Beyond the Surface

Creating Small Acts of Beauty in Fractured Times

Grateful for the sunshine, the autumn leaves and a puppy that takes me out on walks

Today, as I retreated into my sanctuary and pulled out my gel plate, I found myself wrestling with a question that's been haunting many of us: How do we maintain kindness in a country that often feels increasingly unkind?

An Instagram follower told me this afternoon that people who voted to take away her daughter’s freedoms don’t deserve her kindness.

I felt that. Deep in my bones, I felt that rage, that hurt, that bewilderment. I have a daughter, too, and I worry about what the future entails for her.

Who among us hasn’t wanted to withdraw our kindness when we feel our values, our rights, our children's futures are under threat?

Yet, as I pressed another leaf onto the carefully-brayered paint, watching impressions being left and colored over … as I continued building layers by juxtaposing different kinds of leaves, I thought about the layers that make up each of our stories. Just like these prints, nothing about human nature is simple, nothing is just one color, one impression, one choice.

In my workshops, I have always encouraged attendees to trust the process, to add one more layer even when they’re afraid of “ruining” what they’ve already created. Sometimes I see them hesitate, clutching their “safe” colors, afraid to experiment.

I understand that fear — in art and in life. 

It’s easier to stick with what we know, to stay in spaces that feel secure, to interact only with those who think like us.

And there is nothing wrong with that … but when you live in a day and age where we are all interconnected, whether or not we like it, we have to figure out what truly is our common ground.

I don’t have any answers for you … but I know that when the world feels overwhelming, when the divisions seem insurmountable, I retreat to my studio for some self-reflection.

It’s not an escape from the noise but more a search for solace — a necessary act of self-preservation. 

Each time I pull a print, each time I watch color and texture emerge from the gel plate, I feel my breathing slow down, my shoulders drop, my mind feel a tad clearer. 

It’s here, in this creative space, that I am able to re-center.

While monoprinting today, I came to the realization that instead of doom-scrolling through feeds of outrage and despair, instead of feeling my shoulders tensing with each swipe, instead of letting my tea go cold beside me untouched, I could be in my studio, creating something real, something that adds beauty to the world rather than depleting it.

Instead of unconsciously surrendering my precious attention to an endless stream of things I can’t control, I have the power to make different choices. It’s a power nobody can take away from me.

Every minute spent waiting for the next gut-punch of news is a minute wasted.

Instead of losing myself in comment threads and hot takes, I chose to lose myself in the meditative process of arranging leaves on my plate … of watching paint blend and separate.

I chose to marvel at a technique that helps freeze this season, preserve this moment, cherish this gift from Nature. 

My attention, I’m learning, is too valuable to throw away on digital noise. It’s a resource that is far more precious than my most expensive art supplies — and I want to use it to create rather than consume.

When I step into my studio instead of reaching for my phone, when I choose to invest my energy into making rather than scrolling, I find I have so much more to give — to my art, to my family, to my community. To you.

I know that the prints I created in these reclaimed moments carry a different energy. They’re born not from distraction and anxiety, but from presence and peace. And, I also know that this act of creative self-care will have an unexpected ripple effect.

The prints I make while tending to my own spirit become vessels of connection that extend far beyond my studio. 

When I share these pieces, they will carry that peaceful energy with them.

Maybe the person receiving one will pause, really pause, and I will see them take a deep breath, too, turning my calm into their calm.

Looking at my most compelling prints — the ones where unexpected colors collided, where leaves shifted “wrongly” creating beautiful depth — I think about what we lose when we let fear keep us from adding one more layer, from making one more connection.

I understand the instinct to withdraw kindness when we feel threatened. I understand the rage, the fear, the desire to protect what we hold dear. 

But I keep coming back to this: if we stop being kind in our interpersonal interactions, what values are we really upholding?

So I keep printing. Keep layering. Keep creating these little tokens of beauty.

Not because I’m above the fray or have some special wisdom, but because I need to believe that small acts of human connection matter, especially when it’s hard to want to connect with those we perceive of as “the other.” 

When I share these prints with people in my community — the UPS driver, the crossing guard, the tech at the vet’s office — I'm not asking about their politics. 

This is not to say I’m pretending our differences don’t exist. I’m simply choosing to acknowledge our shared humanity that can be celebrated one little token at a time.

These prints aren’t perfect. Some have smudged edges, others have colors that didn’t quite blend as intended. But maybe that’s what makes them right for this moment — they’re real, imperfect, complex.

Like us. Like democracy.

Like the ongoing work of building community in fractured times.

Each of these little tokens is my tiny act of faith.

• Faith in kindness being a strength.

• Faith in being able to use our time on this planet to create something meaningful together.

• Faith in the inherent goodness of the human heart. 

It’s definitely not the easy way … but the alternative leads somewhere I’m not willing to go.

This is my small but deliberate choice to connect rather than separate. I will be offering these prints to people in my community and travels as small bridges, as acknowledgments of our shared humanity.

Each one carries a simple truth: we are all works in progress, all worthy of being seen, all deserving of kindness.

After all, isn’t that what both art and humanity ask of us?

The potential for discovery, and the courage to keep adding to our collective story — one small act of beauty at a time.

Wishing you peace and love,

Mansi.