 One plant that seems to appear in every desert landscape is the prickly pear. They’re everywhere!
I first gathered their fruit back in December in the Texas Hill Country. Then in Big Bend I stumbled across a purple one, something I hadn’t seen before. And after that… I started seeing them everywhere! More at Saguaro National Park. More along the roadsides. More at picnic areas. More scattered throughout the other stops on my desert travel tour. It turns out the Santa Rita prickly pear naturally grows purple. When they are stressed (too cold or too thirsty), they turn an even deeper, more vibrant hue. Some other prickly pears turn purple too, but the Santa Rita is purple by adaptation. Which made me wonder: What if people turned purple every time we were stressed? Or every time we were simply trying to survive? I’ve been completely enamored with them. Over the past few weeks I started translating that fascination into a postcard design. I carved two blocks during my recent Postcards of Joy workshops and have been experimenting with color palettes ever since. The purple prickly pear has officially become an unexpected muse. I’m still exploring different ways to capture it in print but in the meantime you can collect this early offset. Purple Prickly Pear postcard packs are now available in my Etsy shop.
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 Campfires are one of those classic camping experiences I really love. They’re practical, calming, and naturally bring people together. Tending the fire becomes something you share: checking it, feeding it, sitting nearby.
When I first arrived in Texas Hill Country in October, there was a fire ban in place. No campfires allowed. At first, it was disappointing, but it quickly became clear why it mattered. Not having a fire wasn’t about missing out; it was about protecting the land and the people who live there. When the ban lifted in early December, having a campfire felt different. It wasn’t automatic or expected. It felt earned, shared, and appreciated. That shift in perspective is what inspired this print. It’s about warmth, care, and being mindful of what we’re responsible for—not just what we want.  Clay taught me how to sit with my hands busy and my mind open. It gave me a place to listen, to talk, to work through things without needing to rush toward an answer. I didn’t always realize it at the time, but the studio held space for conversation just as much as it held space for making.
On the road, coffee has taken on a similar role. Making a cup the way I like it slows me down. It steadies me. It becomes an invitation to pause and to be present. Sharing coffee with someone feels like opening the door to conversation. Sometimes those conversations are light and easy. Other times they are heavier, full of questions or uncertainty. Both matter. Both deserve time and care. This year, I want more of that. More coffee. More time with people who care and are curious. More conversations that matter. Even the hard ones feel comforting with coffee and good people. This postcard is about that shared space. About connection that happens when our hands are occupied, our bodies are settled, and we give ourselves permission to talk honestly. Whether it’s clay on a table or coffee in a mug, what stays the same is the importance of showing up and listening. This newest Postcard from the Road is inspired by that wish for 2026.  This was the very first print I ever made while traveling—way back in July of 2021, long before living on the road full time was even a dream I could articulate. I was driving cross-country, tent camping out of my car, spending the summer chasing adventure. When I reached Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Park, the world felt like it was spinning slower.
I could breathe bigger. I’d been impressed with sequoia trees for years, well before I ever saw one in person. They’re the largest trees by volume, and yet holding a single pinecone in the palm of my hand felt intimate, emotional, and important. Each cone holds up to 200 seeds. Two hundred beginnings. Two hundred chances. And the way they release those seeds is what moves me most. Sequoia cones stay tightly closed until something opens them—often fire, but sometimes wind, weather, or an animal passing by. Pressure big or small, expected or not. Change that wasn’t chosen, but still creates the conditions for growth and possibility. And that feels a lot like vulnerability. Vulnerability is what allows us to show up in every part of our lives—in the way we create, in the way we care for others, and even in the way we make dinner on any given Thursday. Because being open isn’t usually our first instinct. It asks something of us: To try. To fail. To mess up. To be wrong. To apologize. To remain soft. To sit with missing what’s far away. To be okay with not being okay. It also asks us to consider: How flexible and adaptable do we want to be? Where are the limits? Who gets to set them? Whatever your answers are, as artists—and as humans— vulnerability is what helps us understand what’s happening inside of us and around us. It’s what turns moments of pressure or disruption into opportunities. It’s what lets us be known rather than judged. And to be known, we have to let ourselves be seen, even in the detours, even in the chaos. No matter what shifted, paused, burned, or pulled us off course, we still carry so many opportunities inside us. More than we realize. Maybe even two hundred of them.  The sky just feels bigger out west. The colors stretch and blend in a way that makes time slow down, with warm oranges fading into pinks and purples over endless desert. After a few days in Taos, I couldn’t help but try to capture that feeling.
This two-layer postcard came to life in motion, with the first layer carved at a picnic table in Oklahoma’s morning heat and the second printed in the smoky blue light of the Tennessee mountains. I let the orange and pink inks mingle on the palette, hoping to reflect that soft transition of color that makes New Mexico skies so unforgettable. I hope when you see or hold this postcard, you feel a sense of calm and expansiveness, a reminder to slow down and take in what’s right in front of you.  One afternoon, I spent time paddling along the Pocomoke River. After weeks of admiring it from the banks, being on the water gave me a whole new perspective, with lilypads, reflections, and the life thriving in the cypress swamp all feeling so alive. While traveling, I often let the world guide me, embracing spontaneity and freedom, floating from place to place. Slowing down in Maryland reminded me of the grounding power of stillness, of being anchored by a place, by people, and by important memories.
To capture this feeling, I spent a slow afternoon carving and printing this Floating & Anchored postcard at a picnic table at Pocomoke River State Park, with a gorgeous view of the river! The reflections from the trees and shrubs along the riverbanks glowed green, inspiring the colors and textures of the print. I hope that when you see or hold this postcard, you feel rejuvenated, calm, and both free and grounded, like a quiet pause amid the motion of life. Sharing these moments of joy and reflection is why I make art in the first place, and it’s a joy to send a little piece of it out into the world.  In celebration of my birthday, I’m so excited to share my very first Etsy launch with you—my inaugural postcard drop! This set of ten postcards brings together my love for travel, connection, and the ritual of writing.
When I travel, I still make time to search for postcards in local shops—tiny works of art that hold the spirit of a place. Sitting down to write a quick note, describing where I’ve been or what I’ve seen, always feels like such a meaningful way to stay connected. That ritual comes from childhood. When my dad traveled for work, he would send short notes home. Getting mail from him; something small, just for us, was a tangible way to feel close even when he was far away. That experience shaped how I think about art and connection. Each postcard carries a trace of love, creativity, and presence, turning memories into art, ready to be shared. If you’d like to celebrate this creative milestone with me, click the link to grab a pack and send a little joy forward. |
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