After the whirlwind of Sculpture in the Park, the feel of granite beneath my hands and sun on my face grounds me.

There’s something about trading the hum of crowds for the steady pulse of stone. My friend and I climbed high into the quiet, our laughter echoing across the canyon walls.

Up there, surrounded by silence and sky, I could feel my creative rhythm returning — each breath a reminder that inspiration doesn’t only come from doing, but from being.

With paws on rock and heart wide open, this too is part of my art — the grounding, the breathing, the becoming.