| THE EPISTOLARIAN |

I’ve just returned from my 20th high school reunion in Ojai, with a few sweet days visiting family in Santa Barbara on either end. And while it’s a strange thing to dip back into the past—seeing old classmates, old versions of myself—I kept noticing how much has quietly, steadily shifted. Not only in the external ways one might expect after two decades, but in something more essential: the way I move through the world.

Driving down the 101, the sky wore that soft marine-layer gray that Southern California does so well. It looks cold but feels warm. I thought, how kind of the world to show up like this. But I also knew: had the day been cloudless and sharp with bright light, I would have felt the same sense of rightness. That’s what happens when you begin to see with the artist’s eye. You stop judging what appears and start noticing it instead. Everything feels right.

Something shifts when you claim yourself as an artist. I am an artist. Said plainly, without apology. From that moment on, the world begins to change—perhaps how it sees you, but also more in how you see it.

Five years ago, I said it publicly. I didn’t know then how much would begin to shift. The unraveling didn’t come from praise or proof. It came from stepping more fully into the texture of things. Into light and shadow. Into the strange pleasure of noticing.

More than anything, artists notice. The way steam curls off a cup and bends the light. The way leaves turn slightly before they fall. The quiet familiarity of how fingers interlace without effort. Artists don’t just interpret the world—they remain in constant exchange with it, attentive to the points where the external and internal meet. Over time, their life becomes less a container for art and more the medium itself.

Years ago, my friend Laura LaRosa said something that has stayed with me: “Writers don’t need to do anything. They just need to claim that they’re writers.” And it’s true for artists too. The act of claiming is generative. (Of course, this doesn’t extend to neurosurgeons—please, let them earn their credentials.) But in the realm of art, the work flows from within. The yearning comes first. The longing to understand, to express, to witness—that is the art. The doing is simply its form.

And for artists, the greatest work will always be their life. We notice what others rush past. We sit with what others numb. We study numbness itself. We ask questions that don’t need answers.

To be an artist is not to escape life but to enter it more deeply—to drive down the 101 under a gray sky and feel, without needing to explain why, that everything is exactly as it should be.

Seal of the Week: Death Blowing Bubbles

As I get ready to release June’s penny—a new memento mori—I’ve restocked Death Blowing Bubbles, a seal I return to often.

The design is based on an 18th-century stucco figure by Johann Georg Laimberger in the Church of St. Michael in Bamberg, Germany. In it, Death holds a pipe and a shell, blowing bubbles that rise and vanish. It’s one of my favorite historical depictions of mortality—not dramatic or grim, just quietly honest. A reminder that life is brief, and often beautiful because of it.

This seal offers the same message: nothing lasts, and that makes its beauty worth noticing.

Seal of the Week: Death Blowing Bubbles

You can now collect two new seals in the Floriography Series: the Poppy and the Sunflower. These are part of the Collector’s Register edition—only 11 of each exist, available now on a first come, first served basis.

They’re being launched sight unseen, reserved for those who feel an immediate pull. I know that once they’re previewed, they’ll sell out quickly.

In the language of flowers, the Poppy carries layered meaning: remembrance, consolation, and the delicate boundary between life and death. It speaks to memory and mourning, but also to rest, dreams, and the quiet spaces in between.

The Sunflower, by contrast, speaks to loyalty, longevity, and devotion. It turns its face toward the light, even as seasons change. A symbol of enduring faith, and in some cultures, a gesture of spiritual constancy.

These two—one facing shadow, one turning toward light—make a meaningful pairing. Both are now available as part of the Collector’s Register in extremely limited quantities.

If either one calls to you, I suggest ordering now.

Color of the Week: Calypso

Calypso has always been a figure of duality—both revealing and concealing. She could draw sailors in with her voice, then keep them hidden from the world.

This wax carries that same quality. When hot, it’s clear, letting everything beneath it show. As it cools, it takes on a soft, misted finish. Thin layers remain transparent, making it especially beautiful for pressing over flowers or fine details. A wax that bewitches like the nymph herself, never just one thing, always inviting a second look.

Hastings Penny Collection:

Rebus Penny Buy Here

Star & Memory Penny Buy Here

Fancy a Cuppa & Bay Leaf Penny Buy Here