Waiting, Making, and the Space In Between
A Journey on Canvas
What follows here grows out of waiting—not waiting as delay or frustration but waiting as attention. On Journey on Canvas, this way of being has become central to how I work and how I notice the world. I’ve come to understand waiting as a creative practice: a way of staying present rather than rushing ahead or retreating into what has already passed. In the space between Yesterday and Tomorrow, waiting becomes something active—shaped by noticing, listening, and making.
Much of what I share on this blog lives in that in-between space. As an art-maker, I have found a way to remain there without needing to resolve it. Art gives me a place to stand when movement forward or backward is not yet possible. Through monoprinting, collage, and assemblage, I can pause long enough to recognize where I’ve been, where I am, and what might be quietly forming next. The work does not rush me toward answers. Instead, it keeps me company while I wait, reinforcing my trust in waiting as a creative practice rather than a problem to solve.
This post, like many entries on Journey on Canvas, is not meant to be hurried through. It is an invitation to slow down and attend to what emerges as you look. The monoprints and images that appear throughout my work are shaped by reflection, memory, and quiet experimentation. They don’t explain themselves all at once. Like liminal spaces themselves, they ask for patience and openness.
Art-making has become my way of holding memory and change at the same time. Through it, I reflect backward to Yesterday, remain attentive to Today, and approach Tomorrow with curiosity rather than urgency. That same posture extends beyond my studio and into daily life. Waiting can take many forms. Some may find it through printmaking, as I have. Others may discover it through writing, photography, music, journaling, painting, or building something with their hands. The form matters less than the willingness to stay present—to see waiting as a creative practice that allows meaning to surface in its own time.
As you move through this blog—and through your own creative or reflective practices—I invite you to notice how you engage with what you see. Pay attention to what draws you in, what unsettles you, and what feels familiar. Allow the work to meet you where you are. Journey on Canvas is not meant to instruct or direct, but to accompany. It offers a place to linger, to notice, and to trust that meaning often reveals itself when we stop trying to force it. In this way, the work here does not lead—it walks alongside you.
