No. 1: The Intersection of Faith and Art: How Faith Influences my Creative Practice

Hi, Friend!
There’s a quiet rhythm I’ve come to know over the years—the kind that settles in early morning, in the way watercolor spreads across my sketchbook, or in the silence between thoughts during a creative experience. It’s in those small, often overlooked moments that I sense the Lord near--not in a dramatic way, but in a steady, familiar one.

Art, for me, isn’t just about beauty or skill. It’s become a way of listening. A way of staying present. A way of responding to what I believe the Lord is doing in and around me. I don’t separate my faith from my creative work—they’re too closely woven together. My time in the studio often feels like prayer, and sometimes the only prayer I can offer is to pick up a brush and begin.

Art as a Spiritual Practice

I often think about how creativity isn’t something extra or even optional—it’s something the Lord cares about deeply. Making things with our hands is more than hobby or skill; it’s a meaningful way we reflect His nature. We were made in the image of a Creator, and we were created to make. The making is not about striving or needing to prove anything. It’s about showing up with what we have, offering it honestly, and trusting that He’ll meet us in the process.

When I make—especially during the quiet stretches—I’m not always trying to say something. Often, I’m asking something. I’m working through questions. I’m learning to wait. And I’m learning to trust that even when the outcome feels uncertain, the act of making still matters.

Different Seasons, Same Foundation

Faith has shaped when I create just as much as how. There have been seasons when my creativity slowed down, or even paused altogether. Those times have taught me to be patient, to remember that stillness isn’t wasted. The Lord is often doing something beneath the surface, even when I can’t see it yet. And isn't that the hardest thing to see?

Then there are times when the ideas come pretty freely and everything flows. I’ve learned to welcome those seasons too, but not to expect them to last forever. Creativity is cyclical, and I’ve found rest in working with the rhythm of the season I’m in.

Whether I’m sketching stone cottages in our home in Provence, mixing pigments from flowers in my garden, or simply layering paint swatches in my sketchbook, I try to stay connected to what matters most: creating from a place of rest. Not performance, not perfection. Just presence.

A Quiet Invitation

In a world that moves fast and praises productivity, I want my work to feel like a pause. I want it to speak to the woman who’s feeling worn out or unsure, the one who’s longing to reconnect with something deeper. I want her to know she’s not alone.

Because I’ve found that art doesn’t have to be loud to be meaningful. Often, it’s the gentlest work that speaks the clearest.

And it’s right there—where faith and creativity meet—that I feel most grounded. Not because I have everything figured out, but because I know I can keep returning.

Brush in hand. Heart curious.

Trusting that the Lord is near, even in the smallest things.

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