​Today, I had the unique opportunity to learn how to transform analog artwork into a digital creation. For this project, the theme was “SAVE THE FROGS.”

​We started with hand-drawn frog illustrations using colored pencils and crayons, and then brought these works into Photoshop to develop them into a polished digital poster. The process was not only technical but also eye-opening, bridging traditional art with modern digital tools.

The first step was to become familiar with Photoshop’s toolbar and menu bar. In analog drawing, we rely on tangible tools—pencils, erasers, and brushes. In the digital space, these are replaced by icons and menus. We experimented with selection tools, brushes, erasers, and cropping, while also exploring essential menu options such as creating new files, adjusting image size, saving work, and importing images. This foundation gave us the confidence to navigate Photoshop as naturally as we would reach for a pencil or paintbrush.

Next, we learned about layers, which turned out to be the most powerful part of the process. In traditional art, once something is drawn or painted on paper, changes can be difficult or even impossible. With digital layers, however, each element can exist independently. For example, the frog illustration could remain on one layer, while the text “SAVE THE FROGS” could be placed on another. This allowed us to adjust the text color, reposition the drawings, or experiment with background effects—all without disturbing the original artwork. It was like having invisible sheets of tracing paper stacked together, offering freedom to edit and refine.

The highlight of the session was assembling the final poster. By combining analog textures with digital enhancements, we created a work that retained the warmth and personality of hand-drawn art while gaining the clarity and vibrancy of digital design. We adjusted brightness and contrast, refined outlines, and arranged hand-drawn letters over vivid backgrounds. The result was a poster that felt both authentic and professional, carrying the message “SAVE THE FROGS” in a way that could resonate with a wide audience.

What struck me most through this process is that analog and digital are not opposing worlds but complementary partners. The unique charm of pencil strokes and hand-colored textures brings life that digital tools cannot fully replicate. Meanwhile, digital editing expands the reach and flexibility of that analog charm, making it easier to share with others and adapt for various uses.

Through today’s project, I didn’t just learn how to use Photoshop—I discovered a new way to think about creative work. Analog art gives us the soul of creation, while digital editing provides the wings to carry that soul further. Moving forward, I am excited to keep experimenting with this blend of traditional and digital methods, finding new ways to tell stories and deliver meaningful messages through art.

I am delighted to share that I have been invited to participate in the group exhibition “Imagination 25” at Mills Pond Gallery. This annual show gathers artists whose works explore the power of imagination, transforming inner visions into tangible artistic expressions. To have one of my paintings included among such a diverse range of voices feels deeply meaningful.

The work selected for this exhibition is part of a larger series of large-scale watercolors I began last year while exploring the fundamental role of art. This series has already received recognition: one of the works was sold during this year’s “Winners Exhibition.” Now, another piece from the same body of work will be on view in “Imagination 25.” For me, this continuity affirms that the questions I am pursuing through painting continue to resonate.

This particular painting is especially personal. It originated not only from artistic exploration but also from a vivid dream I had before the pandemic. In that dream, I saw an angel gazing into a mirror. At first glance, the figure appeared to be a radiant angel. But when I looked closer, I noticed something unsettling—the angel possessed a serpent’s tail. What struck me most was that in the mirror, only the angel’s pure form was reflected. The serpent’s tail was hidden, visible only through the faint glow of a candle and the drawings on a cave wall.

This dream scene became, for me, a symbolic meditation on the role of art. In our world, appearances often mask deeper realities. Hypocrisy, pretense, and contradictions are easily concealed behind polished images. Yet art, like the candlelight in my dream, has the power to reveal what lies beneath. It illuminates the hidden, the uncomfortable, and the unspoken truths that otherwise remain unseen.

From time to time, I experience dreams that remain vivid long after waking. When that happens, I try to capture them through painting. To me, dreams are a language of the unconscious, sometimes revealing truths more clearly than waking life. This painting is one of those rare works born out of such a dream. It is not just an image but an exploration of how art serves as a torchlight—bringing hidden realities into view, questioning the world we inhabit, and offering new perspectives.

