by Dr. Kelly Flanagan | Artisan Blog
My son is waiting by the road for his ride to school. I remember being fourteen and waiting for my ride to school. Sometimes, I would try to walk the balance beam of railroad ties separating our yard from the shoulder of the road. But I bored of that...
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by Mandy Hughes | Artisan Blog
Our stories are marked by rhythms of life and death—or to put it simply: everything changes. Connecting to the rhythms of nature grounds us in a larger, collective story and empowers us to honor the more personal patterns of our individual lives. This post is the last of a four-part...
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by Miranda Meadows | Artisan Blog
One year ago, I’m in my childhood home celebrating thanksgiving far away from the imminent Chicago winter. Everywhere I look, I see “holiday cheer.” I can’t hide from it. And normally, I don’t want to. As a self-described Lover of All Things Elf Culture, I live for the magic...
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by Dr. Kelly Flanagan | Artisan Blog
I haven’t had a recurring nightmare since childhood. Until recently. It begins with me standing in our kitchen, looking out upon our front yard. Then, suddenly, a large black-and-white conversion van comes barreling recklessly up our driveway toward the house. It narrowly misses the kitchen and passes out of...
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by David Clinton | Artisan Blog
I have had the following conversation with my seven year old son approximately ten thousand times this week: Wanna see my wiggly tooth, Dad? No, I do not. Look what I can do with it! *Presses tongue against a tooth dangling from a lone, fleshy thread and twists it...
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by Miranda Meadows | Artisan Blog
It’s 6 months after moving into my apartment. I look around, seeing evidence of a lived in space. There’s a throw blanket on the chair closest to a window with glass marked by the nose prints of a curious dog. A small pile of books, a sketchbook, and pens...
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