I’ve been carrying a lot these days. Two major conference presentations, end-of-year goals for my business, and the sting of slower gallery sales have all piled up at once. And everywhere I look—whether in my classes, among my clients, or in conversations with friends—people are stretched thin. Job losses, world events, uncertainty about the future…it’s weighing on everyone. On nights like these, I barely sleep. The night before anything big has always been a lost cause. So how am I trying to offset the stress? I’m doing the opposite of what my instinct tells me.Instead of tightening the reins and pushing myself harder, I’m stepping away. I’m forcing myself to paint, to refill my cup, even when time feels impossibly tight. (This is something I talk about often with students in my painting classes in Boston —the moment you think you don’t have time is often the moment you need creativity most.) Yesterday I even took a midday nap. It felt indulgent, but my body asked for it. And over the weekend, I pushed myself to reset in another way. I took the family to Snowport—wandering the stalls, sipping hot chocolate and Tuscan mulled wine, getting a little literal distance from my daily whirlwind, even if it was just the other side of town. That tiny shift helped loosen something. It reminded me that stepping away, physically and mentally, creates real space. Back in the studio, the creative process reflected all of this. Not every painting session is productive. Yesterday was a mess of wrong color combinations and frustration from start to finish. Today I had only 30 minutes, but those 30 minutes opened into an entirely new palette and a surprising burst of energy. That’s the part I love—and the part I teach in my art classes in Boston and Brookline. It’s never about the time or the final product. It’s about stepping out of your head so new ideas have room to move. That’s when innovation happens, in art and in life. And with how stressed everyone seems right now, I want to gently remind you to give yourself the same grace.Take a break. Find whatever helps you breathe again. If that breather comes through creativity, we have a few beautiful ways to support you: Our upcoming half-day creative retreat in Boston  is designed to help you ease into the holidays with grounding, art-making, journaling, and quiet connection. It’s been getting rave reviews and it’s one of my favorite offerings. Our Small Works show  is now live online. If you’re craving inspiration at home—or searching for meaningful holiday gifts in Boston —this curated collection is a wonderful place to explore. For families planning ahead, our Black Friday camp special  is still active. Our summer camps routinely rank among the most-loved kids’ art programs in Boston , and this is the best pricing we offer all year. And of course, our Brookline art studio  is always open for creative team outings, private workshops, and community events. Whatever you need right now—quiet, color, movement, connection—I hope you give yourself room to take it. We’re here when you need us.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how much we all need each other — especially now, when the world feels so heavy, and so much of our attention gets pulled into screens, headlines, and worry. This weekend’s Halloween gathering at the studio brought that truth right back to the surface. Nothing dramatic happened. No grand experience. Just familiar faces returning, a few wonderful new ones joining in, kids instantly connecting the way kids always do, and adults slowly letting their shoulders drop as they eased into the afternoon. It reminded me how deeply we crave spaces where we can simply be  — without pressure, without performance — and remember ourselves in the presence of others. Quiet support is powerful like that. Sometimes the brightest moments are soft. Sometimes light arrives in laughter over paint smudges, in silly costumes, in a child proudly showing you their artwork, in parents chatting like they finally have a minute to breathe. And in those small, human moments, you feel it: the world softens, just a little. We need that. More than ever. We need places where the noise falls away and we feel safe enough to create, connect, and exhale. Where we can return to our own inner voice while feeling held by a community that understands the value of slowing down and making something with our hands. That's the heart of this space. It has always been. And whether it’s through our weekly adult sessions, family gatherings, or our quiet, soulful painting classes here in Brookline — it’s the same purpose: to create a gentle landing place in a busy world. A space to find each other. And in doing so… find ourselves again. More of this. Always.Little lights, in ordinary moments, reminding us of who we are. If you're new here… Our studio offers small-group, heart-centered creative experiences — from drop-in community events to painting classes in Boston, reflective adult art workshops, and gentle creativity retreats. If you’ve been looking for a place where art isn’t competitive, where connection matters as much as technique, and where you can simply show up and breathe… You belong here.

