That may be a weird confession but being a weirdo is a superpower.

I love the feeling of putting my arms around an organism that has survived a lifetime and will probably last another lifetime – living long after I am gone.

Hugging past, present and future.

It’s a living, breathing thing that helps me to pause and feel in the moment.

I swear I feel my breathing slowing down whenever my arms surround a tree. The fact that I cannot fully encircle it, reminds me how physically bigger the tree is and also how much bigger life is and how I am just a small part of it.

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I am connected to the trees and them to me within a larger ecosystem. There is no separation between us and nature and when my arms are around a tree, I know that for sure.

Being that close, I clearly see and feel the tree’s texture.

If you have ever seen my work, you will know that I love texture. I am observing the texture of a living thing. The trunk’s cragginess, the tendency to peel, the jagged edges, what’s under the fractures. It’s data gathering that I hope will lead to more creative ideas.

What patterns repeats? What shows obscure depth? Where do shadows and light fall? How can these organic lines inspire more abstraction?

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Some things are not apparent at first glance, but closeness can help us to see more.

You are holding a lot when you hug a tree.

You are holding life.

You are holding breath.

You are holding growth.

You are holding memory.

You are holding durability.

When I hug a tree, I imagine some of that resiliency seeping from the tree and into me.

Can I withstand the test of time? Or whatever life throws my way?

Hugging a tree answers me yes.

It has survived wind, rain, sun, snow, sleet, passing years and still stands firmly, beautifully rooted in its place.

When you hug a person, you feel their essence. You may also get a whiff of their perfume. It’s not different with trees. Each tree has its own distinct essence and odour. You may not appreciate all of them. I love trees that have an earthy, woody smell. Cedar has that sweet smell. Up close and personal I am reminded of the earth and how it facilitates all things.

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Trees smell and feel like expansion and ageless grace.

They grow slowly over time. There is no comparison or competition with other trees. A cedar will never be a pine and doesn’t try to be. Their well-being is dependent on their own growth pace.

Some years the elements are harsh, sometimes not so much. But the trees just rock with all elements knowing that they will get through the difficult seasons. We too have challenging circumstances, but we rise above them and bloom.

Growth is enduring. A young tree produces new leaves. So does an old one. That tells you that age does not define or determine value. You are alive, anything and everything is possible.

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Get close, hug a tree.

Because what you are getting close to is perspective.

How big life can be.

How growth happens over time.

How generosity to others is key.

Like trees, our greatest strength is not our status, or what lofty heights we reach, but how we help others.

Are we places of shelter – refuge from life’s elements?

Do we provide oxygen to others - by motivating and inspiring?

Are we sources of patterns that others want to recreate?

Hug a tree, be a tree.

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Follow Keen Kreations Studio for more reflection on art, growth and seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary.

- Sheryl

That’s what we are continuously told.

And it is.

But growth is often difficult. You must give up something to get something. And generally, what you must give up is comfort and certainty in the hopes of deferred, incremental improvements.

When you give up what you know, you feel like a fish out of water. Things feel hazy.

Where am I?

What am I doing?

Where am I going?

When will I get to stable ground?

This is what Purple Haze is about. The lack of clarity, the unclear state of mind.

Because growth is not linear, it’s even more challenging. You can feel like you have taken a step forward and then two steps back. Worst, at times you feel stagnated like nothing is happening.

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How is this growth if it feels like I can’t see my way?

Walking in this suspended, hazy liminality between somewhere and nowhere, you question yourself.

Who am I in this no man’s land?

There is no easy answer.

You are unsettled, uncertain.

You are changing, but into what?

Your beliefs are morphing, remixing but the final product is not there yet.

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And you are making mistakes within the mental fog. How could you not? You are occupying territory that you have not been in before. Unfamiliar territory is bound to give unfamiliar results. Sometimes you navigate the haze well – one foot in front of the other, your hand out feeling like a blind person. Sometimes you do not – you bump into an obstacle that your hand did not feel out. The mistakes further beg the question, who am I? Your identity is up in the air.

But you are not your mistakes. Mistakes are a part of the process. But they frustrate you.

Isn’t it safer not to change? Not to grow? Would it be so terrible if I stayed the same?

This growth thing demands time, attention and effort when it would be easier to glide through on the autopilot of:

Familiarity

Routines

Present habits

Tried-and-true ideas

The haze is unsettling. Walking through fog, not being able to see what’s in front of you is not fun.

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I remember when I first started sharing my work in exhibitions, art fairs and online. Self consciousness and discomfort at being exposed would envelope me. I was torn between visibility and obscurity. What would the critics say? Would people like my art? Will they understand it? I pushed through and now I don’t give showing my work much thought. That took effort and it took growing into my own skin.

At some point the haze clears. Haze cannot last forever. It does not happen at one go, the clearing happens slowly, the haze becomes thinner and thinner.

We inch our way forward. The shapes that were blurry become sharper. We are not as disoriented. We see the fledgling branches of our growing and becoming.

The things that once felt difficult begin to feel easier.

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This doesn’t mean we are clear on everything but our ability to navigate is more confident.

The challenges, the mistakes, the uncertainty, the fears that filled us with dread now signal our expansion.

Have you ever been in that purple haze? What did it feel like and when did it begin to clear?

Follow Keen Kreations Studio for reflections on art, growth, and the courage to transform.

- Sheryl

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She told me she loves to see other people looking at and discussing my work. She gets the opportunity to jump in and say I know the artist.

Although she doesn’t come to many shows anymore, I appreciate everyone that she has ever been to. Artists need their work to be seen and supported.

She turns 80 in August so it’s going to be a big birthday bash.

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A while ago, she asked me to do a commission. Most of the commissions I have had starts out the same way. Someone sees an existing piece. It sparks something within them. But they want different dimensions, or different colour combinations – a slight deviation.

