In my art and in my life, I am constantly fluctuating between the details and the big picture. Did I miss the forest for the trees? Was I so focused on the big picture that I failed to notice a small detail in front of me? The big picture holds the clouds, the way the land rolls, and helps put into perspective how small we are in this big, big world. The treasures are held in the details, the drops of tears on my daughter’s lashes when she laughs so hard she can hardly breath, the butterfly wings, the brush strokes.

In my parenting and in my faith, I am constantly having to zoom in and zoom out. I think about the big picture of parenting: What kind of man will he be? Is he on track to make the grades and test scores to get into the school he wants to go to? Is he honorable and kind with his encounters?

I think about how it will all turn out, but I may miss the trees because I am so focused on the big picture. When he walks into the kitchen at 5:55 a.m., and I have ninety seconds for him to grab his lunch and fill his water bottle before cross-country practice, will I nag him or grind coffee—or will I connect with this man-child standing in my kitchen? Will I be present? Can I remember to stand still and look him in the eye and really ask how he is? I have to remind myself: zoom in, don’t focus on the forest, there is a hummingbird nest on this branch, notice it!

I taught myself to give dip manicures because I am too frugal to pay for them and because my daughters friends were all getting them, and my daughters wanted one, too. Each finger gets about eight steps. It is a small way for me to focus on my daughters and their friends. I hold their fingers and silently pray that those fingers will bless someone’s life, and I try to be quiet. The girls then gab away, almost forgetting I am there, and all the little details of their lives come into sharp focus in front of me. Sometimes they ask me how they should handle something with a friend or a teacher or a boy. I realize it is these little exchanges that help make up what kind of women they are going to turn into. A million small branches make up the forest. In those moments I remember the forest is made of details.

Juliana Crownover is a wife, a mother of 4, and an award-winning painter. She is artist in residence at Baylor Hospital in Dallas, TX August-June, and at Ghost Ranch, NM in July. She enjoys painting, teaching, and sharing her love of art with the world. She talks about her art this way: “In my own art, I use light and color to bring out beauty in everyday life, whether that is a trail I have hiked 100 times, or my son hanging laundry on a line. In that way I use my art as a reminder of where to find beauty all around us, and to slow down in our daily lives so that we may see it.

My art is a combination of practice, visual reminder, and record. My hope is to be aware of the beauty around me so that I can remember and record it, and through the process of making art, perhaps inspire others to notice the beauty that surrounds them in their daily lives.”

You can sign up to receive her daily paintings in your email on her blog: https://paintandsimple.com You can learn more about her classes and become a collector: https://julianacrownover.com or you can follow her: instagram.com/julianacrownover