Two years ago, I visited Greenwich in London. I had been to London before, but Greenwich was that bit further out so I hadn’t made the trip. What drew me to Greenwich was the Royal Observatory and the Prime Meridian line. The day I visited, I had great joy standing over the Prime Meridian line, thinking I had one foot in one meridian and one foot in another.

The Royal Observatory was fascinating. I remember vividly some of the clocks and timepieces I saw. There, I learned about the connection between time and the sea. Celestial navigation. Ships can use clocks to more accurately calculate where they are in the world.

I remember vividly the physical spaces in that museum: the spacious interior of the observatory dome, the equipment at the Prime Meridian line, the display cases with various time pieces. I remember the joy I felt at seeing different clocks. I remember in what direction I was looking. Even if the details of a specific exhibit allude me, I remember the place where I stood when I saw it.

After visiting the Royal Observatory, I walked down the hill and went to the National Maritime Museum. While a maritime museum is not as interesting to me as an art gallery, I heard from a friend that the award winning pictures from the Astronomy Photographer of the Year competition were on display in one of the galleries.

One of the things I love about museums is that one exhibit can draw you in and, hours later, you can find yourself with a new interest. The Astronomy Photographer of the Year exhibition was my anchor. From there, I wandered around the museum and explored other exhibits. I learned so much: of voyages to the arctic and antarctic, of the extent of the British Navy, and so much more. After that experience, I would definitely visit a maritime museum again.

Within the maritime museum, I have vivid memories of being in different spaces. I remember the wall on which a particular photograph that caught my eye was on display. I could walk you to the picture today (although the exhibition has since rotated, so I could only take you to the wall, not the picture itself). I can’t remember the name of the photograph, but I remember where I was when I saw it. I remember the vivid blue colour of the ocean, illuminated by, if I remember, some kind of plankton. I was in awe at so many of the paintings in that room.

Many of my museum memories are anchored in a specific place: a room, a hallway, a specific wall. The images of some spaces are vivid. I remember where I was when I saw a work of art that particularly caught my attention (Even if, ironically, I couldn’t tell you how I got from the entrance of the museum to that piece. Oh! Museums can be labyrinths).

I started writing this post because I read Elena’s contribution to the IndieWeb Carnival this month that mentioned the term “Wildlife Photographer of the Year”. Reading those words instantly reminded me of the aforementioned Astronomy Photographer of the Year exhibit, and the specific wall on which the picture that really caught my attention was.

I have just found the picture: Like Blue Lava by Petr Horalek. The photograph is wonderful.

I started that day in Greenwich with the desire to see the Royal Observatory and the Prime Meridian. I ended the day with a newfound appreciation for astronomy photography and maritime history, and memories that, when recalled, make me feel as if I am back in Greenwich.

Whenever I visit an art gallery, there is inevitably a painting that sparks joy, or otherwise leaves me with an impression that sticks with me. Peter Paul Rubens’ Landscape by Moonlight was one such painting.

The painting depicts a landscape at night time. The ground and the trees on the left are dark. The river in the bottom left is illuminated by reflection of moonlight which draws attention to an animal in the foreground. A full moon peeks through an otherwise cloudy sky.

The sky, and the top of the trees, are dotted with specs of white paint. Stars.

I didn’t think too much about the stars until I read the commentary for the painting written by Francesca Herrick, the Public Programmes Educator at The Courtauld (plaque visible in the interactive view of the Permanent Collection), which notes:

The little flecks of white paint that form the twinkling stars suggest relaxed and joyful experimentation.

Notably, the stars appear in front of the clouds.

I remember smiling when I saw this painting. I stared at it for a while. I remember being struck by those words “joyful experimentation”, especially when reflecting on how the piece was painted between 1635-40. I was surprised and delighted that an attribute in a painting from centuries ago – the way the stars were painted – was perceived by someone as exhibiting “joyful experimentation”.

I started to think about how Rubens felt working on this piece. Why did he decide to add the stars as he did? Did Rubens smile when adding the stars? We will never know, but this perspective stuck with me.

As I moved onto the next room, I took one last look back at the painting to savour it for one more second. It is a beautiful piece.

Tonight, a project very near and dear to my heart, the Bay Lights in San Francisco, are officially re-lighting after a three-year hiatus. It’s been an incredible journey getting here. I literally mortgaged my apartment in 2013 to help fund them the first time around, and it’s such an honor to see them relit now with better technology and new programming from the amazing artist Leo Villareal.

Whether you’re looking down at the lights from a penthouse or top office, or up at them from the water along the Embarcadero, this is truly an art project that illuminates the soul of everyone in San Francisco, radically accessible and open.

I’ve heard they’re still raising around 500k to close out the project. You can dedicate a light here for someone special. I’m going to do one to honor my father, who passed in 2016. If you’d like to be part of San Francisco’s boom loop and have a pleasant twinkle of enlightenment every time you see the bridge, I encourage you to donate as well!

