It’s autumn every time I wake.

I have two paintings on my bedroom wall. They were done by a student artist at a school near where we lived. The woman was older, my best guess in her 60s. I would have never known she was a student by the quality of the art. I mean, I suppose I’m not much of a connoisseur of art. I just know I like to support independent artists. …and filling my house with pretty things. And these were pretty.


When I spotted this first piece at an art show, I knew I wanted it. I had this flood of memories from my childhood. Most of the trees around where we grew up were pine, but we had one birch tree in our front yard that I loved. Nothing else had leaves that would change with the seasons. The painting brought me back to lazing in the grass, looking up into its canopy. I brought it home.

Soon after, we discussed buying a companion piece for it, if the artist had any. I contacted her and she invited us over to look. There were so many paintings. Lots of lovely scenes. We came across what would be the mate for our current piece. It’s her driveway, after some rain. You can see the reflection of the tree in the wet asphalt. Beautiful. We asked if she minded parting with it.


I remember she made this little noise and looked at the floor before she said it would be alright.

We looked at each other and started to back pedal. An awkward dance.

“Oh no, if you don’t want to-” “Yes, we don’t have to-”

She said it was okay. She needed to sell the painting. Not for us, not for exposure, not for the money. We didn’t know it, but we had become a part of her grieving process. She’d lost her son in Iraq the prior fall. She’d painted them soon after. They were an important part of that time for her. But she knew it was time to let them go.

She took a moment and so did we. It was somber. We hadn’t meant to intrude. But she reaffirmed that she was going to be alright and that this was something she wanted to do. We took it, but made sure she had our contact info if she changed her mind. We never did hear from her.

These paintings greet me everything morning. I often think of the artist and her son and his sacrifice.

I hope for her peace of mind.

Tiny art is tiny.

I’m not sure exactly when I started collecting art. Maybe it’s because the internet has helped make art accessible and affordable; providing the means for artists to offer their wares easily. Or to discover craft fairs at the click of a mouse. Whatever the reason, we have a lot of it in our home. None of it is high dollar art. It’s all pieces we’ve collected because we enjoyed them. A variety of things.

I do tend to have a soft spot for microart. It’s like art, but small. Why do I enjoy it so? Not a clue. Small things are cute, as a rule. Possibly by a similar token they are also charming to me. In some of the art I’ve made and collected there is a fair amount of satire and cheekiness. Maybe it plays on the part of my brain that’s tickled by that.

In the following photos I’ve taken, I included a Canadian dime for scale.

Tiny landscapes

The tiny landscapes above were my first foray into microart. The hangers on the back are bent pop tabs. When I came across them at an art show in Houston, I ran to an ATM to get change. They were two for $12 if my memory serves me.

Bunny Sketch and Tiny Candlesticks

This sketch was a gift from my friend Stephanie. It is flanked by two tiny candlesticks made at the machine shop at Greenfield Village in Dearborn, MI. They change out the machine every couple of year so people can get differently shaped tiny candleholders. One night my husband and I had a fancy date dinner at home and set the table with our tiny candlesticks. We’re dumb.

Tiny collection of art

This is actually a cube that houses a little curated collection of things. It’s such a weird, quirky selection. The book is an old print of the “Rubiyat of Omar Khayyam” I ended up with, likely the only antique we own. The chicken and the egg used to sit next to that hare and a ceramic tortoise (a small nod to animal based quandaries) but he’s on temporary leave hanging out in my terrarium.

Oooh. Here’s the terrarium. Props to Real Simple Magazine for the tutorial. No dime here, but the terrarium is small.


This final picture is of a tiny painting I got from an Art-O-Mat and a photo. Art-O-Mats are all over the country. You pay $5 to a cigarette-turned-art vending machine. You get art. The photo has a slightly different origin. It was in our house when we moved in. Just laying on the mantle. Our house only had one owner, so I have to assume that he is the shadow in the photo and that’s his dog. It was so peculiar… I felt it needed to be apart of my little collection.

A boat and a dog

Go out and enjoy some art. Better yet, get some art. Better yet, make some art.