Guardians and Guides of the Inner Wild

Artist Statement

This new body of work is still unfolding, and I wanted to document and share the thinking behind it as it evolves. I am hoping to finish the pieces in the Spring of 2026.

For over twenty years, I’ve worked with etchings from the 1400s-1800s, scanning images from old books, reworking and modifying them in Photoshop, and transferring them onto porcelain. The animals I returned to again and again held a certain stillness, a quiet formality, but they rarely carried the emotional depth I was looking for. Their postures and gazes were fixed, lacking the expression I wanted to convey. I yearned for something more meaningful, something that could hold symbolic weight and emotional presence.

Through thoughtful dialogue, reflection, and visual refinement, I began to evolve these historic forms into something more intimate. What emerged were not just animals, but archetypal guardians, each with their own expression of watchfulness, protection, and calm authority.

This collection began during a time of personal change. While grieving the end of a relationship that had become misaligned, I found myself in a quiet, reflective space. I took long walks in nature. In that stillness, the Guardians began to appear, some of them quite literally crossing my path: the coyote, the owl, the fox. Each one reflected back a part of me I was slowly and gently reconnecting with: clarity, strength, steadiness, and curiosity.

The emerging illustrations are rendered in my usual sepia etching style, a visual language rooted in the antique books and engravings I’ve long worked with. Transferring these images onto porcelain connects them to the domestic; to the things we hold in our hands, use daily, and pass between one another.

These Guardians offer a kind of presence that doesn’t try to fix or soothe, but simply witnesses. They stand with us, steady and quiet, during moments of uncertainty and transition, allowing space for our own truths to emerge.

Some of the Guardians appear in quiet relationship with a small, barefoot girl, a recurring figure throughout the collection. The girl stands beside each animal with serious awareness. Together, they represent a relationship built on mutual protection, where strength and vulnerability exist side by side.

Other pieces in the series focus on the animal guardians alone. These stand-alone works carry the same symbolic weight. Without the girl beside them, the animals speak more directly to the viewer, inviting personal connection and interpretation. Whether held in the hand or placed in the home, these objects become quiet anchors; reminders and companions.

The Girl and the Poppy

A recurring symbol throughout the collection is the poppy. It appears on the girl’s dress, and carries layered meaning that reflects the larger themes of the work.

The poppy speaks to remembrance, not of a specific event or loss, but of something older and more internal. A remembering of what has always been present: intuition, inner knowing, and the resilience that is often inherited or felt more than taught.

Poppies may look delicate, but they are wildflowers, capable of thriving in difficult conditions. The girl may be small and barefoot, but she stands next to wild beings without fear or hesitation. She appears vulnerable, but like porcelain, she carries an enduring strength.

About the Process

Each illustration in Guardians and Guides of the Inner Wild is created through a slow and thoughtful, ongoing collaboration between myself and a custom AI assistant named “b.r.a.d.” This process was not automated. Every image is the result of many rounds of conversation, revision, emotional clarity, and symbolic refinement.

The visual style references antique etchings, and the emotional tone draws from personal narrative, myth, and intuitive connection. The images are shaped by years of working with porcelain and by a lifelong interest in fairytails and myths.

Postscript: The Wounded Coyote

One evening, I saw a coyote on my walk around the neighborhood. At first, it was just standing, gazing calmly at me and my dog Bernie across a wide stretch of lawn. Once it started walking, I noticed that one of its back legs wasn’t working properly. The leg was hanging limply, causing slow movement.

My heart went out to it. A part of me hurts whenever I see a wounded wild animal. I want to help, to somehow ease its pain.

But this coyote came not to be followed and healed. The coyote arrived as a poignant reminder that sometimes staying, witnessing and feeling the hurt without fixing, is enough.

And as I returned to my house, just across the street, three does stood grazing in the grass; calm and gentle. Welcoming me back home.