In this case, my neighbour wanted something that would fit over her settee. The original colour was fine with her.

My original intention with the piece was to explore the idea of opportunities and the spaces through which they appear.

Sometimes there seems to be only a glimpse of opportunity. It doesn’t appear that there is a lot of room to go through. But looks can be deceiving. Opportunities can be about perspectives. They don’t always appear as a way, especially if you are on the outside looking in.

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Other times the space seems wide open before you. Opportunity knocks loudly asking you to act. But we get to evaluate and choose which ones we pursue.

Is this a door for just looking in?

Is this a door for pausing?

Is this a door for walking in?

Some openings are meant to expand our point of view; others are bona fide summons - you must walk in.

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Whether they appear as slight fissures or big gaps, seeing them is about noticing, evaluating and deciding if this is something you need to act on or pass.

Not every opportunity is for us to take so you must let some go knowing that the ones that are right for you will come. “When one door is closed, many more will open.”

I titled the piece Windows and Doors.

The title came straight from the original concept for the piece.

It feels fitting – although for a slightly different reason. My neighbour is both a window and a door. She provides a window for others to see my work – if even a glimpse. When she takes people to see exhibitions I am in, she tells them bits about me, and this allows them to have new perspectives on the work.

The view she provides allow them to see beyond what’s in front of them. She helps people to see me. She opens the door. Someone bought art from me because she talked about me.

She makes simultaneously shining a light through the window and holding the door open looks easy.

She allows them to enter a shared experience. She makes them aware that my work exists and she gives them access and connections.

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My art also becomes a window and a door where people come to experience something – could be a glimpse, could be a full walk through.

You probably have someone like this – I hope that you do.

The friend who says good things about you in rooms of opportunity even when you are not around.

A mentor who encourages you and helps you see avenues to take.

A relative or family friend who makes an important call for you to someone they know.

I have people in my life who are always on the lookout for art opportunities for me. They’ll send me call for art submissions to see if I am interested.

It’s about relationships.

Who has been a window or a door for you?

And who have you been a window or a door for?

Life’s doors revolve like cycles.

You may need a door.

And someone may need you to be one.

Follow Keen Kreations Studio for more on art that gives new ways of seeing.

- Sheryl

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Continue reading from the archives

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One is natural and the other is contrived.

I use both words interchangeably since your face can be a mask and a mask can become your face. The line between them can become obscured.

Where do you end and where does the mask begin?

The first thing we see when we meet each other is a face. How that face is presented to us depends on how the person is feeling. You may see a happy face, a sad face or an angry face. Most people put their best face forward. If they are having unpleasant feelings, they’ll put the mask on, the face that is just a presentation to the world.

It’s an intentional action – to put the mask on, it serves a purpose – it protects you and helps you meet the expectations of the day.

Until it doesn’t.

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It’s a survival mechanism that we all use. We don’t necessarily want everyone in the world to know how we are feeling. Sometimes we don’t even want people close to us to know.

But how effective is it to wear the mask? Sometimes it is very effective, and feelings are well disguised. Sometimes it is not successful and our true feelings come piercing through the armour - a momentary flash of weakness or just a vibe that something is not quite right.

People can sense the mask, feel the performance. According to Marley in his song Get Up, Stand Up, “you fool some people sometimes, but you can’t fool all the people all the time.”

Chances are you are feeling the pressure of your performance as well.

The misalignment between your inner and outer landscape.

The disconnect between your true self and the actor.

And you feel tired and drained. Constant performance is all consuming.

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We wear our faces as masks to hide our true feelings. We wear masks to hide our true selves like at Halloween and costume parties. I often wonder what is going on behind the exterior presented. What do we fear so much that keeps the mask on?

Are people dealing with “holes in their heads”? They have hurts, fears, unresolved issues that’s buried in their minds. And it feels like these have created gaps where their sense of peace and well being seep through.

Or are they feeling “off kilter?” Finding no balance between who they are and who they are pretending to be.

Are they exhibiting the “mask of sunshine?” The presentation is bright and cheerful but it’s dark and rainy under the mask?

We are chameleons, changing to suit our environment. Like the lizards I grew up with that can camouflage to the colours of trees and the general surroundings.

I disliked those bright green lizards that could turn brown at the slightest movement they sensed.

Not all masks are bad. We all perform sometimes.

I have had to speak at art exhibitions, and I felt vulnerable, self-conscious but the mask of confidence I wore got me through. That’s a useful mask. No one wants to listen to “ers” and “ums.” That mask saved the audience from pain.

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Sometimes the mask helps you to become the thing that you are pretending to be in a good way. Feign confidence and over time, without realizing when it happened, you are more confident.

But the reverse can also happen.

Wear the mask of always trying to please. You become a people pleaser.

Wear the mask of looking successful. You are constantly spinning, trying to keep up with the Joneses.

Wear the mask of the comedian. You are always trying to protect yourself with jokes because you don’t want to deal with vulnerability.

And that’s the thing, when do you put it on; when do you take it off?

When you put it on, how long do you wear it?

We must find the answers.

Or we run the risk of overriding our authentic selves – and that’s the person people want to meet. They want to see us with our guard down, see our vulnerabilities, our pain.

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We are not going to show these to every person in the streets. But genuine connections are built on reaching each other with our true selves.

Which of your masks are you taking off right now?

Follow Keen Kreations Studio for more reflections on growth, transformation and becoming.

- Sheryl

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When I am creating work, standing over it every day, being so close, I can miss some of the fine print. Even in the studio, I will stand at a distance from the artwork to see how it’s progressing, and what else is needed. I will also walk away from it and come back hoping my eyes are fresh enough to see something new.

