Glory at Sunrise

Day 2 – Made to Matter: 13 Soulful Stories from the Studio

Some days begin with heaviness.
The kind of weight that sinks into your chest before you’ve even had your coffee.
That was the day I received news from my dad’s biopsy—news that wasn’t what we had hoped for. I remember coming home, quiet. Still. Holding that ache close to the surface.

And then I reached for the paints.

I wasn’t looking to create a masterpiece. I just needed something to hold the emotion. Something to move my hands while my heart tried to make sense of it all. I pulled out a thick 4x4 canvas, acrylic paints, my new brushes, and texture medium—and for the first time in a long time, I painted with nothing but my fingers.

The sun was my subject. A sunrise, just breaking through the edge of a stormy sky.
The kind of sky you only get after the weather has passed—when the light finds a way to return, even if only just barely.
That became the theme.
Light... okay.

I titled it Glory at Sunrise. Not because the moment felt glorious—but because I knew deep down that it would be. Eventually.

The inspiration came from a quote that stirred something in me:

“What I know for sure is that every sunrise is like a new page, a chance to right ourselves and receive each day in all its glory. Each day is a wonder.”

And that’s what I held onto.
Yesterday had already passed.
Tomorrow hadn’t yet arrived.
But this day—this sunrise—was mine. And even in the unknown, it carried light.

That line became my anchor.
Because yesterday—I can’t change.
And tomorrow? It isn’t promised.
But today… today I can choose to see the glory.
I can choose to trust that we are held. That our Creator has my family in His care. That no matter the outcome, light is still showing up.
One day at a time.

Painting this didn’t fix anything. But it softened something inside me.
It gave form to the swirl of grief, hope, fear, and faith.
And it reminded me: even when we feel helpless, we can still create beauty.
Even if it’s just with our fingertips and a bit of color.

The emergence of the sun just under the heavy clouds reminded me:
Our Creator hasn’t left us. We are not alone in the storm.
Even when the outcome is uncertain, the presence is sure.

“There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”
— Leonard Cohen

I added that sun with a whisper of hope.
That even through grief and fear, there is beauty.
That light still finds a way in.

A Thought to Carry:

Where does the light show up in your life—especially after the storm?
What can you let yourself feel and create today, simply because you’re alive to see the sunrise?

Made to Matter: 13 Soulful Stories from the Studio

An Invitation to Look Closer

Intro to the Series: Made to Matter – 13 Soulful Stories from the Studio

It began as a simple challenge—post one photo a day for ten days, ( 3 days in I received a second nomination) no words, just images. A visual practice. A quiet unfolding.

But as the days passed, the photos began to ask for more.
Not attention—understanding. Not explanation—remembrance.

And so, this series was born.

Made to Matter is a collection of 13 stories, each one woven from a photograph, a moment, and a piece of my creative heart. Some were made with my hands—through sewing, painting, knotting, or layering paper and light. Others emerged through stillness and deep reflection. All of them carry intention, memory, and presence.

You’ll find these and more:

• Feathers wrapped in seasonal words

• A finger-painted sunrise created through grief

• Jewelry knotted with old stories and new wonder

• Repurposed shelves and desks given second lives

• Angels painted to mirror the beauty of beloved guests

• A pressed hydrangea bloom, held for my mother—who taught me how to see beauty even when she forgot to see it in herself

Each entry is a window into a creative moment.
A chapter that wasn’t rushed.
A practice in seeing—not just what was made, but why it mattered.

This isn’t just a series about making art.
It’s about honoring the unseen, the unfinished, the whispered things.
The parts of ourselves that bloom when we pause long enough to listen.

So whether you read every entry or land gently on the one meant for you—welcome.
You’re invited to look closer.
To feel what you feel.
To begin wherever you need to begin.

“Art is the journey of a free soul.”
— Alev Oguz

“He has made everything beautiful in its time.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:11 (NKJV)

A Thought to Begin With:

What might your own photos be saying—if you paused long enough to listen?

This is my offering. A collection of 13 small windows, each opened with care.
I hope one of them reflects a piece of you, too.

Origin Story

Origin Story: The Silver Bohemian

Made to Matter: A Life Pieced Together with Love and Letting Go

I didn’t set out to build a brand. I set out to make sense of what remained.

After losing my first husband, Brian, to ALS, I found myself reaching for meaning in the quiet, sacred spaces where words failed. It was in the weight of his worn shirts, the scent of his favorite hoodie, and the sound of our shared songs echoing in memory. As a caregiver, a mother, and a woman shaped by both grief and grit, I turned to my hands—stitching, painting, repurposing, remembering. Grief moved through me in threads and brushstrokes, in the beauty I tried to rebuild from what was broken.

Years later, when I lost my mother suddenly during the pandemic, the ache returned—but so did the call to create. Her life was etched into the tiniest things: fabric scraps, handwritten notes, broken jewelry, dried flowers. These pieces, too precious to part with and too full of feeling to ignore, became the raw materials for healing. I began again. One candle. One paperweight. One jacket stitched with memory and meaning. And in the making, something softened. Something sacred stirred.

In time, healing began to shape itself into something new. Not as a replacement for what was lost, but as an expansion of what had been loved. And then, gently, Jim entered the story.

Where Brian had been my partner through the storm, Jim became the calm after. We met in a season of rebuilding, and his quiet steadiness helped me remember who I was—beyond the caregiver, beyond the widow. He didn’t try to replace what had been lost. He honored it, and helped me expand into something new. Together, we built not only a life, but a rhythm: creative retreats, wellness offerings, long walks, slow mornings, laughter around the table, and a shared belief that healing is not a finish line—but a living process. His belief in me—and in the way I turn memory into meaning—gave me the courage to build something lasting.

That’s how The Silver Bohemian was born.

Out of tattered fabric and sacred memory.
Out of the knowing that even when something ends, something else—equally beautiful—can begin.
Out of the wild, wonderful truth that we are all made to matter—and so is what we leave behind.

This work is more than my livelihood. It is my offering. A living tapestry of what love can create—across time, through loss, with hope, and with a heart wide open.

From grief came my life—not just the surviving of it, but the sacred weaving of it. What began as a way to hold on became the way I learned to let go, to become, and to bless what is. My brand, my art, and my healing work are ever-evolving—just like me. They are stitched with gratitude for all the souls who’ve shaped me along the way. While there are far too many to name, these relationships remain especially pivotal to who I am today:
Brian, who taught me presence and quiet courage.
My mother, and my Father who passed down creativity, care, and the joy of making something with your own two hands.
And Jim, who continues to remind me that love expands, legacy evolves, and healing can be a beautiful, everyday act.

This is why I do this work. Because love leaves a trace. And I’ve made it my mission to follow those threads—and help others find theirs, too.

If this story speaks to you, welcome.
You’ve just found your way to The Silver Bohemian—a space where memory, creativity, and healing meet. I'm so glad you're here.