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There are moments when the work slows just enough for reflection to surface, where making becomes listening. This Journal marks such a moment. Here, I am exploring the space between intention and discernment—how one propels and the other refines, how both depend on silence to translate thought into form. What begins as impulse may end
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There are a lot of photographers and traditional artists who don’t believe in generative processes. Which can guide our process to produce, experiment with relative ease, which helps humanize the work. Now with the generative abilities built in Adobe products (Harmonize was just released), why wouldn’t you try to learn these new digital tools, particularly
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Yesterday, I felt drawn back into my digital archive—over 14,000 images spanning decades of making and becoming. As I began curating and compositing, I realized many of these works weren’t incomplete; they were simply waiting. Waiting for the right context, the right emotional season, the right impression. Waiting for now. Works in progress often stir
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What do memory, destiny, and folded paper have in common? This series began with a question—one tucked inside the creases of hand-made childhood paper fortune tellers and unfolded through the recursive patterns of time, technology, and transformation. Through visual compositions and poetic reflections, I explore how we shape and are shaped—by algorithms, by ancestry, by
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I’ve been exploring what inner authority feels like now, at seventy-three — learning to let the many parts of me listen to one another instead of striving to lead. It’s the same balance I’m seeking in my art and writing, especially in my poem Tether of Knowing—how do we honor the edges and still find
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Uncharted. Understood. I’m always scouting—sometimes for direction, sometimes just to listen. The aftermath of chaos still hums in the air, carrying fragments of lessons not yet named. I don’t mind the uncertainty anymore; I’ve learned to trust the movement itself. There’s a rhythm in every cross-current thought, a pattern beneath the turbulence. When I pause
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She speaks with certainty:letters must march in their proper order,words must dress for inspection.A misstep is a sign of falling behind,of classrooms unattended,of something lost in the grammar of one’s life. I listen.I know the comfort of a clean sentence,the pride in a phrase that never trips on its own shoelaces.But I also know the
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There are no laurels for quiet repayment.No ceremonies for those who wrote checks instead of manifestos.No headlines for those who worked second jobs and turned down dreams. But they are there. The artists who couldn’t paint until the debt was gone.The caregivers who delayed their care.The teachers who stayed in their lane because the loan
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Parker&Creative 