Wonder in the Trash

Several years ago, I was given an old, ugly canvas from one of my healthcare providers’ offices. It was long, uninspired, and sat in my basement studio area for months. I didn’t rush it. I didn’t try to optimize it. I just looked at it.

Eventually, the inspiration arrived. I gessoed the canvas first to cover up that generic office art, creating a blank slate. I had originally wanted to use the words Carpe Diem, but I didn’t have enough letters. Instead, I found a handful of 6-inch adhesive sticker letters: thrifted, incomplete, imperfect. I managed to piece together the word WONDER.

I didn’t pick the word because of focus groups or branding. It wasn’t targeted at all; it just spoke to me. Over the last five to ten years, Wonder has become a guiding word for me. It’s the heart of my website and the anchor for my work as an artist and author. I’ve always believed that childlike wonder is actually the secret to joy and a wellspring of creativity that all inspirational people seem to have harnessed.

With that intention set, I began to paint.

I gessoed the canvas and then applied the adhesive letters to the middle:

W-O-N-D-E-R.

A pure white base, and I was ready to begin.

The process was chaotic. Over the course of a few days, I applied layer after layer of old house paint in the style of Jackson Pollock. I used paints that shouldn’t have been put on top of each other, paints that weren’t dry yet—layer upon layer of beautiful, messy conflict. After a few more days, when everything was dry, I used a razor blade to remove those letters, and the word WONDER blossomed on the canvas in pure, stark white.

I loved it. I hated it. The colors clashed, and the letters didn’t actually keep the paint from seeping under in places, so they looked a bit blurry and imperfect. It was a question, a command, and an invitation to look closer at the ordinary. It was messy, unusual, and most importantly, mine.

But time moves on. I haven’t figured out how to deal with the ephemera of these leftover projects. This one eventually needed to go. I took several photos of it sitting by the curb next to my regular garbage. I don’t typically take pictures of my trash. But something beckoned me to do so that day; the painting wasn’t done with me yet. I’ve had that photo on my computer desktop for months- not sure why, but knowing that I’d somehow come back to sharing the story. It clearly meant more to me than I realized.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about why I write this Substack. It started as a way to express myself, then morphed into a way to talk about my passions and figure out my thoughts. I’m so grateful for the space, time, grace, and opportunity, but I’m stepping away from the rigor of it all. I’m not writing a column in a newspaper; I’m sharing my creativity. Nothing kills that more than forcing it. So, I’m stepping away to go get more wonder, to absorb, and to fill my sponge.

I just wanted to let you know. This space may be quiet for a bit.

I’m heading out on a road trip to photograph and absorb, just being my usual self. I’m not sure how long I’ll be away—it might be a week; it might be longer.

One thing is for sure: I’ll be back.