Imagine not seeing the art for years and then seeing it again with new eyes. There is familiarity but there is a strangeness as well – like seeing a person you have known for a long time but haven’t seen in a while. You notice new things about their face. They always had a square jaw but now the squareness is sharper because of time and space.

It’s almost as if you become a part of the audience and not the creator. There is a newness about the work.

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When I did the piece, With Child, I was simply painting a woman who was pregnant. But seeing this work again recently, made me think differently. I saw a person carrying all their creative ideas and trying to tend to all the different realms of possibilities that lay within them. We all carry the same thing within – potential. I see new meanings sometimes. Perhaps they were always there but did not fully surface. Or maybe I just came back to the artwork with new ideas and perspectives.

One of the things I have come to know about the artworks I create is that they know things before I do. There is a deep knowing that the work has that you only see later. Nothing is random. I have looked back on much of my work and realized that it was letting me know some things, but you can’t see something until you are ready to notice.

In addition to the possibility of new interpretations, I see the progression and growth in my work.

The place I was, and the place I am now.

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I see the shift in style – a move from representational to something more abstract.

I see things I may have loved at the time but now, not so much. Sometimes it’s the opposite. I see an artwork I may not have loved a lot but now see a new beauty in it.

Would I make the same choices now as I did then?

At other times, when I see one of my older works, the thing I was trying to say doesn’t change but feels heightened. Like this work, Serenity. Peace was the point. It still is, but the emotional layers feel a little deeper. I have the opportunity to see this piece from time to time, and the feeling of serenity has intensified, resonating even more powerfully. It’s the same meaning experienced more fully.

Older artworks are former versions of me. They capture a part of who I was, and what my intention and thinking were at the time.

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Taking in an old artwork is a dialogue between this self and my old self. It’s like meeting an old, long-lost friend – you are interested in how they have been, you want to see if anything has changed. But in this case, they have not changed. They are the same as they have always been.

Same lines.

Same shapes.

Same spaces.

Same texture.

Same colours.

It is me who has evolved.

With new eyes, new ideas and more openness to see what is already there, what the work was trying to tell me all along.

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There’s a similarity with life here.

Conversations between my past and my present reveal some changes but I also discover that some thoughts have remained the same. Some of the questions, beliefs, and hopes I carried then are the same ones I carry now. There is comfort in that.

Sometimes growth is not about changing what we believed in the past. Sometimes it’s about seeing the same thing clearer.

Follow Keen Kreations Studio for more reflections on art, memory, and the stories our work tell over time.

- Sheryl

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Sometimes it’s not the kind of emotion that you want to feel. It’s your shadow emotions. The ones you were taught to hide or tone down. But they are a part of you, and you need to face whatever music it is that is playing beneath the surface that is making you upset, angry, fearful, uncomfortable.

And you put your best face forward.

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I created Off-Kilter when someone I knew told me that a relative, they had unresolved issues with was coming to their home to visit for a short time. The impending visit brought back feelings that she did not want to feel. I felt the anxiety and the discomfort in the conversation. These big emotions took up a lot of space and felt palpable. And I remember thinking if the coming visit induced such anxiety, what would the actual visit be like.

I am sure you have all had similar experiences at some point. The Thanksgiving dinner or the Christmas dinner you dreaded because your narcissistic uncle was going to be there, your critical aunt ready to pick you apart, relatives who violate your boundaries or pressure you into uncomfortable conversations. Family members determined to bring up political conflicts and conversations that you would rather not get into.

You are going to walk into a room, your body filled with tension when you should be excited and thankful, for family, friends and food.

Whatever the situation, you will feel off kilter.

Your mental space is imbalanced.

Because your thoughts, emotions, and discomfort have taken over, and feel bigger than you want them to be, and you the vessel, feel smaller than those thoughts and emotions. Your perception is distorted. Your state of mind is shot.

Your rational self talks to your irrational self. Rationally, you say, this will pass, the other self is asking when. This internal conflict with yourself is ongoing.

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You go to the Thanksgiving dinner, and you put the face on; the one you hope will get you through the evening. But you feel the compartmentalization of yourself. The one you have pushed down, trying not to say anything that will rock the boat; and the one that wants to absolutely capsize the boat.

Maybe next time you do not host the person at your home.

Maybe you do not go to the Christmas dinner.

Maybe you host the person, go to the dinner, speak your truth, and let the chips fall where they may.

Fight or flight.

We can learn from these experiences. The version of you that gets suppressed may need to be expressed.

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In the end, my friend said the visit was not overly unpleasant. It just had a tension that simmered beneath the surface.

Avoidance is a mask.

She felt what she felt, and how she interacted was within her control. She didn’t want the discomfort to consume all her energy. And she chose not to feed it. From experience and countless conversations, she knew that nothing was likely to get resolved. Moreover, she did not want to create a fire in her own space, that she could not put out.

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Not everything needs to be said in the moment. Wisdom comes from knowing when to speak and when to hold back.

Have you had a situation like this where you felt off kilter?

Was it about something that happened in the past? Or something that remained unsaid?

Follow Keen Kreations Studio for more on art, emotion, and seeing life through the lens of art.

- Sheryl

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We wandered around looking at kayaks, trekking poles, camping gear, multi tools and a whole host of other things. We didn’t have anything specific in mind to buy but everything we saw suggested possibilities of future adventure and fun. We didn’t need anything, but it was just nice to browse a place that suggested that exploration and discovery were just around the corner.

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When I came upon the wooden paddles, I knew that I was going to use them for art. This was a chance for me to step away from the canvas for a bit and use these water instruments for something else.

A paddle helps you get where you are going, one stroke at a time.

The stream may be gentle, or it may be rough, but you have a say in the direction.

But it requires action. It requires you to row, or you drift off course. That is the identity of the paddle. Can a paddle become a different version of itself?

