It’s the Little Things…
There’s a particular Georgia O’Keeffe quote that has always stayed with me, probably because it resonates so deeply with the way I move through the world. She said, “Nobody sees a flower—really—it is so small it takes time—we haven’t time—and to see takes time.”
She was absolutely right. The smaller a thing is, the more it asks us to slow down. Whether it’s a blossom or the tiny insect crawling across its petals, we can’t truly see it while rushing past. We have to stop, lean in, and let ourselves be drawn into a space where the small becomes large and wonder becomes possible.
Tiny mushrooms that recently caught my attention.
I’ve always been someone who, if given the chance, not only stops to smell the flowers, but thoroughly inspects them. As a child walking home from elementary school through the little downtown of Montrose, California, I always paused at the window of the toy store (still open today, I recently learned.) In that window stood a grand dollhouse, fully furnished, packed with tiny details I could never get enough of. The only thing that could lure me away was the pet store a block down, where I’d lose myself all over again in the miniature worlds of small animals and fish.
I devoured books like The Mouse and the Motorcycle and The Borrowers, stories where whole lives unfolded in secret places no one noticed. Creating dioramas in shoeboxes for school book reports felt like the best kind of homework, creating entire worlds inside a space small enough to hold in my hands.
And then there was the willow tree at my babysitter’s house. Beneath its sweeping branches, with sunlight filtering through the leaves, I found the coziest hidden world. It makes perfect sense that I’d grow up continuing to inspect little things; drawn to the “in-between spaces” of the natural world, filled with textures, leaves, insects, and quiet mysteries.
Tiny details manifest in all kinds of ways in the studio.
In my studio, the same impulse guides me. Whether I’m composing a nature-inspired still life or arranging collage elements on a panel, every little thing matters. Things get nudged and shifted until they feel just right. Every pencil mark, every brushstroke, every tiny detail represents a moment of attention, a moment of intention and care.
This isn’t just how I make art. It’s how I live my life.
Every word we speak matters. Every kindness matters. Every choice shapes the world around us. Each piece of recycling I sort—even if no one else does—matters. Every native plant I put in the ground, every time I refuse to use chemicals in my yard… all of it adds up, even if my neighbors make different choices.
And here’s the amazing thing:
if I do one small thing, and you do one small thing, the impact grows.
When someone else joins in, it grows again.
Little things can be funny that way.
When we notice what’s small, our world expands.
If this way of seeing resonates with you, I invite you to explore the small works and nature-inspired pieces I’ve been creating, little worlds built with intention, wonder, and care. Your presence, your curiosity, and your support are part of what helps these tiny stories grow.
