Isaak Brodsky, Fallen Leaves, 1929

I'm not sure how long the house has been abandoned, but since childhood it has felt like the old home had been given over to the forest eons ago. My friends and I would meet there after school. We would pretend it was a palace, a dungeon, a pirate ship, and sometimes—when my little sister … Continue reading Isaak Brodsky, Fallen Leaves, 1929

Rebecca Davis, Honeycomb Quilt, 1846

Before it happened, I was stitching together the red-orange flower that would eventually find its home at the far edge of my quilt. I was bone tired after a day of cleaning and cooking and running after the children, and this was a special time of reflection. There is something divine in the devising of … Continue reading Rebecca Davis, Honeycomb Quilt, 1846

Agnes Martin, Flower in the Wind, 1963

What is it about the desert that makes me feel so at peace? Maybe it is its subtle, sun-faded colors. Its boundlessness. The fact that it is at once monotonous and variegated. The way the rows upon rows of sagebrush slide out into the horizon, greens and silvers fading into silvers and tans. There are … Continue reading Agnes Martin, Flower in the Wind, 1963

Chi Rho Iota Page, The Book of Kells, 800

I am one of three who toils on this page. We are brothers in the scriptorium of Iona. Our abbey is on a windy and wet promontory. Isolated. An ideal place to contemplate our Heavenly Father, the Trinity, the Gospel. This morning, after tending the kitchen fires, I came to the scriptorium as I do … Continue reading Chi Rho Iota Page, The Book of Kells, 800