The Gentle In-Between

There are seasons when the weight of decision gathers like mist around the ankles — not heavy enough to stop the walk, but enough to make each step slower.

The heart pulls in many directions. One thread tied to the work of the hands, another to the laughter of children, a third tugging toward the unknown shape of a home not yet found.

What fits may not feel spacious. What’s possible may not feel like enough. But even small spaces can bloom with light and intention, if we let them unfold gently.

It is no small thing to make art while holding a family. To build a future with hands full of now.

And when the soul feels lost — when the world inside is loud and cluttered — perhaps the kindest act is to set it all down for a breath, a moment, a return to quiet.

Not every question needs an answer. Not every weight needs lifting. Some things simply want to be witnessed and placed softly in the basket of becoming.

If you’re feeling lost too, maybe this post can be a soft place to land. Maybe we can sit here together, letting the to-do lists blur for a moment.

Just breathing. Just being.

The path forward will come.

But for now, we’re allowed to be here — in the in-between —

still becoming.

With gentleness,

Sam

Some seasons are made only for holding — where hope doesn’t hurry, and becoming takes its time.

A Quiet Beginning

There’s something about June — the way it leans into summer, the way it holds both endings and beginnings in the same golden light.

For some time now, I’ve carried a whispering longing. A quiet calling that began as a distant, almost unreachable picture — tender and dreamlike, something I thought I might never truly live. But the thought to reach it was there, and while I barely noticed, growing beneath the surface. Quiet at first — like roots spreading beneath the frost. And lately, it’s been reaching toward the sun.

This journal is part of where that quiet pull begins to take shape.

Art Studio SAM began as a place to share the soft, illustrated corners of my world — wildflowers, woodland animals, cups of tea, and quiet sketches. Now the edges of this space are stretching a little. Making room. For slowness. For reflection. For a gentler way of being — one that moves with the seasons, and listens more closely to the quiet beneath it all.

Some changes in life take courage — the kind that’s not loud or grand, but woven into everyday choices. This season has asked for that kind of courage. The kind that whispers, “Make it yours.”

So I’m here now, planting a small seed in this journal. Not with declarations, but with an invitation. To walk slowly. To make space. To follow the threads of story, season, and art — and perhaps something more, unfolding gently just ahead.

I don’t know exactly what this journal will become, but I know what I want it to feel like:
A quiet table in the corner of the house. A basket of dried herbs. A place to rest my thoughts. A pace marked not by deadlines, but by the curve of the sun and the scratch of pencil on paper.

Thank you for being here — truly.
More soon, from a softer place.

With warmth and ink,
Sam

Even something weathered can hold new beginnings. A little light, a little time — and something quietly blooms