We create in our art what we need the most

The Flowers We Need

Somewhere in Connecticut, in a small sunlit studio filled with the quiet hum of women breathing again, I stood beside Wendy Brightbill and picked up a brush and a style that was quietly waiting to emerge.

The table was scattered with supplies and soft conversation, but I couldn’t stop staring at a vase of peonies.

They weren’t fresh. Not exactly.

Petals curled inward. Edges browned.

But they were still here.

Still soft. Still holding something beautiful.

And it hit me—that’s me.

That’s who I am right now.

A little wilted. Still rooted. Still showing up.

I didn’t come to Connecticut looking for a metaphor, but one found me anyway. Isn’t that the way it works?

Beauty shows up when we finally slow down enough to let it.

I didn’t know how much I needed those flowers until I tried to paint them.

And suddenly I wasn’t just painting—I was remembering.

Returning.

Reclaiming something quiet but essential.

Because that’s what art does.

And that’s what flowers do too.

They’re not just decoration.

They’re direction.

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They remind us what we long for—peace, delight, permission, presence.

And the ones we’re drawn to most?

In each moment, they lead us back to what we most need to feel, remember, or make.

They often carry the messages we’re most desperate to believe.

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So here’s what they say:

Lavender says: You’re safe now.
It’s okay to unclench.
Let go of the hypervigilance. Let your nervous system breathe.
Result: You remember how to trust yourself.

Peony says: Softness is strength.
You don’t have to hustle to matter.
Result: You start offering yourself the gentleness you give to everyone else.

Sunflower says: Look up.
Even if the day feels heavy, even if grief still lingers, turn your face toward light.
Result: You rise. Not all at once, but enough to keep going.

Rose says: Love is here—even in the thorns.
You don’t need to be perfect to be worthy.
Result: You make peace with the mess, the scars, the truth of who you are.

Chamomile says: Let it be easy.
Rest is not laziness. Simplicity is not small.
Result: You do less—but feel more alive.

Daisy says: You are enough.
Not someday. Not after the weight loss or the clean house or the perfectly executed plan.
Result: You stop proving. You start being.

Hibiscus says: There’s still time for passion.
The dreams you thought you buried? They’re just dormant.
Result: You dare to want something again.

Lilac says: Let the past go.
Not because it didn’t happen—but because it doesn’t get to be in charge anymore.
Result: You unhook from the old story and begin a new one.

Tulip says: Begin again.
No drama. No apology. Just a quiet, steady return.
Result: You show up, even with shaky hands.

Forget-Me-Not says: You matter—even in the quiet.
Even if no one claps. Even if no one sees.
Result: You stop waiting for permission and start honoring your voice.

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We create what we need the most.

We reach for brushes and bloom-shaped metaphors because something inside us knows: this isn’t just about making something pretty.

It’s about making something true.

And in that Connecticut studio, painting beside Wendy and those tired little flowers, I felt something return to me—something tender and quiet that I hadn’t even realized I’d lost:

Hope.

Hope in the form of pigment. Of petals. Of presence.

So if you’re tired, if you feel like your colors have faded…

Come sit beside me.
Come paint with me.
Come be a flower too.

You don’t need to be fresh.
You just need to show up.

And let the beauty inside you find its way out again.

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So the next time you feel stuck, uncertain, or like you've lost your way—
look to the flowers.

Let them speak. Let them lead. Let them soften something in you.

Because creativity doesn’t always start with clarity.

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Sometimes it starts with a whisper,
a color,
a petal
that reminds you:

You’re not lost.
You’re just becoming.

And the art you make today?

It may be exactly what your heart needed all along.

Love,
Lynn
Make art. Be happy. Be soft. Show up anyway.