For that to happen, we must change its function, its environment, and the narrative.

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As I was looking at the paddles, someone who worked in the store said, these are great paddles, made from durable wood. They perform really well.”

I smiled, knowing that I was about to change that description, not entirely, but mostly. I was already at the place in my head, where I moved from the present thing to the potential. The store clerk was talking about the current form, I was thinking about it’s future. It would still be a wooden paddle but it’s meaning would be different. The traces of its former self would be embedded in its becoming.

The paddles would have a different story. They would become works of art.

Are we all a little like these paddles?

We think we have one purpose, one identity, one course, until life points us to another. We find a new passion; an opportunity comes from left field; we come upon an obstacle that demands that we take a leap. We change course to meet the unexpected voyage.

We are not confined to a single purpose. We are allowed to change, grow, expand and become. We act, one day at a time – propel forward, one stroke after another. Life has its ups and downs, the water may be calm, or it may be stormy, but the vessel moves forward, we row. We step into a new experience.

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In the transformed life of the paddle, we are not navigating water anymore. We are making art that may help an art lover ponder their own navigation of life. May make them think about their own becoming.

Our worth is not attached to a single position or period.

A finale can become a starting point.

Our possibilities are endless.

A re-purposed life can be a beautiful thing.

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Follow Keen Kreations Studio for thoughtful reflections on art, growth, and transformation that leads to unexpected places.

- Sheryl

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That made me think about how people identify themselves by their element or by their astrological sign.

But what does it mean really – this identification with fire, air, water, or earth? My friend was trying to tell me about her personality, characteristics, the way she views the world, and the way she wants to show up in it. How she carries herself. Her emotions.

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Nobody is one thing. We may have a main element, but we carry some of the other three as well. But what exactly are we carrying? We are all vessels walking around with internal goods. Our interior world is always constructing something. Sometimes it comes through to the outer world, and we all get to see it. At other times, it’s just with you.

It’s always good to reflect on what we hold. Not just that you are air or water, but what you are channeling that element toward.

What are your beliefs, your fears, your values, your dreams? Your internal state largely becomes your external state. The world others experience from us, is often an expression of our internal landscape. The contents transform the vessel, and the vessel transforms the contents.

I am an artist. I am always building worlds in my mind – places created by memory, experiences, imagination, and curiosity. That’s one of the things I carry. But what exactly am I doing with all that world building? I am bringing pieces of those interior worlds into the light, hoping my art may inspire, create connection, reveal new possibilities, or stir up something familiar in another person.

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We are not creating interior worlds or filling the vessel just to carry the contents around. We need to actively dispense the good stuff out into the world. If a jug is filled with water, it’s not for the sake of filling the container. Its contents are for drinking, watering, cooking, nourishing.

Your contents have value and can be channeled towards a purpose.

What do you contain and what is it for?

Everyday we cultivate what we contain. How we think, what we entertain, what we read, what we do with our emotions. We feed the world within. We transform the things we carry, we create new ones and we influence what gets passed on.

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I hope the world that you are building inside is spectacular. That it is filled with all the things that can create change, inspire, heal, guide. And that you will actively sprinkle it into the world like confetti.

Follow Keen Kreations for more journeys into creativity, connection, and the rich, unseen worlds within us.

- Sheryl

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But I am also deeply aware that being comfortable means remaining where you are. I challenge myself to step outside my comfort zone from time to time. Sometimes in small ways and at other times in big ways.

Art is the perfect place to take risks, to get less comfortable, to try something new. It’s one of the places that I am always experimenting, and I feel that my work is better for it. If the experiment doesn’t work, painting over it, or adding new material to it, just adds another layer, more depth.

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I work with themes that speak to me. These include change, growth and transformation, nature, internal landscapes, women, and vessels.

One day a family friend came by the house, and he saw a piece that he admired.

He loved the execution of it and said it reminded him of basketball. Basketball was the farthest thing from my mind when I created it, but I saw what he meant. Head full of Petals is the image of a woman with a rose as her head meant to signify dreams and growth. It’s always fascinating to hear what someone else sees in the work I create.

And so, he commissioned me to do a piece like it, but of a basket baller. Sports art is not what I usually do but I was not going to say no. I let him know that the piece would be created in my semi-abstract style.

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Remember when the Toronto Raptors won the championship in 2019? The city came alive. The victory parade was massive. I stood at King and University in downtown Toronto and witnessed history. To be fair, that’s where I worked at the time. I honestly don’t think any work got done that day. We came into the office expecting and waiting on the parade. When it came into our line of sight, everyone poured out onto the sidewalks and the streets. Some people left with the parade and those who went back to the office were just waiting out the rest of the day.

My friend gave me free rein to do as I pleased. It would be an image of a Raptors basketball player. I filled in the rest – the jersey number, the dinosaur on the ball, the 2019 champs on the logo, and I couldn’t leave my theme of growth alone, so I tattooed it on the hands.

Number 2 was not random. The team played well and Kawhi Leonard came through big time.

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One of the most challenging part of doing this piece was making the word “Raptors” fit nicely, evenly on the jersey. I also decided not to make the usual mixed media, but to do a collage instead so there was a lot of precise cutting involved.

I have observed myself doing something different and it rearranges your brain to meet the new challenge. I noticed more. Creativity is limitless but I was aware that sports figures were not the usual for me. My themes are more contemplative; sports art is more about action and movement.

A large part of me was confident that I could do this. But another part was questioning if my style was going to give this figure life. Was I going to give this baller the energy that he deserves?

Uncertainty was lurking like the stalker that it is.

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But doing something new was also electric. And in the end, I thought my semi-abstract style could bring something unexpected to the piece.

Seeing differently, facing uncertainty, and having patience go hand in hand with art but they go hand in hand with all aspects of life. We take chances. We grow. We expand.