Life has a way of pulling us in a thousand directions at once. Notifications, deadlines, chatter — even as someone who teaches serenity and the art of slowing down, I found myself caught in the rush. Today was the first time in what feels like forever that I actually stopped. I sat down amidst my favorite fall foliage in New England, a landscape so breathtaking it almost hurts, and allowed myself to dissolve into it through plein-air painting — one of my favorite practices for reconnecting with stillness and self. And yet, even there, stillness wasn’t easy. Dogs barked, babies cried, and my mind kept searching for the next distraction. It felt impossible to truly relax. But here’s what struck me: despite all that, I stayed. I stayed seated. I stayed with the noise. I painted through the interruptions. And that, in itself, felt monumental. It’s astonishing how hard it is to pause — even at a literal stop sign — when our phones light up every few seconds. But the act of pausing, of claiming a few moments just to notice how beautiful the world is, can shift everything. So, if you’re reading this, consider this a gentle invitation: force stillness into your schedule. Push yourself to witness the quiet transformations around you — the falling leaves, the softened light, the air thick with change. This change of seasons is bigger than our to-do lists, bigger than the daily hustle. It’s a reminder of what truly matters — of the cycles that keep us grounded, humble, and whole. To those I haven’t seen in a while, and to the new faces finding this space — hello. Today’s reflection comes to you from a small, shimmering pond in Cambridge, where I finished a quick half-hour plein-air piece. Just enough time to remember what it means to breathe, to observe, and to return to my priorities. If you’re craving a creative reset or longing to explore mindfulness through art, I invite you to join one of our upcoming art classes in Brookline at Diana Stelin Gallery. Let painting outdoors remind you that serenity is something we can all practice — one brushstroke, one breath, one season at a time.

In today’s world, everything feels divided into absolutes—black or white, right or wrong, all or nothing. But as any painter will tell you, the truth lives in the layers in between. Art is never just about stark contrasts; it’s about noticing the subtle shifts, the play of light, and the countless shades that make each moment unique. When I’m in my studio, I often catch myself rushing to create patterns. I’m eager to find order, to make sense of the canvas. But the more I lean into generalizations, the more I miss what’s actually there. With every pause, I discover new nuances—details that only emerge when I slow down and really look. Suddenly, what once felt black and white becomes infinitely more complex. This tendency isn’t just in painting. In life, we zoom in on one detail, exaggerating it until perspective slips away. Truth and imagination start to blur, and by the time we notice, we’re already caught in that tug-of-war between what’s real and what’s perceived. The lesson art teaches is simple yet profound: the way forward is through small, intentional steps. Each mark on the canvas is an interpretation—alive, shifting, and in flux. Truth isn’t fixed. It’s something we uncover gradually, layer by layer. And when we bring that practice into daily life, we learn to step away from generalizations and into the richness of nuance. At our Brookline art gallery, this is what we practice together—slowing down, noticing more, and celebrating the in-between spaces. And as I shape future programming for adults, I’d love to hear from you: what kinds of creative gatherings would inspire you to join us more often? Poll Question: What would inspire you to come by more often? Hands-on adult workshops (painting, mixed media, creative reset days) Artist talks and conversations about process Quiet open studio hours for personal exploration Evening social gatherings with art, wine, and music Community events like book clubs, concerts, and networking nights Seasonal exhibitions with a community focus

In painting, I am always chasing balance—between reality and imagination, comfort and chaos, the familiar and the unknown. Patterns give me boundaries, like shelves where things can be tucked away. Yet it’s the zigzags, the disruptions, that bring discovery and surprise. Mistakes feel uncomfortable, sometimes shameful, but they are also essential. They’re the fuel that helps us fall forward fast, to risk something new, and to uncover layers of meaning we could never reach by playing it safe. That same spirit of risk and discovery is alive in our gallery this fall. Amalia Tagaris returns with a new body of work, where collages of acrylic and vintage posters meet her signature figurative play. These paintings pulse with texture, history, and bloom, offering fresh depth alongside a selection of her well-loved encaustics. Her exhibition invites viewers into a cityscape of layered stories—abstract yet grounded, playful yet poignant. Join us for in October to wander through Amalia’s world and experience how risk transforms into resonance. At our Brookline art gallery, we believe art is more than what hangs on the wall—it’s a living dialogue about balance, imagination, and resilience. Each painting, whether abstract or figurative, becomes a cityscape of choices, mistakes, and breakthroughs. This season, we invite you to step into that conversation: to see how art, like life, thrives in the space between order and disruption.

