Most of my days unfold somewhere between the museum and the outdoors — between talking about art and walking with my dog, Artemis. Those walks, quiet and unhurried, are where most of my wondering begins.
I’ve spent much of my professional life teaching and thinking with art, asking what happens when we slow down enough to notice. The same impulse that draws me to a sculpture; curiosity, attention, a desire to understand, is what keeps me watching how light moves across leaves, how a plant leans toward the sun, how Artemis pauses to take in what I might have missed.
Living Composition grew out of that rhythm: the way curiosity connects everything. Some days I’m reflecting on teaching or a work of art that lingers in my mind. Other days, I’m writing about the quiet, daily acts that make a life — tending to plants, walking, listening, growing, caring.
This isn’t a tidy journal or a set of lessons. It’s more like a gathering of notes — fragments of a life arranged around aesthetics, labor, and love. A place to trace what happens when we keep looking, wondering, and noticing what unfolds.
Welcome to Living Composition, where museum thinking meets muddy shoes, wagging tails, and the art of being curious.