What have you tried that took you away from your comfort zone?

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- Sheryl

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I am interested in making something that shifts the familiar into something less expected.

The experimental element makes the work a little different, offbeat, and does not fit neatly within the mainstream.

There have been times when I wished my work was less avant-garde. It would make things easier - easier to place, easier to categorize, easier to explain.

Nail it down.

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Like music, it’s not pop, not rock, not reggae. Maybe alternative, but that also feels incomplete.

Alternative is where genre defying music lives. The sound, the vibe, the texture of it can be difficult to describe. My mixed media work feels a little like that.

For a long time, I tried to explain it in practical terms. I would say I make art using modeling paste and non-traditional material. Or that I make art that comes off the canvas.

None of it quite captured what I wanted to say. I was too close to the process.

As it turned out, the words I was searching for was simple.

The thing that I sometimes resist – the avant-garde nature of the work - is the same thing that attracts.

People are genuinely curious about the work. They lean closer. They want to touch it because it is tactile, physical, textured.

Texture has always been my favourite element of art. Maybe because it makes a piece feels less distant and less flat. Like something that comes alive in your presence and your space.

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The people who connect with the work tend to spend a long time looking. They look straight on, from the sides, from below and above, trying to understand what they are seeing. Some instinctively reach out a hand to touch.

I find this gratifying.

I want the work to create a sensory experience that draws people in, visually and physically. Texture invites intimacy. It wants to be felt.

It was during one of those moments, standing in a 10x10 booth at an art fair, when people moved slowly from piece to piece, that someone spoke the words I was searching for.

She stood there observing the work for a while before saying it out loud.

“Interesting,” she said, “you create sculptural images on canvas.”

There it was.

Simple.

Beautiful.

Translated.

I knew instantly that it was right.

How did I miss this simple description.

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I understand my work and am decent with words. But because the work was three-dimensional, layered, experimental, my ordinary, descriptive language was flattening it.

My words explained but did not embody.

They described a process but not the experience of standing in front of the work itself.

That time in the booth was a moment when language and perception met.

The art lover saw the essential character of the work and translated it from direct encounter. “Sculptural image on canvas” captured what the art looked like, how it was made and what it was.

Her recognition was instant. Her description sounded inevitable as if the work was waiting on her to say the words.

The right words emerged when someone else reflected the essence of what I already knew but did not fully articulate.

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Sometimes we stand too close, too deep in what we do that we can’t find the right words.

Another person with fresh eyes comes along with the right language and names the thing without effort.

It made me think that often we need distance, reflection, and maybe another pair of eyes to help us see.

Has anyone ever described you, your work or your life in a way that felt truer than the words you had for yourself?

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- Sheryl

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I called it “Waiting for You” because the bird seemed quietly expectant, as if waiting for something.

At different points in life, we are all waiting on something or someone – clarity, love, courage, a better version of ourselves to come through. Whatever you are waiting for, you are changing as you wait.

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Waiting is a teacher if you can identify the lessons. Waiting can enhance your patience, make you more faithful to what you see in your mind’s eye, it can move you from restlessness to stillness.

Like you, I have experienced waiting in all kinds of ways. Creating art is one of them.

Waiting on the right light to fall inside the studio. The kind of light that makes adding details much clearer. Waiting on an idea that I have, to flesh itself out. Waiting on the work to reveal what it wants to show. Waiting on paint to dry because I am excited about a layer of paint I want to place over another. How will this layer interact with that layer? Waiting to see who connects with the work and where it will take up space.

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Unless you are working on a commission, you rarely know where the art will eventually reside. You are creating for someone, somewhere, that you do not yet know. But you are proceeding in faith.

There may be no visible signs, no immediate results, no certainty. All you have is time patience, and the belief that what you are creating is already making its way to the person who is meant to host it.

You are expectant, believing that something will happen, so you wait even in the quiet of the delays. The bird is perched alone and still – an observer of its surroundings or even of itself.

Despite the term “bird brain”, birds are intelligent creatures with great communications and problem-solving skills. I have observed birds building an entire nest and it’s fascinating to watch. Sometimes I imagine they may also be capable of self reflection – sitting still long enough to sense subtle shifts.

What kinds of shifts?

For the bird, it may be knowing when to take flight. Knowing when to join the others. Sensing that the eggs in the nest are about to crack open. Sensing a change in the air, knowing the weather is about to turn. Knowing how to find its way back after flying thousands of miles.

For us, there are a whole host of things that could be shifting, or that need to shift. And usually, the shift is related to versions of us that have stayed perched inside old ideas, old fears, and old habits.

Waiting has another side to it.

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Waiting to feel ready before beginning a project. Waiting for courage before taking action. Waiting for permission from gatekeepers. Waiting for certainty in a world filled with uncertainty. Waiting for external validation to confirm what your internal shift is already telling you. Waiting for visibility while hiding your gifts. Waiting for conversations and apologies that may or may not happen, waiting on beginnings, waiting on endings.

Waiting, waiting, but never beginning.

This is the other side of waiting, the kind that keeps you stuck. Birds wait within the flow of life, but we sometimes wait against its rhythms. We ignore what our internal compass is telling us.

Waiting can be preparation – a quiet intelligence that recognizes and responds when the moment arrives.

But waiting can also become a trap.

It all depends on what you are waiting for, and how you choose to wait.

Don’t fall into the trap.

What are you quietly waiting for?

Follow Keen Kreations Studio for more reflections on art, creativity, personal growth, and the quiet shifts that shape who we become.

- Sheryl

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There is a world outside us that we can all see, experience, and participate in together. But perhaps the most interesting world lies within each of us. It is a mystery to others because only the individual truly knows this world. No one else can fully enter. It is our own intimate landscape; a place where we retreat to think, question, imagine, heal, and search for answers to life’s most important questions.

