The thing I love about Bath, and England in general, is how it carries its history alongside its present. It carries its weight like an old sweater.

It’s something you don’t see much of living in Los Angeles. “Old” is 1950; not like the cottage we stayed in, that was built in 1750!

The accommodations had all the modern accessories, conveniently stuffed into the rickety corners. I was in love as soon as I turned the smiling knob and stepped inside.

Staying there made me acutely aware of the passage of time. I imagined all the people who stayed there before us. What stories these walls must’ve seen!

As I saw my son nearly bang his head on the stairs, I was reminded in another way how much time had passed.

I could still see that little boy in his echo, but the cuddly inspiration for my art had disappeared into the shadows of that cottage.

He changed. I changed. And I knew somehow that my art would need to change along with it.

In the last six months, I’ve broken away from the one parent-one child pairs that are my signature theme. There are more couples and siblings now, and I’ve grown rather fond of these two lion cubs that seem to be getting their own series.

I’ve also split off in two directions lately. One, with less details, and the other with adding pencil on top, to create softness and more depth. I won’t be taking sides any time soon, because mostly I just choose to add pencil when I feel the piece is missing something.

There is no right way, just “done” (and I don’t always know when that is, either)

Kind of like this story I’m telling.

When will it be “done”?

I’ll know when I get there.

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