Gather close. I’m gonna let you in on a secret: THE MUSE DOESN’T TRAVEL IN A STRAIGHT LINE!
Hell no!
Sorry for the shouting—couldn’t help myself—but dammit Gumby, this week Ms. Muse had me twisted inside out and backwards. See, we’re designing a house right now. Going over the plans Mr. Spouse has been drawing and redrawing for the past few years. Well, we’re down to the final finessing with the architect, ironing out the this and thats.
And we’re this close (hold thumb and pointer finger one-eighth inch apart—THIS CLOSE) to sending them off to the engineer and then the county and then building that sucker—
Needless to say, I have house plans on my mind. So when Muse suggested that I draw the floor plan of the house I grew up in, I said sure. I mean, it’s something maybe a lifer in solitary might do to keep from going crazy—but why not?
It would be easy-peasy. Just some floor plans I could pass off as a blog post this week, right?
Oh silly me—who was I to underestimate the Muse? What began as a simple sketch turned into a whole new series of abstract paintings inspired by memory.
At first I was just sketching lines. Floor plans, the outline of the house, windows where they should be. Wasn’t there a hall here? A door there?
Meanwhile Muse is drumming her fingers on top of my head. It’s not about the details she says. But you’re getting there.
And then the feels started rolling in.
As I thought about the details, memories began bubbling up. I saw our old collie burying her Milkbones under the rug. Saw the soft glow of the reading lamps on my parents’ faces as they sat in their easy chairs lost in their books.
And then there was the memory of my sisters and me at the bedroom window, three little girls in jammies, noses pressed against the frosty glass, willing the sky to lighten on Christmas morning. The air practically crackling with excitement.
The oldest, braver than the rest, dared a sneak peak down the creaky stairs. She came back wide-eyed, whispering the sacred news: fishing poles beneath the tree.
OMG! OMG! OMG! FISHING POLES!!!
That memory isn’t really about the draft sneaking in from those single-pane windows, or the parents below us pretending to sleep for “just five more minutes.” It’s about anticipation. Wonder. The unshakable thrill of believing.
And the expectation of the summer to come.
That’s when it clicked.
I tried sketching the scene literally — three girls in pajamas at a window— and it fell flat.
Muse was not impressed. She reminded me it’s not about what you see. It’s about what you feel. I let myself paint it abstractly, the memory shifted. It wasn’t about windows and floorboards anymore. It became glow, texture, color… anticipation.
That’s how the series was born: Anticipation. Expectation. Wonder. Three paintings pulled not from the shapes of the memory, but from the feeling of it — the hush before sunrise, the magic of believing, the thrill of discovery.
And that’s the real power of memory in abstract art: it doesn’t just recreate a scene, it captures the feels tucked inside it. The glow, the tension, the joy, the longing — those are what stay with us, and those are what bring a painting to life.
I call these works Digital Mixed Media — a hybrid process where I photograph my original paintings, then layer and reimagine them on an iPad with digital enhancements. The result carries the subtlety and depth of paint, with a fresh contemporary edge.
All of the pieces in this series are available as fine art prints, from 6×8 up to 30×40 inches, on a wide variety of substrates — paper, canvas, metal, and more — through my Fine Art America shop. Just click the link beneath each image to explore sizes and options.
“Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.”
Winnie-the-pooh
This Week’s Creative Prompt: Memory
Start by sketching a place from your past — your childhood home, a bedroom, even just the window you once stared out of. Don’t worry about accuracy. This isn’t about being an architect; it’s about opening a door. As the lines appear, let the memories sneak in. Notice the sounds, the light, the feeling of that moment.
Now — here’s the twist — it’s not about the scene. Paint or write about the feeling. Was it anticipation? Wonder? Comfort? Longing? Let color, line, and texture carry the emotion. That’s where the magic of abstract art from memory really shines.
And now I want to hear from you: what memory bubbled up for you as you read this? If you tried the prompt, what surprised you most? Drop your story in the comments — I’d love to know what’s waiting behind your windows.
’Til next week—
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