Each internal world is different. Beneath every face is a private universe shaped by memories, imagination, dreams, fears, desire, culture, loss, hope, experience, and countless invisible influences. It is a place hidden from the outside world, known intimately only by the individual who lives there.

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It is where we go to find answers that we cannot find externally. Who am I? What do I fear? What do I desire? What kind of life do I want to create? What is the meaning of life? While the outside world constantly demands our attention, the internal world quietly regulates how we interpret everything around us.

Because it is our own world, we can construct it in any way that we choose. We are at the centre of this world, and we are its main character. The kind of internal world we create depends on how willing we are to rearrange what already exists within us. Some things are innate; we were born that way. But much of who we become is molded by construction, reflection, questioning, and change.

Rearranging the internal self requires pushing back on limitations, especially the ones we have accepted as constant. The expansion of our boundaries depends on our imagination. We are conditioned by our fears, failures, comfort, and successes. Over time our patterns begin to feel like this is who I am. But is this true?

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What is our limit? How far are we willing to go? If our world is limited on the inside, chances are, it is limited on the outside as well. If we are comfortable with what we perceive to be our innate abilities and do not challenge these abilities, how do we know for sure if there isn’t more to who we are?

I do not know anything for sure, but I do think it is this questioning of what is going on internally that will lead to an expansion of who we are. The moment we begin to examine ourselves honestly, we create the possibility for growth. We are multi-faceted people who can be one thing today, and something else tomorrow.

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There are many worlds that we will never explore, our own self should not be one of them.

In this exploration, we find answers. We build upon what already exists within us and slowly expand the kind of internal world that we see, dream of, and desire. We build the world that is in our mind’s eye and eventually the cultivation within shapes what we create externally.

If the internal world always finds a way to express itself outwardly, what is yours trying to say?

Follow Keen Kreations Studio for more reflections on the inner world and comment if art has ever helped you to understand yourself.

Sheryl

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After all, the word has a negative connotation. But maybe you really are a weirdo, and you do not care about connotations. That is a good thing. Because the reason you are called this is simple - you are different. You do not conform to other peoples’ ideas of who you should be. You don’t follow trends, you do you.

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Doing you goes against the grain. In a world that insists everyone fit in, imitate, and conform to standards set by others, you stand out like a sore thumb. How is it your problem that you will not be herded? Simple answer – it is not.

Still, you know what comes with it, their eyes, their mouths, the ridicule, the jeering, but most of all the envy. Because you have done something that they haven’t. You have chosen yourself. And whether they admit it or not, you remind them of the parts of themselves they have yet to embrace.

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Isn’t there a weirdo in each of us when we choose to be ourselves?

This is not a defect; it is your autograph.

If you move differently from the group, in the way that you think, speak, create, even dress, you are almost bound to have this label thrust upon you.

Sometimes it is said in jest. You love pineapple on your pizza? That’s weird. But even jokes hold grains of truth, this time about your otherness. Are we not all supposed to be individuals who have different taste; love different things and see the world from our unique perspectives?

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In the sphere of art, your weirdness is your superpower. It’s the reason people call your work compelling, original, provocative. So why don’t we extend that same energy to everyone else who does not conform? Why the discomfort with anything that goes against the grain?

Most artists also work outside of art. What happens when they bring their innovative, outlier selves to another space? They become misfits.

So then, being a weirdo depends on where you are. It is not fixed. It takes being in the right place to be understood. Every place has its own guidebook even if you can’t see it. In one space you may be the “weird”, quiet one. In another, you are simply thoughtful.

What’s interesting is, what we call “weird” today, may not be “weird” tomorrow. We all decide together as a group what the standard is. Over time, the standard changes and the person we mocked yesterday suddenly becomes a person ahead of the times.

If fingers are being pointed at you, take it as a sign that you are early to something others have not caught up to yet. But even more importantly, it can be a sign that you are living in alignment with yourself – without matching what is currently acceptable.

I know that being different brings discomfort. It can be uncomfortable for you the so-called weirdo, but this is mostly true for the group who has already agreed, implicitly or explicitly, on what the standard is.

How does the group maintain it’s identity, when a member does not conform? Why is this person bringing uncertainty and unpredictability into the established stability? Why are you the individual messing with the collective expectations?

And I hear this show up in the everyday questions people ask themselves, is it weird if I wear this with that? Is it weird if I am the only one who don’t go to the event? Is it weird if I make something no one else is making? If I prefer solitude? If I don’t laugh at jokes that everyone else seems to get? If I ask the question no one is asking? The list keeps going. But underneath the questions, is the tension, the pull between belonging to the group or belonging to yourself.

As someone who often feel like I am on the outside, I see this in two ways. Either you conform to the group and sacrifice parts of yourself. Or you be your weird self and find your tribe. The crowd can feel dominant, but don’t be fooled, there are more people like you out there, and they are also looking.

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It is challenging. We are social beings and sometimes we do conform. The group has weight and will pull you in. No one wants to be the oddball. But choices must be made.

It may be lonely for a while. You may not find your people immediately. This is when you are most vulnerable to the tentacles of the group. You keep asking why you’re waiting for people who may never arrive. Maybe the better question is, who are you when no one else is there - and will you fight to protect that version of you? Even if validation is no where to be found.

Which will you choose, comfort or authenticity - and why?

I will go with finding my tribe. Life is too short to be something that I am not.

One Hawaiian pizza please.

Follow Keen Kreations Studio for more thoughts on art, life, and the courage to be yourself. If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

- Sheryl

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In this audio I speak to one of the themes that continues to shape my practice - change, growth, and transformation.

