For those of you that are worried about time, is it possible to set aside a short creativity date with yourself this week? An hour or less is all it takes to make (or at least start) some art or work on your creative projects. Will you set this intention? If you need any encouragement let me know. 🎨

Not necessarily your favorite artist. The one who makes you think: "I should go make something." For me, it's Vali Myers. I had the privilege of meeting Vali in the late 90s while getting inspired for my own solo art exhibition. She was completely unapologetic in her creativity and lived her life as art. There was something wild, authentic, and unforgettable about her presence that has stayed with me ever since. Whenever I think of Vali, I'm reminded that art doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be alive. Here's a video on her around that time: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qv-fLRSD2UE Who is the artist that inspires you to create? 👇 Share their name or photo of their work and tell us why.

I love this sentiment: "It's not about being good at art. It's about art being good for you." From: @xhamas_creations on IG.

This collection begins with the original poem, "Late Spring," followed by variations reimagined in different poetic styles. While the forms change, they each tell the same tale: a reflection on my childhood, tucked away in tender, quiet reminders that every single day should hold the same joy as a late spring day. Please enjoy (Original) Late spring Deborah Bibaud Bubbly frogs eggs, cats tails sticking out of the water, mud squashing between my toes aching cold, Itching to get warm at home but too overjoyed to find what will be discovered next. messy hair, worms bugs and sticks in my pockets without a chance to bring them inside. Late Spring 🌿 Deborah Bibaud Bubbly frog eggs, cattails sticking out of the water, mud squashing between my toes— Aching cold. Itching to get warm at home, but too overjoyed to find what will be discovered next. messy hair, worms, bugs,rocks and sticks in my pockets without a chance to bring them inside. Bubbly frogs’ eggs shimmered in the shallows, cattails poked proudly out of the water. Mud squished between my toes, cold enough to ache, but I didn’t care. I was too busy chasing discoveries, too curious to go home and get warm. My hair was always wild, my pockets overflowing with worms, bugs, rocks, and sticks—treasures I knew I could never sneak inside. These are the adventures of my late spring escapadas, forever tucked in the pocket of my childhood. Bubbly frogs eggs, cattails rise tall, mud squashing my toes—coldest of all. Itching for warmth, yet I can’t turn away, too much to discover, too much to play. Messy hair tangled, pockets can’t hide, worms, bugs, and rocks I carry with pride. Sticks that I gather, but can’t bring inside, late spring escapadas where joy will reside.