Sweater Weather, New Beginnings, and the Upper Canada Native Art Gallery
There’s a quiet joy in sweater weather—the crisp air that clears away summer’s weight and invites gratitude for small moments. Yesterday brought a milestone for me: acceptance into the Upper Canada Native Art Gallery in Niagara-on-the-Lake. The gallery’s historic charm and the kind words of its curator affirmed my path as an artist. Yet even in celebration, the stone still calls—an owl already waiting within soapstone and cherry wood, ready to be revealed with care.
This morning I’m sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee, taking in what feels like the best time of year. Sweater weather—cool air that clears out the heaviness of summer and makes you pause for a breath of gratitude. It’s a reminder that the simplest moments can hold so much weight.
Yesterday was a milestone for me. I was accepted into the Upper Canada Native Art Gallery in Niagara-on-the-Lake—a place my wife and I have always loved for its preserved history and calm spirit. To have my work resting there feels deeply right. The gallery owner, someone with great experience curating sculpture, offered me kind words that helped lift the doubts that so often come with being an artist. As I’ve come to learn, where art finds its home is just as important as the piece itself. My hope is that my work offers the same rest and repose to others that it has given me in creating it.
But even in this moment of gratitude, I feel the pull back to the studio. The next piece is already waiting for me in the stone—a soapstone owl on a cherry wood base. The form is there, hidden inside, and my role is to carve gently so as not to disturb it too soon. With new tools and a fresh workspace ready, I’m eager to begin. Every new work feels like a conversation with the stone, and I’m looking forward to seeing where this one leads.
Keeping the Moment Holy: Mindfulness in Stone Carving and Life
Life’s rush often steals our attention, leaving us shallow and restless. Through stone carving and the mindful practice of treating each moment as “holy,” we can reclaim presence, gratitude, and peace in the small rhythms of daily living.
“There’s a rhythm and rush these days, where the lights don’t move and the colours don’t fade.” — José González, Stay Alive
We often find ourselves moving task to task in a blur, rushing through life without pausing to breathe. For me, stone carving is where the rush stops. It’s a mindful practice, a way to return to presence. To carve well, I must set aside the moment—make it “holy.”
In scripture, the Sabbath was meant as a day of rest, set apart from work. It was a practice of abstaining from productivity, a way of fasting from the rush of doing. Ascetic monks extended this rhythm into daily life through abstinence and devotion. In the modern West, we’ve reshaped this idea into what we now call mindfulness—bringing ourselves back into the present moment.
But what if we went a step further? What if every act was set aside as “holy”?
We lose presence in daily life when we lose gratitude. The little things—our morning coffee, sunlight on the window, an old song on the drive home—become invisible. Stone carving has taught me this lesson repeatedly. Some days the work feels like strain and frustration, but when I remember to treat the act itself as sacred, the process shifts. Each mark of the chisel becomes a prayer, a moment of presence, a reminder that the craft cannot be rushed.
Without this, life quickly slips into what González describes as a “world gone shallow and a world gone mean.” The antidote is simple: notice, give thanks, and let each moment last.
We are here only a short while. Let us honor the small rhythms of life as gifts from the Creator—moments set apart, holy, eternal.