To participate in “Imagination 25” is not only an honor but also a reminder of the path I have chosen as an artist. This exhibition is both a continuation and a new beginning, linking my inner vision to a broader conversation with viewers. My hope is that those who encounter this painting will feel the same symbolic tension I experienced in the dream—that delicate balance between the beauty of the angel and the disturbing presence of the serpent’s tail, revealed only by light and art.
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In the end, this work is a personal testament to the enduring role of art: to shine a light on the contradictions of the world, to pierce through facades, and to remind us that truth often lies in what is not immediately visible.

​This year, once again, our students and I are preparing for the “Save The Frogs” Art Contest. Each year that we take part, I find myself deeply inspired by how much the children grow through this experience. At first, many were simply satisfied with drawing frogs, but now they have come to understand the idea of a poster—how to design an image that carries a message, speaks to an audience, and advocates for something important. Their works have grown more refined, more sophisticated, and, most importantly, filled with their own voices.

A poster is more than just a drawing. It combines composition, clarity of theme, and the power to move people. Through this project, the students learn that creating art is not only about drawing well, but also about asking: What do I want to express? What do I hope others feel or understand when they see my work? Some students use colors and layouts to communicate the value of life, while others explore the relationship between humans and frogs, highlighting the importance of coexistence. In this way, each child steps for a moment into the role of both designer and environmental advocate.

​What stands out especially this year is the diversity of approaches. Some chose realistic depictions of frogs to emphasize the urgency of extinction. Others used cartoon-like characters to create a friendlier but still powerful message. Some experimented with dimensional lettering and patterns to capture attention visually. Each piece reflects a unique personality and imagination, and as their teacher, it is incredibly rewarding to witness these creative voices come alive on the page.

The “Save The Frogs” contest is not simply about artistic skill. It is about reflection and awareness. Through drawing, students begin to think about environmental destruction, endangered species, and our shared responsibility to protect the earth. While sketching frogs, our classroom conversations naturally expand to topics such as biodiversity, ecological balance, and the role we each play in conservation. The children ask themselves, If I could help save frogs, what would I do? and then they try to answer that question through colors, lines, and images.
When the artworks are complete, we gather to share them. Each student presents a different voice, and the variety itself is powerful. The children see firsthand that there are countless ways to express one idea, and that their individual perspectives matter. This becomes not only an art lesson but also a lesson in empathy, imagination, and civic engagement.

Once again, this year’s preparation for “Save The Frogs” has proven to be much more than getting ready for a contest. Each student shows new levels of effort, creativity, and awareness, and I am reminded of the power of art education. Art is one of the purest and most effective languages we have to speak to the world. Seeing children learn that language—and use it to raise their voices for the environment—is something truly special.
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As we move forward, our hope is to continue using this contest not only as an artistic challenge but as a bridge to the larger world. A small frog on the brink of extinction is, in fact, connected to the health of our entire planet. Sharing that truth through art is perhaps the greatest gift “Save The Frogs” brings to us.

I am truly delighted to share this note of gratitude as I look back on another successful Outdoor Art Show. This marks my fourth year of participating, and each time I am reminded why I continue to return. Although it is physically demanding work to set up a tent and spend long hours outdoors, I do it gladly because I can meet art lovers face to face, share conversations, and see the sparkle in their eyes when they connect with my paintings. Every year brings a slightly different experience, and that change itself feels like a gift. These memories are priceless, and I treasure recording them year after year.

This year, my booth was located in the newly arranged section created by Gallery North, at space B54, right in front of a small pond. In previous years, I believe I was at B10. Of course, the most visible booths are along the main road, where visitors naturally pass through. Those located deeper in the corners are more easily overlooked, and even some visitors who came specifically to see me said they had a hard time finding my booth.
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But in truth, the location does not matter. What matters most is that those who love my paintings always find their way to me. I am deeply grateful for that. Even during heavy rain, when many booths had already packed up, there were people who braved the storm to come and purchase a painting. I still vividly remember how we all cheered together with joy as they carried the artwork away in their arms. That memory remains close to my heart. In the end, such a hidden and intimate spot allowed for deeper stories to unfold—moments of connection that I will never forget.

My booth is always arranged with paintings both displayed on the walls and placed on the table. At the Outdoor Art Show, I hold to one principle: I do not raise my prices to gallery levels. Instead, I want visitors to feel comfortable, to come close, to look carefully, and to spend time sharing stories with me.
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What stood out this year was how many people who had purchased my paintings in the past came back to share their impressions and experiences.

