Art Monastery

Ambivalence Moon New Moon May 15, 2026 Agnes Martin on a rooftop under insular raindrops —Anne Waldman, from Refuge Vow, a Parable ‍ ‍ How does light work As a cryptic answer To spring’s anxious life Flare of light, spear of star come, come whatever you are ‍ I find myself watching this one bee Burrow in a blue flower fence-wended Each both scented for need & for greed I am never more happy than alone Except my love when the light appears as you ‍ Whatever this is, it brings us both strengths We will be right as rain when desert-arrived: In good time, as oracle-hummed buzz Unerring trust, dust devil deliverance. POEM BY Qayyum Johnson PAINTING BY @suikoart

Today is my 50th birthday. When I was a kid, I thought that at some point—something impossibly old like 26—you’d hit stasis. You’d become a fixed version of yourself. Do the same thing every day. Understand the world. Know what was coming. It sounded so dull compared to my world of velcro sneakers with tiger patches and the feeling that anything could happen. Back then, everything felt fluid. Who I was. How the universe worked. All of it sparkling with possibility. And the funny thing is… that never really went away. In my 20s, I moved through life with a kind of quiet certainty. It didn’t occur to me that I wouldn’t live a colorful, adventurous life. And in many ways, I have. But life has also brought heartbreak. Mistakes. Moments I never would have chosen. And something in me has deepened because of that. The faith I have now isn’t the same. It’s less naive. But more real. More practiced. More resilient. Right now, on the edge of this new decade, I’m being asked to deepen that even more. There’s a lot I don’t know. A lot still unfolding. And through it all, I keep returning to my sketchbook. The drawings reveal themselves as I make them. Or maybe they’re making me. Creativity is not something I do when life is easy. It’s how I stay in relationship with what is real. At 50, I’m not arriving at certainty. I’m choosing to stay open. If you’ve been feeling the pull to return to your own creative life… I hope you listen to it. If you want support for that, check out the FREE online retreat "Making Zen". (link in bio) #mindfulmaking #creativepractice #artaspractice #turning50 #artistlife #slowart #presence

In 2019, I became lay-ordained as a Soto Zen Buddhist. Part of that process was sewing a rakusu, a small ceremonial robe made by hand, piece by piece. The stitches have a name: Namu Kie Butsu. As you sew, you repeat the phrase “Namu kie butsu” “I take refuge in Buddha” one phrase for every stitch. I thought I was learning how to make something. What I learned was how to be with something. Later that year, a few days before my wedding, I was sitting in our living room embroidering a shirt for my husband. The house was in full pre-wedding motion. Furniture moving, altar-building, details everywhere. And I was in a big armchair, stitching. This time, instead of “Namu kie butsu,” I repeated our wedding vows. One vow for every stitch. Something shifted. I wasn’t rushing. I wasn’t trying to finish. I was moving through the words slowly, letting them land. At some point I realized I was falling in love with him all over again. Just steadily, stitch by stitch. Every time he walked through the room, we’d catch each other’s eye and pause. That’s when it clicked: Devotion isn’t just something you feel. It’s something you practice. That’s what Sacred Stitching is about. I’m teaching this for the first time inside the Making Zen Online Retreat. We’ll choose a phrase that matters to you, a simple design, and then we stitch, letting your hands and your words find their rhythm together. It’s free, and you’re invited. [link in bio]

My 3rd Grade Experiment

Fool Mussel Velocity Moon New Moon April 17, 2026 I would wish it on no one to be me. Only I am capable of bearing myself. To know so much, to have seen so much, and To say nothing, just about nothing. —Robert Walser Of course. Absolutely. One hundred percent. Obviously. Zero doubt. I want it all. Literally. Everything. Full stop, round-the-clock, forever and ever and ever, all. of. it. No hesitation, totally committed crushing it, in-training, re- programming old patterns every day, taking data in, optimizing, trading up, on the move, hungry diet motivated, dialed-up, focused even on rest days wholly invested in higher self box breathing, supplements creatine, journals, kettlebells resistance-release, tension- torsion, tucking, holding repeated appraisals, ones & zeds the skin, the voice, the hype couture of sidelong glances timed for max impact. All tongue this life, only cheek swishing sea foam & planet roar anchored immodestly at the center of the universe. A pragmatist in the last best harbor I concede I am a mere world unto you & although I will not take your calls you arouse whole oceans of waves within.

I asked Day Schildkret how to cultivate intuition in a creative practice. I expected something ceremonial. Light a candle. Pull a card. He said: create space at points of transition. When we hang up, he lingers before moving on. After a shower, he pauses before grabbing the towel. A breath. A beat. That’s it. Awareness in the in-between. Years ago, I practiced pausing one extra beat before responding in conversations. People kept talking. They went deeper. I realized I wasn’t listening as well as I thought. That tiny pause changed my relationships. Day’s invitation feels the same. Those micro-transitions are like conversational space with your own creative spirit. Rush them and you cut it off. Linger and something more has time to speak. These are the kinds of precise, lived insights that have been emerging in the Free Your Inner Artist summit. Nearly two dozen artists and teachers at the intersection of spiritual practice and creative expression. Each session includes a short interview and a guided mini-workshop you can step into right away. If you’re already registered, I can’t wait for you to experience it. If you’ve been meaning to join us, this is your nudge. Save your free seat: artmonastery.org/summit (Link in bio, too)

