You don’t always call it art.
Sometimes it’s the way you tear the edge of a receipt and tuck it into your notebook.
The way you pause at a faded photo in a thrift store bin, feeling its weight even before you know why.
The way you arrange your day around a sliver of light that only enters your studio at 3 p.m.

You are already creating.

You don’t need permission to begin.
You’ve already begun—in whispered ways, in gentle acts of noticing, in the quiet gathering of a thousand small things.

There’s a certain kind of beauty that doesn’t shout.
It gathers slowly. Softly.
It doesn’t demand attention—it invites presence.

Lately, I’ve found myself drawn to that kind of beauty.