What if the way your brain works - and the way your hand moves - wasn’t a flaw, but a feature?

In this reflection on left-handedness, neurodivergence, and the creative process, artist Mindy Wara explores the beauty of doing things differently, and how embracing the "crooked line" has shaped her art, her identity, and her way of seeing the world.

An allegorical poem on fear, resilience, and unity in the wake of the 2024 presidential election.

Nothing recharges my creativity and general sense of wellbeing like forest bathing. Trekking into the woods grounds me, reminding me to breathe and take notice. It mutes the outside world for a moment, allowing me to reset when life gets too noisy.

…The guilt, anxiety, and fear I’d carried for so long stared back at me, translated into gritty black strokes, stark against the white of the paper like nothing I’d ever painted before.

Oliver’s surgery was successful and he recovered much more quickly than expected. My boy grew stronger over the next several months, but I didn’t. Jason suggested that I sign up for an art class to begin recovering the pieces of myself that I’d lost.

Leaving the house led to being assaulted by well-meaning questions about Oliver’s health that I couldn’t answer. Not only was it too painful to discuss casually, I didn’t have the answers. Every cardiology appointment made me feel like I was underwater and couldn’t come up for air again until we were back in the car.

He was here. Warm in my arms, smelling of milk and hope, but I was still holding my breath… Within the hour and without explanation, he was rushed to the NICU.

During my first trimester, I devoured every book on pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding I could get my hands on. While research usually provides me with a sense of control, the more I learned about potential complications, devastating mortality statistics, and endless decisions to make, the more quickly I spiraled.

When my work is celebrated or recognized, I feel like I’m preparing for a performance. I cling to my mask, tamping down meltdowns, fighting back tears, and trying to ignore the negative self-talk. I obsess over the details, trying to make every aspect of my life look effortless. In short, it looks like I really have my shit together.

The light has shifted, \ flashing a silent song to the surface \ that, somehow, I’ve never heard before…

Anchored to this desk, \ the sun is gleaming \ and time holds his breath…

Armed with awareness \ and shielded by intuition, \ I push forward from the inside out…

I have some exciting news to share: I have been invited to participate in the Parallel Artists-Mother Show at The Arts Mill next year! I am honored to be one of the twenty creative women who will be sharing their maternal journey at this exhibit.