Storm in the Night That Wakes Us Moon Full Moon March 3, 2026 O now you come in a rut, in rank and black desire, to beat the brush, to lash the wind with your long hair. Ha! I am afraid, exceedingly afraid. -Linda Hogan Can’t shake the gloaming of samsara some days about the time caffeine peaks & the world careens off another carbon cliff my middle heart heads for the exit all that orphan wants is out Unsatisfactoriness viewed dispassionately is probably impossible but good people give themselves to it breathing in dense smoke from crematorium ghats exhaling streaming clouds of good in luminous micrograms all in the heart-mind-body The scenography from the documentary shows but it does not tell how we got here ditto the origin stories though spooled in reverse All told it’s left to you to imagine what the navel of world looks like on first entering through birth I picture it sometimes in the afternoon when I’ve already given up & am willing to sign off on anything: A caregiver utterly surrounds me like a grass mountain desert forest wedded to sky river space ocean it is an inclusive warm melody consciousness of one thing connected to all things flowering, still, flowing an infinity dazzlingly simple In such moments there is no above below or all-around only senses stirred ever quite gently outward in welcome. (lightning, thunder) Poem by Qayyum Johnson Painting by @suikoart

learned to swim late. By fifth grade, I was afraid of the water and embarrassed about it. On my first day of synchronized swimming training program, I stood on the edge of the pool, frozen, not wanting to raise my hand when the coach asked who didn’t know how to swim certain strokes. Everyone else looked like they knew what they were doing. I copied them, tried desperately to keep up (and not drown). What helped wasn’t confidence. It was structure. A coach. A sequence. A group. I didn’t need to feel ready. I needed a container that held me while I learned. I think about that a lot when people tell me they’re blocked creatively or can’t find the time. tarting isn’t about courage. It’s about being supported while you practice. That’s why I’m offering Liberate Your Creativity, a 30-day Art & Zen challenge with San Francisco Zen Center. One creative practice. 12 minutes a day. A gentle structure that links art and spiritual life. You don’t have to feel ready. You just have to be willing to get in the water. We start soon! Link in bio.

Kinship Libido Moon Full Moon January 3, 2026 "Singing yet, the Ancient One lifted the head of her daughter and sent it spinning upward until it reached the top branch of the tree. It settled there and began to shine, it radiance growing every more brilliant as she sang." -from a version of the Sky Woman story, told by Paula Gunn Allen As I am sad beneath my anger the moon sees below every cover & as I thrash defended from grief deep changes occur to the moon in every moment the whole world alike in this cyclical shimmy, shake, drop, and rise Please (I ask) be courageous & listen for wisdom in this new year, just like last year and all the years before May there be such grace as winter requires so that summer finds us together in circle with those to whom we are bound in love & grace, in forgiving & strength Under the belly of the cosmos may we be nourished & give back oh yes, let us give ourselves away entirely my life in total one death poem beetles and bees dancing in the warm belonging of us together. Poem by Qayyum Johnson Painting by Suiko McCall @suikoart

The Great Turning Moon New Moon October 21, 2025 The signs of change are subtle but abundant… Each fall, nature gives us a glimpse of the path back in. -Richard Vacha, The Heart of Tracking Outward an owl alights into the tree behind your head a white flash in the pine, a man’s voice near the ground there is litter, half-wet leaves, a paper bag still rounded tallboy shape under voluptuous ivy, black star-free stipple the river water shushing sound attracts/distracts attention one is swaddled by the embankment in the pregnant wet chill it is traffic air moving sonorously in a lullaby murmur augur of death on silent wings—the voice of your father starting to depersonalize with age, uncertain of its place which unmoors something, ballast slipped free of anchor crying in this dream place rife with currants & wild cherry one foot lifts off, a circle half sprung, one foot returns snapping night twigs, bewitched startlement, blind saga through the rhythm we re-mind our way through, O mother through the way, stomp-step rise-settle turn-move, breathe behind your head is a light, each turn casts a life, an offering sweeping clean with soaproot, delta mouth & ocean from here all directions accompany us home inward just the crux at midnight bend Poem by Qayyum Johnson Painting by Suiko McCall. Great Turning Moon 2025. Pigment on paper, 11x11” @suikoart

Tonglen Moon Full Moon October 7, 2025 "When we experience pain for the world, the world is feeling through us. This is the central insight of the work: if feelings flow into us from the world, they can also flow back out again—they don’t have to get stuck in us." —Joanna Macy Fog falling roof, on leaves, predawn blue quiet after recycling truck serenades slick hill block I breathe consonants, sibilance to describe myself to you O world of lefthand calligraphy & luminous water to descend into myself with you surrounding means receiving my breath as close can hope gently just so—holding the real of it (in this moment, together-alone) O fullness beyond my capacity release me into you that we may take pain & send light waking again, looking out our courageous wind before ourself the sun Poem by Qayyum Johnson Art by Suiko McCall

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