A Young Author’s Summer Project: Tommy the Tardigrade Is Now Published!
I am very happy to share some wonderful news. Daniel Chen’s new picture book, Tommy the Tardigrade: A Tiny Survivor’s Amazing Adventure, has officially been published on Amazon!

This book is especially meaningful because it represents Daniel’s summer journey of curiosity, patience, creativity, and perseverance.

The story was inspired by real scientific research on tardigrades, fascinating microscopic creatures also known as water bears. Tardigrades can survive extremely dry conditions by entering a special state called a tun. Daniel took this remarkable scientific idea and transformed it into the story of Tiny Tommy, a little water bear who discovers how to patiently survive when his soft, wet home suddenly dries up.

What makes this project even more special is that Daniel wrote the story and created all of the illustrations himself. Throughout the summer, he researched tardigrades, developed his story, planned each scene, and carefully worked on his illustrations. Step by step, scientific facts became characters, pictures, and finally a completed book.

Through Tommy’s tiny adventure, young readers can discover the amazing world of tardigrades while also learning some very big lessons about patience, resilience, adaptation, and never giving up.

Watching Daniel work patiently through the entire process has been inspiring. Publishing a book requires much more than a good idea—it takes the determination to keep revising, creating, learning, and finishing what you started.
Congratulations, Daniel! I am so proud to see another summer project become a real published book. 📚✨
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Summer 2026
Young Storytellers Series
Written and illustrated by Daniel Chen

Every day, just as if I were writing in a journal, I paint.
This has become a kind of personal routine for me. Each day, I make a small postcard-sized painting, almost like writing a daily journal entry. The subject does not matter. I simply paint whatever I love most.
I am not painting these works to prepare for an exhibition or to catch the eye of a juror. This habit has continued under a name I gave it myself: “One Day, One Art.”
The reason I started doing this is simple. I wanted to paint as much of the beauty in this world as possible.
When I am preparing for exhibitions, responding to open calls, or working on large-scale paintings, it becomes difficult to capture all the different kinds of beauty I encounter in the world. Of course, there is something wonderful about spending a long time deeply immersed in a single work. But for some reason, this year I found myself wanting to paint all the beauty of the world, and I decided to put that desire into practice.
A small painting takes about thirty minutes to complete. I intentionally leave out excessive detail because adding more detail would require more time.
After all, not many people spend an hour writing a daily journal.
A short record, but something created every day—that is what a journal is.
A journal is not usually meant for others to see. We do not write a journal in order to show it to someone. People do not keep journals to win awards, make money, or gain recognition.
In the same way, the most important word behind this daily practice of painting is joy.
I simply paint for the joy of painting.
And as I continue, the number of these small paintings grows along with the number of days I have lived. When I look at them, I realize for myself just how beautiful and precious each passing day has been.
I also believe that, in order to become better at painting, this overflowing sense of joy—the meaning we create for ourselves—is perhaps the most important thing.
If something is not enjoyable, it is difficult to continue doing it for a long time. If we become bored too easily, we cannot get close to the true nature of what we are observing or doing.
And this is not limited to painting.
When we continue doing something for a long time, whatever it may be, we gradually begin to understand its essence through the experience itself. That is why I believe that continuing something steadily, making it part of our routine, can enrich our lives.
For me, that something is painting.

Through these small daily paintings, I am gradually discovering my own artistic style. At the same time, I continue to explore ways of painting that feel simple, natural, and less difficult. These small records and daily routines make my life richer. For the rest of 2026, I hope to devote myself even more deeply to this practice.

One of my greatest joys as an art teacher is watching my students grow.
I see their once-flat drawings begin to take on form and dimension. What started as simple shapes gradually develops into depth and space. Before long, flower petals seem to flutter in the air, and the eyes of a deer begin to sparkle with life.

One of my students, Sophia, made an incredible leap in her artistic growth this summer. It is difficult for me to fully express how sincerely and passionately she approaches her work. She paints with a pure heart and with a genuine love for art. Every time she sits down to create, I can see that sincerity in her attitude.
I believe that is exactly why her art continues to improve.