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Sprouting was a part of that exhibition and is a part of a series of black and whit…

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I have always felt like texture is the glue that creates a tapestry connecting our lives, weaving and binding us together. Tactile art brings multi-dimensionality to a work that reflects life as it is – sometimes up, sometimes down, deep, shallow, sometimes dark, sometimes colorful, sometimes rough, sometimes smooth, and we could go on and on.

But the world has become a bit flat. It’s digital.

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And because of that, there’s a quiet pull back toward the analog. People want to feel present; they want to feel like they can reach out to touch something, to experience the tactility beneath their fingers.

And this is why collectors and art lovers are gravitating toward art they can feel, can touch, and make a mindful connection with.

People are weary of the flatness.

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They want a deep, living, breathing, work of art that offers realism and that they can feel equally alive with. They want their souls breached with something powerful and sensory that take them on an interesting journey. They want to be emotionally and intellectually engaged. While we don’t generally touch artworks, your sense of touch is still engaged when the artwork pulls you in and you imagine what it would feel like to touch the work.

Texture appeals to the senses, not just touch. It can convey specific emotions and mood and in turn, ask for a response from us to mirror that mood.

Is the surface rough and jagged and do you feel a sense of tumultuousness forming within you like boisterous waves dashing upon the rocks? Is the texture soft, gentle, creating a calm, meditative interior?

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Sometimes it’s both rough and smooth within the same canvas, pulling us in opposite directions or simply making a point of guiding our eyes to focus in on what the artist wants us to see.

Texture pulls us in, close.

And what is connection if you are not compelled to move closer to the subject of your captivation? You are completely pulled into an effortless intimacy, and you are completely present to go on the journey.

Art is a language and texture is its own dialect.

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Whether it whispers or shouts, bold or subtle, it has stories to tell – the story the artwork conveys and the story of the technique the artist used to make the artwork.

Art lovers are swept up in texture’s embrace right now because they want to feel, they want depth. Depth does not come from a flat surface; it comes from layers.

That is the beauty of texture.

It weaves.

It binds.

It excavates.

And it calls us to be more than spectators, it calls us to participate.

Follow Keen Kreations Studio for more work exploring texture, presence, and the pull back to what we can truly feel. And feel free to drop a comment.

- Sheryl

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We finally came out into a clearing - bright and full of light, so different from the dark, shaded parts of the woods. It opened onto a rocky shore stretching as far as we could see. No one in sight. No voices. Just two people, still lost, looking out to an endless lake.

In the distance, there was a single boat in the water.

My hike partner started waving toward the boat. I was looking at him as if he had two heads. Stop waving, we do not even know who is in it.

But desperate people clutch at straws, and he kept waving anyway.

In that moment, it felt like we had two options, stay lost or be rescued by pirates.

Yes, I have an active imagination. How often do you hear of pirates in Tobermory?

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They saw us and brought the boat in as close as they could to shore. Still, there was a wide gap between boat and land; they could only come so far. That meant we had to wade into icy water to reach them.

I can tell you, that water took my breath away. It wrapped its frosty arms around me, and I’d never felt so awake.

But the funny thing is, after a little while you got used to it. And all that you are left with is your breath, your body, and a feeling of electricity running through you.

Up close, the boat looked like a long, sleek creature. Welcoming hands reached out and pulled us from the water.

That’s when we learnt that the people on board were divers from Laval, Quebec. We were shivering as they handed us each a life jacket.

Most of the people seem to speak only French, but the man who appeared to be the captain also spoke English.

Artwork: Tree of Life, by Sheryl Keen

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The boat lingered on the water. After a while, divers began popping up from beneath the surface and climbing into the boat one by one. They looked like sea creatures - wet suits, googles, tanks, and all their gears.

As they came up, surprise flashed across their faces. Who were these two new people who hadn’t been there when they went under?

The word “perdu” was the only thing I recognized from all the French. I knew that it meant lost.

The captain told us that he would take us to the town of Tobermory and from there drive us to the Visitor Centre. The boat started up and cut through the water at speed.

We were still damp from wading and the cold, lake air came at us as sharp as a razor’s edge. There was no time to catch my breath, my eyes watered, my cheeks stung. The water split and foamed on either side of us, the engine murmured steadily, and as we raced to Tobermory I felt a deep, awareness of my existence. Sharp. Immediate. Real.

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They docked the boat in the town of Tobermory and as promised, the captain drove us to the Visitor Centre. We were so grateful to him.

At the centre, we roamed around and learnt more about the area until a park ranger came to get us and drove us back to the first information place where our car was parked.

He told us that people got lost on the trails all the time. Sometimes, he even received calls for people who were lost at 2:00 AM in the morning.

It made me think how lucky we were. The woods should be much safer in the daytime. There is better visibility, less uncertainty, and a much lower risk of meeting nighttime predators.

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Looking back, the entire experience feels symbolic of how art is made and of how we move through life.

Creation often depends on unexpected interconnections. I did not expect to be lost. I did not expect to be rescued by total strangers.

You don’t travel this world alone. Most of the time, making art can feel like solitude. But isolation is not the full picture.

You are carried by the stories of your family, your culture, a specific time, a place. And when the art reaches the audience, it can take on a life of its own – shaped by whoever encounters it.

In art and in life, your vulnerability is a moment to connect with others, to be seen, to be understood, to exchange communion.

Tobermory and Laval, Quebec are both part of my story now. Lost and found.

I was lost in the woods of Tobermory, and I remember it in vivid detail. But more than that, I remember how we were found - rescued by Quebecers who came and brought us back.

I’ve been to Laval, Quebec, and I always give it a quiet shout-out now, because it lives in that story with me.

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When I waded into that icy water, it was uncomfortable at first. I felt exposed, caught in a transition from land to water to boat. A shift from being lost to being saved.