What does it feel like when you're trying to master a new skill and it just doesn’t click? You ask for instructions, study the instructor’s technique, try to mimic every move—but no matter how many attempts you make, that seemingly simple trick that others pick up with ease remains out of reach. It's frustrating. There's often a moment when you want to give up, when it feels like progress just isn't happening. But then something shifts. You lean into one of your own strengths. It's quiet and almost invisible, but it's powerful. It’s that natural, often overlooked ability to adapt. The result might not be immediate or spectacular, but it signals something essential: growth is still possible. Even when we’re struggling, even when things don’t go according to plan, we have the capacity to pivot. That small moment of adjustment can make all the difference. This month, I’ve been leading several corporate workshops for pharmaceutical companies focused on navigating change in the workplace. These sessions have had me reflecting on how often we’re asked to accept that change is inevitable—yet we’re rarely shown how to handle it in real, human terms. Art offers an unexpected yet powerful toolkit for adapting to change. Whether you're in a high-pressure industry or simply navigating personal transitions, engaging in a creative process can help you develop flexibility, presence, and resilience. Art gives us room to explore discomfort, shift perspective, and approach challenges from new angles. It's not about becoming an artist—it’s about building emotional tools that help us deal with the unexpected. As we move through environments filled with uncertainty, developing strategies for change isn’t just helpful—it’s essential. And creative expression, in all its forms, can be one of the most effective ways to do just that.

Progress in a community can only be seen with time. Three years ago, during my very first Brookline Day, I arrived with a small folding table, a random tablecloth, a few postcards, and some of my artwork. I had no idea what to expect. Halfway through the day the skies opened up, and I found myself scrambling to rescue soaked postcards and carry them back into what was then an unfurnished new studio space. Amid the rain, one moment stood out. A young girl, wearing a bright firefighter’s helmet, insisted on making a clay sculpture despite the downpour. Her determination and joy gave me reason to stay longer that day. That small encounter turned into something lasting—two years later, the same girl attended summer camp, became part of our school-year program, and is already signed up to return for the summer of 2026. This year’s Brookline Day felt entirely different. Instead of one table, we had several, staffed by three incredible teachers who each bring a gift for connecting with children. Our tables were overflowing with curious kids and parents, and throughout the day former and current students stopped by to wave or say hello. The energy was vibrant, and the sense of community unmistakable. Looking back on our journey in Coolidge Corner, there have been many ups and downs. In our first year we focused heavily on events, while in the second year we scaled back to test programs and see how families responded. Both approaches taught us valuable lessons about how creativity and community take root. Now, as we step into a third year at our Brookline location, there is a stronger foundation, a sense of growth, and a clearer vision for what lies ahead. Recently, our calendar has reflected this evolution. The fall semester of kids and teen art classes is opening , with opportunities for young artists to explore painting, sculpture, and drawing through weekly lessons. Adults are also finding creative space here, with intensives and drop-in classes designed to make art accessible at every stage of life. We are also welcoming partnerships that expand the boundaries of art. A reception in Brookline is bringing together visual art, design, and fashion, including a showcase of Modista 31 and a conversation with one of our featured artists, Amalia Tagaris . These gatherings highlight the ways in which creative expression connects across disciplines, and how community art spaces can become centers of dialogue and inspiration. As the second anniversary of our Coolidge Corner venue approaches, the reflections of the past few years are grounding. What started with a single table in the rain has grown into a space where children, teens, and adults alike come together through art. The journey shows how creativity, when nurtured in community, can take root and flourish.

