Dearest reader:
A few commitments this year to you,
To blog at least once a week.
To entertain wholesale inquiries.
To teach and share relentlessly.
To be more engaged in social media (gulp).

A few commitments this year to me,
No to custom orders.
No to alterations of my work.
No to making things that don’t feel authentic or significant to me.
No to completing a piece and selling it if I’m not completely happy with it.
And a few others, while we’re chatting.
Less complaining, more comedy.
Less doubt, more conviction.
Less worry, more present living.
Less looking back.
Less.
Less.
And less comparing myself to other makers and other mothers, feeling myself as being not much more than a pile of flaws at the feet of those I admire, respect, or once loved. And less reaction mode, less defense. More intention, more scheming, more offense. More hustle. There is a roadmap in my mind to the place where my daughter will see me standing one day. There is a portrait tucked away in my soul’s pocket of the woman I want to be.
Less turning the other cheek. More flipping tables.
Turning tables.
Less debt, financial and otherwise.
And- (after this)- less talk. More action.


I’m starting the year by being finished. With the old ways. With passivity, being merely a bystander in certain areas of my own life. What would I tell my children if they were standing on the sidelines at my age, still waiting to feel like an adult, still waiting for life to start?
Perhaps it was losing two of my dearest friends in the past year and fifteen days (but who’s counting?) or perhaps it was turning 35 and pondering that I’m blessed if I’m halfway through my “good years” (a strange thought). Or, perhaps it’s the fire that comes with a return of creative urging, or muses and angels with devil horns, or a good love that sees me through my worst, or becoming a mother again, or something altogether unthought of. Whatever the trigger, the slow and simmering awareness that THIS is my life has suddenly boiled up into a hot overflow of readiness- doneness- finishedness- a bestowal of the fact that’s been in right in front of my face for decades: there are things I can control and there are things I cannot. The division of the two sounds obvious but for me, the one still apologizing for mistakes made years and years ago, the one hanging onto every knotted thread that wasn’t mine to untangle, the one slamming my head against closed doors, lifting so much that was never ever mine to carry... this realization is freeing. What is up to me? I am. Honestly, that’s about it. But being up to me leaves me in charge of an entire universe that is this woman....

I am a maker of art and myself.
I am a mother to children and work.
I am blessed beyond words,
Broken but better,
And I am finished.
Ta Eph’hemin, Ta ouk Eph’hemin?
What is up to us, what is not up to us?
New work will be up online at 5pm EST today. You'll find it by clicking on the "website" tab above, or by going to www.rosyrevolver.com .
Happy 2018.
Thank you for being here.
A few commitments this year to you,
To blog at least once a week.
To entertain wholesale inquiries.
To teach and share relentlessly.
To be more engaged in social media (gulp).

No to custom orders.
No to alterations of my work.
No to making things that don’t feel authentic or significant to me.
No to completing a piece and selling it if I’m not completely happy with it.
And a few others, while we’re chatting.
Less complaining, more comedy.
Less doubt, more conviction.
Less worry, more present living.
Less looking back.
Less.
Less.
And less comparing myself to other makers and other mothers, feeling myself as being not much more than a pile of flaws at the feet of those I admire, respect, or once loved. And less reaction mode, less defense. More intention, more scheming, more offense. More hustle. There is a roadmap in my mind to the place where my daughter will see me standing one day. There is a portrait tucked away in my soul’s pocket of the woman I want to be.
Less turning the other cheek. More flipping tables.
Turning tables.
Less debt, financial and otherwise.
And- (after this)- less talk. More action.


I’m starting the year by being finished. With the old ways. With passivity, being merely a bystander in certain areas of my own life. What would I tell my children if they were standing on the sidelines at my age, still waiting to feel like an adult, still waiting for life to start?
Perhaps it was losing two of my dearest friends in the past year and fifteen days (but who’s counting?) or perhaps it was turning 35 and pondering that I’m blessed if I’m halfway through my “good years” (a strange thought). Or, perhaps it’s the fire that comes with a return of creative urging, or muses and angels with devil horns, or a good love that sees me through my worst, or becoming a mother again, or something altogether unthought of. Whatever the trigger, the slow and simmering awareness that THIS is my life has suddenly boiled up into a hot overflow of readiness- doneness- finishedness- a bestowal of the fact that’s been in right in front of my face for decades: there are things I can control and there are things I cannot. The division of the two sounds obvious but for me, the one still apologizing for mistakes made years and years ago, the one hanging onto every knotted thread that wasn’t mine to untangle, the one slamming my head against closed doors, lifting so much that was never ever mine to carry... this realization is freeing. What is up to me? I am. Honestly, that’s about it. But being up to me leaves me in charge of an entire universe that is this woman....

I am a maker of art and myself.
I am a mother to children and work.
I am blessed beyond words,
Broken but better,
And I am finished.
Ta Eph’hemin, Ta ouk Eph’hemin?
What is up to us, what is not up to us?
New work will be up online at 5pm EST today. You'll find it by clicking on the "website" tab above, or by going to www.rosyrevolver.com .
Happy 2018.
Thank you for being here.