Tag Archives: nest


  • To create and settle into a warm and secure refuge
  • A container or shelter made by a bird out of twigs, grass, or other material to hold its eggs and young
  • A snug retreat or refuge; resting place; home

Every spring new mama birds build nests in the nooks and crannies around my house. I am always wowed by these beautifully woven structures. I have amassed a good collection of abandoned nests over the years.





Sometimes I use the nests, or inspiration from the nests, in my own work.

playroom detail 3

Playhouse (detail)

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Family Tree



These amazing structures inspire meditations on themes of love, nurture, liberation, loss, and rebirth.


Liberation Mandala

Family tree

One thing I’ve loved about having an art therapy practice is the way the creative inspiration flows both ways between my clients and me. It’s a real give and take. The materials, process, themes explored, and energy generated always seem to hand me some kind of gift.

In a previous post, I wrote about a mask project at a foster care agency picnic. In preparation for that project, I spray-painted about a hundred pre-made paper mâche masks on top of some scrap cardboard. (An aside about process: The masks, available to buy here, are made from brown craft paper, and I thought it would be a good idea to give people a clean white canvas to work on. For later mask-making, I skipped the spray painting prep and found that it was unnecessary with most materials, the big exception being the much-loved Sharpie markers, which look dull on the brown.)

white masks


When I finished spraying, I realized that I actually had a lot of new canvasses that would be as much fun to fool around with as the actual masks. So I cut some up and played around.




Eventually, I did a larger piece incorporating red-painted twigs and a nest. I called it Family Tree because it seemed like it could be about all my mysterious ancestors, Eastern Europeans whose children (my grandparents) fled the old country. Sadly, somewhere along that journey the stories of those old country ancestors were lost, never to be known to the younger generations on their family tree. Even though I know nothing about them, I feel that they somehow have a lot to do with who I am, and their hazy images found expression in those pieces of junk cardboard.

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