Lately, I’ve been writing about the ways creativity can help us navigate change. It’s not about having the answers all at once—it’s about giving ourselves space to pause, listen, and uncover what’s already within us. This past Sunday, I witnessed that process unfold in real time. A group of women gathered for my first Creative Spark Lab, a transformational creativity workshop designed as a day-long reset for stress relief, mindfulness, and personal growth. The reflections that came afterward still give me chills. One participant shared: “Sunday was truly special. It felt grounding and thought-provoking, giving me space to grow and get to know myself more. After not touching a paintbrush for 30 years, I was surprised by my results and inspired to keep art in my routine. Sharing the experience with my kids made it even more meaningful.” Another wrote: “I didn’t walk away with all the answers, but I took major steps forward—and the momentum carried into the next day.” And another: “I thought it would be a long day, but instead it was the most relaxing, non-stressful day I’ve had in years. I left renewed and energized.” That’s exactly why I created this creative reset day. Not to offer escape, but to offer evolution through art and mindfulness practices. A space where breathwork, gentle movement, and creative expression come together to support both mental health and emotional well-being. We’re so used to rushing through life, looking for quick fixes, and shaming ourselves when the big picture doesn’t appear instantly. The truth is, personal transformation rarely comes in one dramatic moment. It comes in layers—through reflection, through play, through making space for what’s next. Creative Spark Lab is about creating that space. It’s about stepping out of routine, picking up creative tools you may not have touched in decades, and experiencing the healing power of artmaking. It’s about discovering that even one day of intentional creativity and mindfulness can shift the way you move through the next. As one participant summed it up: “You have a lovely way of making us all feel included and supported.” I couldn’t ask for better words to describe what I hope this transformational art experience will continue to be. Not an escape — an evolution. From spark to momentum in just one day.

Miyajima I’ve just returned from Japan, and the experience left me both grounded and inspired. One of the most striking elements of my journey was encountering torii  gates—those iconic red gateways that mark sacred spaces. Whether rising dramatically in the midst of a bustling city or standing quietly in a rural forest path, these gates in Shinto belief represent a transition between the human and the divine. Shinto, an ancient Japanese religion, teaches deep respect for nature and forest spirits. These spirits, known as kami , are honored in everyday rituals, and their presence is felt in the trees, the wind, the mountains. As I stood before these gates, I felt a powerful shift—the boundary between the physical world and the spiritual one seemed to blur. The woods around me felt alive, as though unseen eyes were watching, inviting connection, asking for reverence. This deep reverence for the natural world brought me back to my time working with South American shamans. In their traditions too, honoring Mother Earth and all her beings is at the core of spiritual practice. Across cultures and continents, the message is clear: we are not separate from nature—we are part of it. And to truly see ourselves, we must slow down and listen. A Shinto monk once wrote, “Take a rest and find who you are.”  That line stayed with me throughout the trip. Watching locals bow to the gates, I was moved by the simplicity and power of that act—a moment of mindfulness and respect in the midst of daily life. This experience reminded me why outdoor painting—especially landscape art—is so essential to my own practice. When we paint in nature, we’re not just observing the world around us. We’re entering into a dialogue with it. Sitting still, tuning into birdsong, watching the light shift across leaves or water—these small moments of attention anchor us in the present. The longer you sit with the land, the more it reveals. Details emerge. Intuition awakens. Time expands. In our current moment—so full of noise, uncertainty, and overwhelm—these quiet rituals matter more than ever. Mindfulness through art isn’t a luxury; it’s a necessity. It’s a way to come back to yourself and reconnect with what truly matters. If you’re feeling pulled in too many directions, I invite you to step outside, bring a sketchbook or some paints, and just sit. You don’t need to “create a masterpiece.” You just need to show up. Let the landscape speak. You might be surprised by what you hear.