​These conversations left a deep impression on me. Whenever I sell a painting, my greatest hope is that it will bring joy and warmth to the home where it hangs. Hearing these personal stories of how my work has become part of someone’s daily life is always the most rewarding and happiest moment for me.

My children have grown up naturally surrounded by my paintings, and in many ways, they are growing inside the artwork with me. This year, my younger child joined me at the Outdoor Art Show, which made the experience especially meaningful. It was a wonderful opportunity to show my child how many people work together to create a beautiful and supportive community.
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Right next to my booth were a couple of artists who create jewelry from sea glass collected along the beach. (Barefoot beach glass by Pat Obrien)

​They were so kind and generous, and they taught my child many things throughout the event. For that, I am truly grateful. Encounters like these remind me once again of the deep connections and shared learning that art can bring to our lives.

Although my booth was tucked away in a corner, I found myself truly loving the spot. A small tree provided cool shade throughout the day, and I was able to use the open space just behind the booth. I even brought in a picnic table there, which allowed me the rare luxury of enjoying lunch while looking out over the pond.

This year’s event was blessed with perfect weather—no strong winds, no rain, and neither too cold nor too hot. I am especially grateful to everyone who came to see me and my work. To me, my customers are truly my best friends, and I will always remember them with gratitude.

On the first day of the Outdoor Art Show, I came by a day early to check in and visit the spot where I would be exhibiting my work. My booth number is B54, tucked away in a quiet corner right next to a peaceful pond. The location immediately gave me a sense of calm. It was directly under a large tree, which meant I would have the comfort of shade throughout the day—a welcome relief for both myself and visitors who might stop by.

At the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder if being in the corner might make it easy for people to pass by without noticing my paintings. Unlike the booths set along the main path, my space was slightly hidden, requiring visitors to take a small step away from the crowd to discover it. For an artist, that thought naturally brings a little concern. Still, as I stood there, sunlight streamed through the branches above, and a double rainbow appeared across my view. It felt like a sign of reassurance, as though nature itself was reminding me that beauty is often found in unexpected places.
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I decided to embrace this feeling and see the location not as a disadvantage, but as an opportunity to create a small sanctuary of art for anyone who wandered over. The rainbow became a quiet symbol of hope for me. I wish that everyone who visits this place during the show will feel a bit of that same good fortune and joy, as if the colors of the rainbow are welcoming them, too.

Before the Outdoor Show begins, before the booths are even set up, I love capturing the atmosphere of the grounds. There is a certain emptiness that lingers in the open space, a feeling similar to when a painting is taken down from a wall, leaving behind a blank spot that once held color and meaning. It is a quiet, expectant emptiness, one that seems to wait patiently for transformation. Soon enough, the booths will rise, and beautiful works of art will fill the space. At that moment, the entire place shifts into something extraordinary—almost like a magical realm, where ordinary surroundings are transformed by creativity and imagination.

It reminds me of the fleeting way a rainbow appears in the sky: suddenly, silently, and almost unnoticed, until you stop to look. The art show feels the same. In a short span of time, this quiet landscape becomes a world alive with stories, visions, and emotions, waiting to be discovered by visitors.

As an artist, I want to say something with all my heart to those who come. Please, do not buy mass-printed, commercial images that carry little more than surface decoration. Instead, come here, to this very place, and support living artists. It doesn’t matter whether it is my work or another artist’s—what matters is that you choose to take home something real, something created by human hands and spirit. Wait for it, even if it means coming back year after year. The patience and devotion of true admirers sustain us.
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This kind of support gives depth to the often difficult life of an artist. It makes our struggles meaningful and allows us to pour our lives and our energy fully into art. Your choice to value original art is what makes it possible for us to keep creating—not only for ourselves, but for the beauty and enrichment of the world we all share.

In this spirit, I find myself returning to the Outdoor Art Show year after year. This will be my fourth time participating, and with each return I feel a deeper sense of connection—to the place, to the tradition, and most importantly, to the people who come. For me, the show is not just an exhibition but a living dialogue between artists and art lovers. Each conversation, each curious glance, and each heartfelt exchange feels like a gift, and I continue to hope that I will meet as many new admirers of art as possible.

