Begin Again
As we approach the turning of a new year, it’s hard not to feel the pull of reflection. Endings and beginnings collide as if to sharpen up the urgency to choose how we’ll move forward. That being said, the phrase “begin again” has surfaced often in my meditation practice over the past year. The phrase - at least for me - comes from the Waking Up app, created by Neuroscientist and contemporary philosopher Sam Harris. It’s a simple instruction, repeated near the end of many sessions. Deceptively simple, yet its resonance deepens each time it’s rendered. As I’ve come to understand it, to begin again is not a call to erase the past but to reframe it, to gently place it behind us and redirect our gaze toward the present. It’s about recognizing the finite opportunities we yet have to re-engage—not just with life, but with the people, the work, and the passions that make life meaningful in the present moment. This phrase feels especially fitting now, as I have recently stepped away from my role as a university professor and embarked on a new entrepreneurial venture which will allow me to make artwork full-time. It’s a decision I didn’t take lightly; teaching was never simply about techniques or assignments for me, it was about offering my students the tools to see, really see, the world around them and find a sense of purpose within it through their craft. It was about encouraging them to sculpt—not just objects, but attention itself.
Attention, I believe, is the most profound gift we can offer to the world and to ourselves. Recently, I wrote about sculpting from life, urging others to record and bear witness to the fleeting moments of connection with those they love. It was in reaction to sculpting my wife, Kelsey; a reflection on one of the ways I continually begin again and fall in love again with this human who has chosen to share her remaining moments with me.
“The quality of our attention is all we have to offer others. Aim it wisely. Sculpting, recording, and gazing from life can be an intimate and incredibly meaningful exercise. If you draw, paint, or sculpt, regardless of your skill level, Take a moment sometime soon to record and bear witness to the life of someone you love. You're both here, now, until you're not. Cherish this brief time you have together in the sun.”
Writing that as a caption to my sculpting video urged me to share the place where my mindfulness efforts, my art making, and my writing meet. Observational sculpture, the act of drawing someone’s portrait allows me to begin again successfully in each moment and truly be in the present with the subject of the artwork. Every day is an opportunity to re-enter the studio, to reshape shadows and light on the clay with fresh eyes. To remember that despite my struggles, anxieties about the future, and worries about past mistakes, the present remains open and accessible. It’s in this mental landscape of new beginnings that I’ve decided to share this reflection as the first in a series I’m calling On Looking: Meditations on a Well-Lived Creative Life. Through these writings, I hope to explore topics and questions like the ones posed here—about art, presence, and the fleeting moments that make up our lives. This series will allow me to continue sharing my thoughts in writing with those who follow my work, my former students, and anyone drawn to reflecting on the joys and challenges of a creative life. The series will include short essays like this one, along with opinion pieces and an occasional reflective poem.
I’ve always thought of myself partially as a writer in tandem with my sculptural work. It’s a way I’ve often worked out what my work means and how I relate to it. Most of my audience doesn’t know that I write often. This is because I’m often concerned with how the work will be perceived. I ask myself: “Did I get this opinion right? What will they think?” In this series, I’m attempting to begin again and do away with thoughts of that nature, sharing my reflections as they are in the present. If and when I change my mind or if I get something wrong, I will reflect and correct myself. I will begin again. In that same spirit of new beginnings, as you step into this new year, dear reader, I invite you to carry this phrase with you as it was given to me: Begin again—not as a resolution, but as a practice. Whether you’re sculpting, drawing, meditating, or simply navigating the task of washing the dishes, let the act of beginning again anchor you in the present. Wash the dishes with your full attention—be there with the water running through your fingers, the soap foaming as you scrub. If you must wash the dishes, why not give this next dish the best wash you can?
After all, this brief time in the sun is precious.
Begin again.