If you live somewhere with a view of the bridge, think of it as buying a piece of art you’ll enjoy every night, and also having that warm feeling of being part of making San Francisco more beautiful for everyone.

I’m on the board of Illuminate, which only has two full-time employees, and I’ve never seen another non-profit generate so much public joy and benefit with so few people. They’re also behind the Golden Mile and the live music at the Golden Gate Bandshell.

Please consider making a one-time donation of a light, which is anywhere from $100 to $2,500, or become a recurring member of the Illuminate Tribe, or if you are really part of making San Francisco better consider being an Illuminary at 50k/yr.

Also, thank you to all the WordPress community members who have done so much to support this project and help them fundraise and improve their website. It’s such a great example of the WordPress open source spirit and ethos.

San Francisco is so back! Let’s go!

I love the storytelling work that the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York does. For example, the Frame of Mind podcast highlights short stories of people’s relationships with museums – around fifteen minutes long each. It is a great listen.

Last year, I watched a video by The Met on their YouTube channel as part of their “Meet Me at the Met” series. The video was an interview with Orhan Pamuk, a Nobel Prize-winning author. The video has stuck with me ever since.

When I think about “the artist was here,” the interview with Pamuk comes to mind. Orhan mentions that he found inspiration in several paintings in the museum. Museums can inspire writers. That has stuck with me. On reflection, I have written a fair bit about museums as places, and I have so much more I want to say. Museums inspire me.

Pamuk talks about the “museum-ness” of the museum. This makes me think about all the qualities of the museum as a place: the interior design, how each room feels, how it feels to walk between rooms, the art on the walls, the conversations that people have while studying an artwork.

A trip to the museum engages all my senses. I become aware of the past (through the art I am looking at) and the present (through the people I hear in the room) all at once. I think about the future (by reflecting on what I see and what it means), too.

What stood out to me most about the video was that both Pamuk, who in addition to being a writer also painted, and I had visited the museum. The artist was here. Watching the video again, Pamuk enters the Monet room in which one of my favourite works of art is kept: Ice Floes. A painting in front of which I stood for many minutes, admiring every detail. A painting so captivating I didn’t want to leave the gallery.

Countless people will have been in the Monet room; the same can be said of every room in every museum. Two people who have been to a museum have shared space, maybe not at the same time, but through time. When a friend mentions a museum that we have both been to, I think about this idea. We have both been there; we both have a story to tell.

This post was inspired by a prompt Frances gave me when we were exchanging blog post titles. I knew I wanted to write something for this prompt, but I had no idea what. I ended up writing about Sparking joy, but I kept the idea of "The artist was here" in my mind for when I was ready to write about it. Some things take time.

Muscogee artist Dana Tiger shares her life story – the ups and downs, her career, her family and their iconic apparel company – with exceptional honesty and inspiring resilience. In Tiger, director Loren Waters paints an incredibly compelling portrait of this remarkable artist, poignantly immersing us in Dana’s perspective of the world around her, and revealing how art has served as a healing practice in her family.

“The biggest inspiration behind Tiger was Dana Tiger herself”, Waters candidly confessed. While that is true for most artist portrait documentaries, Waters explained that the film was “really rooted in speaking to her character and really trying to create a painterly image with her, but also a portrait”. Dana’s voice feels present throughout all the directorial choices in the film. From her unwavering positivity to the artistic legacy of her family, the film feels incredibly personal and invites the audience into her world with a rare sense of intimacy.

“This film is a tribute to Dana’s life and her family’s incredible journey”

Waters gives Dana a voice, allowing her to share her own story in her own words. Her resilience and energy is infused in the visuals and pacing of the film, with DP Robert L. Hunter framing her in a way that makes Tiger feel like a homage to her and her work. This approach also creates a space for Dana to share her challenges and successes with agency, making the film all the more empowering. Eva Dubovoy’s editing and Amanda Moy’s sound design further enhance the empowering feeling of the film, adding to a rhythm that creates an effective emotional journey. 

“This film is a tribute to Dana’s life and her family’s incredible journey. It seeks to honor not only their legacy of artistic innovation but also their resilience in the face of adversity”, Waters shared. Despite the grief and adversity captured, Tiger also show the hope radiating from Dana in every second of the short. Her presence is not only inspiring but drives the film in a deeply engaging and captivating way. Waters crafts a work that feels celebratory while carrying an undeniable emotional depth that takes the audience by surprise and makes the watching experience so powerful.

After its World Premiere at the 2025 edition of Sundance, Tiger made its way around the festival circuit with notable stops at SXSW, deadCenter, Seattle, Aspen and the Palm Springs ShortFest. It also picked up multiple awards along the way, and was eligible for consideration at the 2026 Oscars. Waters is currently working on a short narrative film called A Map to the Next World.