That is why the moment I open my booth, carefully arrange my paintings, and see them come alive in the natural light feels so profound. It is not simply the act of setting up a display; it is a moment of recognition, a declaration of my dedication to art. In that instant, I feel something more valuable than receiving a prestigious award. Awards may bring honor, but they are fleeting symbols. The act of sharing my work directly with people, watching their reactions, and knowing that a piece of my vision may stay with them long after the show ends—that is an honor beyond comparison.
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For me, these small but powerful moments of connection define the true meaning of being an artist. They are reminders that art is not created in isolation, but in a larger cycle of giving and receiving, of offering beauty and allowing it to be seen. Each Outdoor Art Show renews that cycle, and I am grateful to be a part of it once again.

So, I document every moment like this. I want to cherish these experiences, which change every year, like an outdoor art show.

The most memorable moment on the very first day of the Outdoor Art Show was that I finally found the owner of my koi fish painting. For some time, I had been waiting and wondering who would eventually be drawn to it, who would see in it the same spirit of grace and vitality that I felt when creating it. That moment arrived when a beautiful, elegant woman approached me. With a warm smile, she showed me a photograph on her phone—a picture of my koi fish painting that she had taken earlier at the Port Jefferson Gallery. She explained that she had admired it there, keeping it in her mind ever since. Now, she stood before me once again, still carrying that image, still feeling its pull.

It was then that I understood: she was the one destined to become the guardian of this work. There was something profoundly moving about the way she carried that memory, holding onto the painting’s presence until she could return to it. It felt as though the koi fish had been quietly waiting for her, as much as she had been waiting for it.

In that moment, gratitude filled me. As artists, we often speak about creating from the heart, pouring our energy into colors and shapes without knowing exactly where they will travel or who they will touch. To see the circle complete—to watch a painting find its home and to witness the joy it brings—is a blessing beyond words. I sincerely hope that this koi fish painting will not only brighten her home but also harmonize with her family, filling their lives with a sense of peace, happiness, and radiant energy.
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For me, this was more than a simple transaction. It was a reminder that art has its own way of finding the right people, the right places, and the right moments. To the new owner of the koi fish, I extend my deepest thanks and my heartfelt blessing: may this painting be a source of joy, inspiration, and beauty for many years to come.

Another moment that deeply touched me this year was seeing a returning visitor—someone who had purchased one of my dove paintings last year. When she came back to my booth, it felt like greeting an old friend. She shared once again how much her daughter loved the dove, and I was moved all over again by the sincerity of that connection. The thought that a child could hold such affection for a painting, cherishing it not just as decoration but as something meaningful, filled me with gratitude.

Because of that memory, I was inspired to paint another dove. In some way, it felt like a gift back to them, a continuation of the story that began the first time they chose my work. When I showed her the new painting, there was a special sense of recognition, as if the spirit of the dove had returned to meet them again.
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Moments like this bring immense happiness to me as an artist. It is not only about creating and showing art—it is about the life that the artwork goes on to live, the bonds it creates, and the emotions it nurtures in the hearts of others. To witness that cycle continue, to know that my work has found a place in someone’s life in such a personal way, is one of the greatest rewards I can imagine.

In a quiet moment, I found myself reflecting on what I truly wish for my paintings. More than anything, I hope that my art will shine more beautifully than any jewel. That is the standard I set for myself, and for that reason, I will always give my very best when I paint.

I am reminded of a story about the artist Gustav Klimt. One day, his son visited him in his studio. Klimt told his son that he could take the most precious thing he found there. The boy looked around carefully, considering the treasures that filled the room, and finally chose a small golden watch. But think about this: in that very studio rested The Kiss, the painting that would one day become one of Austria’s most celebrated national treasures. What greater symbol of value could there be than this? The story shows us that the true worth of art is not always obvious in the moment—it grows, transcends time, and becomes priceless beyond measure.
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This is the kind of art I wish to create: work that will outlast fleeting trends, carrying beauty and meaning so profound that it becomes more valuable than gold. And if I may share a personal hope—it is that everyone who owns one of my paintings will, in some way, become rich. Not only in the material sense, but also in spirit, in joy, and in the wealth that comes from living with art that nourishes the soul.