In art, it begins in a similar way. There is no certainty at the start. It’s a journey where you travel from the unknown into something still developing – something that you are not sure of but where you are deeply present, aware in the process of making.

Life moves fast and does not ask me if I am comfortable. Art does not ask about your comfort either. Are you courageous enough to paint this picture? Can you carry this story without fear?

I wade through the water, clothes damp against my skin, a boat cutting forward through the current - moving with both momentum and vulnerability all at once.

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As creators, or simply as people moving through life, we are not always in control. Discomfort is not always something to resist, it can be a signal to go down a specific road. That direction may not be one we would have chosen, but one that we need to explore.

Life moves along whether you have caught your breath or still trying to.

Stay open to the unexpected, however it comes – cold, fast, hard and uninvited. You never know where the path will lead, who you’ll meet along the way, or how the experience may change you.

If this story of rescue and return stayed with you, subscribe for more reflections like this.

- Sheryl

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Before the hike, we had stopped at the information office to pick up a few brochures to get a sense of the area. Turns out, it was frequented by black bears. They told us the bears were usually on the smaller side, generally not more than 300 lbs. No comfort there - a 300 lb black bear is still bigger and badder than I was.

It was a beautiful day in early June. Still cool, but the sun was out. Avid outdoor types were about – hiking, hanging by the water, fully in their element.

Artwork: Outgrowth, by Sheryl Keen

We walked for a while, crossing paths with people, exchanging pleasantries - and then, somehow, we found ourselves completely alone. Just the two of us. No people. No voices. Only the sound of the woods settling in around us.

And then my mind turned on me. All I could think about were black bears and how they were going to eat me alive. Not just eat me but maul me to shreds.

Now, as I am writing this, I keep seeing Leonardo DiCaprio in The Revenant.

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My hike partner, lost with me, was much calmer. “Make some noise, he said, like a rockstar about to take the stage. “It will keep the bears away.”

I was too deep in my own head to listen. Supposedly, bears stayed away when they heard noise. They also said we should play dead if we encountered one. But who could actually do that, just lie there with a massive bear standing over you?

We kept walking, circling, second guessing everything. Hadn’t we just past this same spot? The trails were not clearly marked, which did not help. With every loop, I got more agitated. We were lost for maybe two hours – or maybe it just felt like that. Just two people in the woods, trying to find a way out.

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Eventually, I ran out of steam. I accepted that I was lost and no amount of irritation would change that. Not going to lie, I was still afraid. But it was so much easier – almost a relief - to let the bad mood go.

There’s something about holding on to frustration that made everything heavier, tighter and more tense. My decision didn’t change the experience but my ability to deal with it did.

My irritation had been blinding me. A mind consumed by fear cannot find its way – there is no clarity in it.

So, I adjusted.

I am lost. I will find my way out.

Try to enjoy the scenery even with the thought of bears sitting right in the front of your mind.

Eventually we came out into a clearing, a rocky shoreline. And to make a long story short, we were rescued by a group of divers on a boat.

This rescue is a story for another post – one that I’ve already written as a part two of this one.

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We later learnt that it was a common occurrence for people to get lost in the area.

Looking back on all that wandering - plodding around in the unknown - I realize that being lost in the woods is a lot like making art, just without the immediate threat of being physically attacked by a large animal.

There’s still the attack. Just internal. Doubts. Fears.

Mental beasts are just as dangerous.

Sometimes making art can feel like you have no idea where you are going. You started with a plan, with sketches, but the artwork is taking you elsewhere. It is foolish to resist. Fighting where art leads can still produce pleasing work. The art will still appeal to someone. But deep down you know you missed discovering something. Deep down you know you are avoiding that thing because you are vulnerable or you want to be in total control. Resistance provides information but only if we decide to see where the tension leads. I can tell you that it leads to a better artwork, one with more layers, more depth and more honesty.

Other times, it’s surprisingly clear where the process is taking you. Whatever you had in mind, plays out on the canvas beautifully. Sometimes you’ve made similar things so many times that your hands already know the way. But somehow, when I am led away from my intention into discovery everything feels more alive. More electrified.

In life, we are living between what is known and what is not. And along the way, there are many discoveries - especially when you come face to face with yourself.

You can either be subdued by fear, trapped by your own mind, or change your perspective.

My mind was a tangled, overgrown, maze of apprehension like the dark parts of the woods. But eventually, we found the clearing.

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The clearing is not the conclusion. The other half of the story is also posted. And that’s part of it – things don’t resolve neatly in the moment, meaning arrives in pieces, in layers, not all at once.

If this story of being lost - and what it teaches about finding your way - resonated, subscribe for more writing like this.

- Sheryl

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Today’s post is a little different.

It’s a short audio note inspired by my artwork Cover Me.

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Hopefully it can be a quiet space of reflection, as it was for me. In this recording, I explore seeking refuge, embracing softness, and simply allowing moments of calm to come into our spaces.

I want it to be a pause for us to feel, breathe, and just be.

Sometimes we need this gentle reminder.

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My piece is currently being exhibited at the Art Gallery of Burlington, where they’ll be hosting a poetry night celebrating all the featured works. I’m honored to have been invited to participate. I have also shared the audio recording of what I wrote for the event - reflections inspired by my piece and the broader theme of the exhibition.

Explore the exhibition on the Art Gallery of Burlington website.

The Art Gallery of Burlington Community Generator

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this audio note. If this resonates, consider stepping closer for more reflections like this by subscribing and leaving a comment to let me know your thoughts.

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Covered. Still Blooming.

This is the other audio note inspired by the theme of the exhibition Still Blooming: Emerging in Radiance, Rooted in Resilience and my artwork Cover Me.

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It is the note that I will be reading at the Art Gallery of Burlington on Thursday, April 23rd.

If you have listened to Someti…

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