I just returned from a winter trip to Colombia, and it felt like the exact reset my soul needed. In a world that constantly pulls us toward stress and overconsumption, Colombia offered something different—a way of life that feels more intentional, more in sync with nature, and deeply rooted in preserving the future rather than chasing immediate profit. One of the most profound realizations from my time there was how seamlessly circular and conscious the culture is. The indigenous communities, who hold parliamentary seats and send their children to study law, actively shape policies that protect the land—restoring forests, reviving ecosystems, and even redirecting river flows to sustain biodiversity. Their knowledge runs deep; they understand the hidden functions of every plant and see through the eyes of the creatures that share their world. I was especially struck by one example: they close national parks when jaguars need space to hunt, allowing nature to regulate itself without human interference. Stepping away from my daily routine and witnessing these ancient yet forward-thinking practices reminded me of my true purpose: to capture the earth’s fragile beauty through art, to highlight the delicate balance we are meant to protect, and to awaken others to the urgent need for climate consciousness. Every choice we make affects more than just us—it ripples across ecosystems, touching every living being on this planet. And yet, here I am, able to slow down, to paint, to document the staggering biodiversity of a world that still thrives— if only we choose to nurture it.

"Art is essential to our humanity. It helps us understand ourselves and connect with others."  – Omar, recent adult art class participant. What do you prioritize in life? The answer shifts—day to day, season to season. But beneath it all, there’s a deeper need: to be seen, to be heard. More importantly, to truly listen to yourself. In a world filled with distractions, taking time for introspection is rare, yet it’s essential for growth and self-discovery. Too much of the world is black and white—statements made without nuance, words spoken without feeling. Art, however, invites us into the gray areas, the spaces where emotion and experience intertwine. Marina Korenfeld’s Imaginary Travels  Exhibit, opening March 12th, is an exploration of love, loss, and the pursuit of balance. Her exquisitely delicate etchings act as portals into personal reflection, offering a chance to pause and connect with emotions often left unexplored. Her work doesn’t just tell a story—it invites you to step into your own. Art is more than just observation; it’s an active dialogue between the artist, the viewer, and the world around us. Whether admiring an etching or getting hands-on with creative exploration, art has the power to ground us in the present and foster deeper self-awareness. This month’s workshops focus on that process of discovery—March 5th’s drop-in printmaking session offers a tactile, meditative experience, while the six-week Color Theory intensive unlocks the hidden language of color. For younger artists, spring semester and summer camp provide space to create, problem-solve, and grow. Creativity isn’t a luxury—it’s how we make sense of ourselves. In a world that often moves too fast, art reminds us to slow down and see things differently.

Last night, I attended a breathwork session with over 20 participants. Each of us came seeking relaxation, self-reflection, and a deeper connection with ourselves. But for me, the experience was anything but relaxing—it was difficult to focus inward when I could feel the energy and hear the vocalizations of everyone around me. Their journeys felt so present, it was hard to separate their emotions from my own. When I turned to the instructor for advice, he asked me a question that caught me off guard: “Are you a caretaker?” “Yes,” I admitted. “Of course,” he said. “As a mother, you’re subconsciously programmed to tune into others’ needs and prioritize them over your own. The real challenge here is learning how to acknowledge others without letting their energy take over.” That insight struck me deeply. But as I reflected on it, I realized this isn’t just a caretaker’s struggle. We’re all conditioned—by society, family, and culture—to seek external validation, to prioritize the expectations and needs of others. It’s ingrained in us to please, to prove our worth, to measure our value through others’ eyes. The harder task is learning to sit with ourselves, to create space for our emotions without distraction. It’s scary to make that space—a vacuum of sorts—because we don’t know what might fill it. What truths will surface if we’re truly honest with ourselves? Art as a Pathway to Self-Discovery This same challenge presents itself in the world of art. Observing art can stir emotions we didn’t know were there, touching parts of us that words can’t reach. But creating art goes even further. It forces us to confront hidden dilemmas and navigate uncharted emotional territory. Art-making allows us to solve problems we didn’t know existed, building connections and solutions within new, unexpected boundaries. Art isn’t just about creating beauty—it’s about uncovering truths, finding healing, and expanding our understanding of ourselves and the world. Opportunities to Step Inward If you’re ready to explore this journey for yourself, we’ve got plenty of opportunities to step out of your comfort zone and into a creative space of self-discovery. Whether it’s through a class, workshop, or guided art experience, you’ll have the chance to turn inward and find what’s waiting to emerge. Check out our upcoming events and let’s embark on this journey together. Sometimes, the hardest work is the most rewarding.