Process of THE JUNGLE BOOK RE-IMAGINED, (watercolor and ink, 2026)
A year from now, here are five things from this week that I'd like to remember:
MONDAY
Working on THE JUNGLE BOOK RE-IMAGINED (watercolor and ink, 2026)
I just finished up the largest painting I’ve done in years, a 2’x3’ re-imagining of The Jungle Book, which will be turned into a playsilk for Sarah’s Silks this upcoming September.
In my body, excitement and anxiety present the same way: rapid heartbeats, heightened awareness, the familiar tug of What if? The difference between excitement and anxiety lies in my perspective: if I believe in myself and my ability, a new project is exciting—a stream of endless, beautiful possibilities. When I lack confidence, the same project fills me with anxiety, and I become preoccupied with the various ways it won’t work out in the way I want it to.
This painting was a milestone for me. Some of the questions I explored while creating it were: Is it possible to retain excitement throughout a long-term project? Can a shift in perspective quell anxiety and encourage experimentation? If I make a mistake, can I turn it into something else? Will spending more effort on planning and preparation now free me to be more spontaneous later?
Turns out, all of the answers are yes!—and I’m excited to share more about what I’ve learned while I worked on this piece in the upcoming weeks.
TUESDAY
I’m currently listening to George Saunders’ A Swim in the Pond in the Rain. I’d heard so many positive things about this book, and though I know what a sharp writer George Saunders is, I’m still surprised by how heavily I’ve fallen for this book.
He is a thoughtful, generous writer and teacher. I’m thoroughly enjoying his lessons on craft, thinking, and being a person in the world:
“These days, it’s easy to feel that we’ve fallen out of connection with one another and with the earth and with reason and with love. I mean: we have. But to read, to write, is to say that we still believe in, at least, the possibility of connection.”
WEDNESDAY
WHEN PRISON NANA CAME HOME (for Narratively, 2026)
I was thrilled to work with Jessie Sposato from Narratively to illustrate Ellen Eldridge’s essay, When Prison Nana Came Home. In her essay, Eldridge examines the complicated (and surprising) parent and parent-adjacent relationships in her life. Reading her words, I was reminded that sometimes the relationships we expect the least from will still surprise, delight, and comfort us.
Many thanks to Jessie for this assignment and for her encouragement! It’s been a dream of mine to work with Narratively for some time now; they publish complex, interesting stories that highlight a diverse range of voices, and I’m honored by the chance to contribute my art to one of them.
THURSDAY
"When Patrick was 8, Anne was wheelchair bound, often staring blankly — into the past, perhaps. Words were labored, few. Undaunted, he tagged along for visits. One afternoon, he carried a small paper sack of freshly picked cherries. Her gaze settled on him and then slid to the bag. “Want one?” Patrick asked. A smile nearly formed on her lips as he removed the pit and lifted a single cherry into her slack mouth. When she began to chew slowly, his face bloomed. “Grandma Anne,” he said, reaching back into his sack, “How about another?”
—Freshly Picked Cherries by Mary Birchenough for The New York Times
FRIDAY
Leave the dishes.
Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.
Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.
Throw the cracked bowl out and don’t patch the cup.
Don’t patch anything. Don’t mend. Buy safety pins.
Don’t even sew on a button.
Let the wind have its way, then the earth
that invades as dust and then the dead
foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.
Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.
Don’t keep all the pieces of the puzzles
or the doll’s tiny shoes in pairs, don’t worry
who uses whose toothbrush or if anything
matches, at all.
Except one word to another. Or a thought.
Pursue the authentic-decide first
what is authentic,
then go after it with all your heart.
Your heart, that place
you don’t even think of cleaning out.
That closet stuffed with savage mementos.
Don’t sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth
or worry if we’re all eating cereal for dinner
again. Don’t answer the telephone, ever,
or weep over anything at all that breaks.
Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons
in the refrigerator. Accept new forms of life
and talk to the dead
who drift in though the screened windows, who collect
patiently on the tops of food jars and books.
Recycle the mail, don’t read it, don’t read anything
except what destroys
the insulation between yourself and your experience
or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters
this ruse you call necessity.
—Advice to Myself by Louise Erdrich
Of all the things you can put in front of your eyes, I’m grateful that my little letter is one of them.
If you’d like to support me, please buy my books. My art prints and line of greeting cards make excellent gifts for yourself or a friend. You can also hire me for your next project—I’d love to work together.
xx,
M
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