Painting as a Quiet Practice for the MindTo me, painting is a kind of practice for the mind—a quiet way of calming myself and returning to who I am.
When I begin to paint, I slowly settle my mind. I focus on the energy within me and on the images that begin to appear in my thoughts. As I move my hand, observe the colors, and watch the paint spread across the paper, I naturally become more aware of my breathing.
Little by little, the busy thoughts in my mind begin to fade.
I believe this is one of the greatest benefits of painting.
When your mind feels complicated, when you have too many thoughts, or when your heart simply feels tired, I recommend trying to draw or paint. It can be surprisingly effective.
You do not need to create an ambitious work of art.
You do not need to be good at drawing.
You do not need expensive materials.
All you need is a small piece of paper, something to draw with, and a little time to focus.
While drawing, we step away from the noise of the world for a moment. We can let go of the pressure to do something well or to create something impressive. We simply observe, breathe, and move our hands.
And when the drawing is finished, I often notice something beautiful.
The face of the person who has been drawing seems a little brighter.
It is not because the finished drawing is a masterpiece. Perhaps it is because, during that short period of time, the mind has become quieter, complicated thoughts have settled, and the heart has become a little lighter.
We live surrounded by endless information, responsibilities, worries, and distractions. In modern life, simply sitting quietly and giving our full attention to one small thing has become increasingly rare.
Perhaps that is why making art has become even more precious.
Painting creates something we can see, but at the same time, it changes something we cannot see.
It quiets the mind, gives the spirit a place to rest, and gently brings light back into us.
You do not have to be a great artist.
You do not even have to call yourself an artist.
Just take a small piece of paper and begin with a single line.
Sometimes, a few quiet lines are enough
to bring us back to ourselves.

My Submission to Common Threads of Realism and Abstract ArtI recently submitted three of my paintings to “Common Threads of Realism and Abstract Art,” a juried exhibition at Mills Pond Gallery.
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The theme immediately resonated with me because it closely reflects the direction my work has taken in recent years—somewhere between what I see and what I feel.
Nature is often the starting point of my paintings. Water, light, flowers, fish, rocks, and landscapes remain recognizable, but I am not interested in simply reproducing what I see. As I paint, forms begin to dissolve, colors move beyond their natural boundaries, and textures and brushstrokes develop their own rhythm.
Reality gradually becomes something more internal.
Between Seen and UnseenA cave opens toward water and light. Rocks, water, and hanging vegetation create a recognizable place, yet parts of the landscape dissolve into layers of color and texture.
This painting explores the boundary between what we can see and what we can only sense. I wanted the cave to feel like a passage between two worlds—the visible world before us and another world that exists somewhere beyond our perception.
Unfading EnergyA vast moon hangs over a landscape filled with flowers, fragments of color, and a tiny illuminated house.
The flowers begin as recognizable forms but gradually break apart into color, texture, and movement. I think of them less as individual flowers and more as traces of energy.
Nature is constantly changing. Flowers bloom and disappear, seasons pass, and everything living eventually changes its form. Yet I often feel that the energy within life does not simply vanish.
It transforms.
That idea became the heart of Unfading Energy.
Toward the LightKoi rise through the water toward a luminous surface. Their bodies remain recognizable, while water, petals, reflections, and colors gradually merge into abstraction.
Their upward movement feels instinctive to me, as though they are being drawn toward something they cannot fully understand.
The light can be sunlight, but it can also become hope, possibility, or the quiet force that keeps us moving forward.
The Common ThreadAlthough these three paintings depict very different scenes, I realized that they share the same underlying question:
What exists beyond what we can see?
The unseen world behind a landscape.
The energy that remains as things change.
The light that draws us forward.
I begin with recognizable images from nature, but through color, texture, movement, and imagination, I search for something that cannot be completely represented by realistic forms alone.
For me, realism and abstraction are not opposites. They are two ways of approaching the same world.
The visible gives me a place to begin.
The unseen gives me a reason to paint.