticize growing older, but reclaims it as a space that is generative, honest, and radically expressive.

Print Media & Collage

51.5"W x 42"L

2026

I loved two games growing up: Candy Land and The Game of Life. Before I knew anything about mortgages, caregiving, motherhood, grief, or long-term plans, these little cardboard worlds suggested a path forward.

This piece is my last-ditch homage to the retrospective—a gathering of fragments from forty years of making, collecting the processes, recurring images, mistakes, obsessions, and versions of myself that somehow became a life. I have fought the good fight with nostalgia, but I think I’m finished looking backward. I’ve cleared the last of my studio archive and am ready to clean-slate it!

The idealistic girl, mother, daughter, caretaker, empty nester. So,  I’m flipping the board over and rolling the dice for new trouble and adventures.

42”W x 58”L

Mixed Media Print Collage

2026

I AM AN OLD WOMAN is both a declaration and a disruption. It pushes against the invisibility often assigned to women in midlife and instead centers their complexity, resilience, and authority. These are women shaped by sisterhood, endurance, and lived experience— holding beauty and brutality in equal measure.

Through collage, text, and image, I explore the emotional dualities of aging: exhaustion and clarity, grief and possibility, loss and reinvention. This work does not romanticize growing older, but reclaims it as a space that is generative, honest, and radically expressive.

Print Media & Collage

42”W x 46”L

2026

I own silky, lacy undergarments. Most days, I wear the practical cotton stuff—the emotional equivalent of sensible shoes. But after a good bath, when I lotion myself up and put on something pretty, I feel wildly, ridiculously like myself. This is not for the male gaze. This is for me. All me.

I heard them call women like me, “Queenagers”—somewhere between queen and teenager, with enough life experience to know better and enough mischief to ignore it. I may have a mild case of A.G.E., but don’t count me out. I let my hair down, tale my glasses off, put on some Sade, and have a little moment.

The Sexy Librarian is a trope, but librarians are also workers, organizers, caretakers, and people who deserve to be heard. So: support sexy librarians!

And speaking of being heard: Cleveland Public Library workers with SEIU 1199 are currently bargaining for a new contract. More than 30 sessions have taken place, with a possible August 24 strike date looming if an agreement isn’t reached.

Print Media & Collage

56”W x 42”L

2026

These women are appropriated from my hip-replacement physical therapy exercises, my dad’s AARP magazines, and Google searches for “middle-aged women contortionists.”

Lately I’ve been reading midlife writers—Miranda July, Rebecca Solnit, Nora Ephron, Anne Lamott, Elizabeth Strout, Annie Ernaux, Joan Didion, Patti Smith—women who find humor, wonder, and tenderness inside the mess of getting older. They write about the tension of staying informed without becoming overwhelmed, and of keeping moving when the world asks us to sit still.

Olivia Newton-John and Jane Fonda embodied something I still need: the insistence that movement is not just about staying fit. It is about staying awake, engaged, political, and unwilling to disappear.

Maybe getting older is its own kind of choreography—learning how to bend, fight, wobble, and keep going.

Print media + collage on paper

73”W x 43”L

2026

I was a lucky duck to grow up along Lake Erie, where the water was visible from my backyard. Summers meant Clifton Beach, sailing at Edgewater, and learning that the lake could turn on you in a heartbeat. I loved watching sailboats—tiny against all that water, yet somehow steady. The storms taught me early about balance, instinct, and hanging on.

This year the USS Cleveland was commissioned in its namesake city, just as my youngest son, Will, graduated and headed into the world after studying welding (and building many things with Legos). I think about his hands making things someday that have to withstand pressure, weather, and the goddamn unknown.

A mothership carries, protects, guides, and somehow keeps going. I’ve watched people my age  navigate illness, terrible accidents, divorce, job loss, and grief. And still, somehow, someway, my fellow wayfarers find a hospitable, lucky-break current, beyond that riptide shit storm, and do whatever it takes to float their boat. Even those who don’t think they have a working compass anymore, they find their way-finding their way too. 

This work lives in that space between turbulence and tenderness. Sometimes we are the ship. Sometimes we are the storm. And sometimes we just need someone to say, Come away with me. For a little while.