When People Become the Bridge of Hope

A cocktail reception usually involves balancing a drink, a small plate, and a conversation. At the North Carolina Assisted Living Association conference, we added a paintbrush. After my keynote, members joined me at an easel to help paint a bridge from Greensboro’s Fisher Park. I’ve spent nearly fifty years working on paintings, but there is still something wonderfully entertaining about handing someone a brush and inviting them into yours.

Earlier, I had stood onstage sharing There’s an A.R.T. to Making a Difference: Awareness, Resourcefulness, and Timing. Later, beside that canvas, the message became something we could put our hands on. The bridge offered a fitting picture of the people in that room and the connections they create for residents and families.

Awareness begins with seeing the person
A landscape painter learns to look beyond the obvious. The bridge may catch your eye first, but its character comes from the light, the reflections, and the surroundings that give it meaning.

People who care for older adults practice their own kind of attentive seeing. A resident has a lifetime of memories, preferences, accomplishments, and relationships. A family member may arrive carrying questions they find difficult to ask. Recognizing the person behind the immediate need is where meaningful care begins. Sometimes the most valuable gift we offer is the assurance that someone has been seen.

Resourcefulness grows when we invite others to participate
The Fisher Park painting was prepared before the reception, but I left opportunities for members to contribute. Each person could add something to a work already underway. My role was to guide them and make room for their participation.

That experience reminded me how much leadership depends on helping others recognize what they can contribute. We all bring different skills, experience, and confidence. When people are trusted and encouraged to use those gifts, a shared undertaking becomes richer. At the easel, that meant another hand adding paint. In a community, it might mean a staff member finding a thoughtful way to make someone’s day easier.

Timing turns a good intention into a gift
Yesterday, I read Ralph Marston’s reflection “Make Your Choice” in The Daily Motivator. His reminder to choose a worthwhile possibility and act on it brought me back to the reception. A painting cannot move forward while every brush remains on the table.

The same is true of kindness. A reassuring conversation, a moment of patience, or an invitation to join in matters because someone chooses to offer it. We may never know how much a small gesture means to the person receiving it. We can still make the gesture.

I came to NCALA to share what art has taught me. I left thinking about the artistry of people who help others feel safe, connected, and at home. Our Fisher Park bridge became a symbol of that gift: helping someone cross from uncertainty toward belonging.

This week, look for one person who could use that connection. Then take the first step toward them.

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What Makes A Place Worth Calling Home?

Put an artist, an entrepreneur, a concert production executive, and a professional soccer team founder behind the same table, and you might expect a lively discussion about entertainment. Last Wednesday, we tackled the economy. Thankfully, no one asked me to illustrate interest rates.

I had the pleasure of joining Charlie Grubb of The Ridge and SE Logo Wear, Michael Brammer of Concert Stuff Group, and Megan Oglesby, founder and principal investor of Carolina Core FC, for a breakfast panel at The Ridge. John Martin, partner at Fourth Elm Construction, guided the conversation, and Andy Harding welcomed us for an hour of stories, perspectives, and thoughtful questions about our region’s future.

What stayed with me was the optimism. We had all weathered more difficult times. We understood the uncertainty that comes with running a business. Yet we shared a conviction that the Piedmont Triad offers something exceptional. Megan’s reflection captured it beautifully: she could hardly imagine a finer place to work and raise a family.

That led me to three thoughts about what makes a community prosper.

First, people need more than a paycheck to feel at home.
Jobs matter enormously. So do the places where we gather, celebrate, and create memories. Charlie brings an entrepreneur’s eye to building businesses and welcoming people. Michael helps make live entertainment possible through a North Carolina company whose work reaches far beyond our state. Megan’s investment in soccer gives people a team to cheer for and another reason to gather.

Their businesses differ, but I see a common contribution: each helps make this a place people want to be.

Second, art belongs in the economic conversation.
For nearly fifty years, I have earned my living painting North Carolina. That experience has taught me that creativity carries responsibilities as well as rewards. An art business involves printers, framers, suppliers, collectors, and relationships built over decades.

But a painting can contribute something beyond a transaction. It can help someone see the beauty of a familiar place again. It can preserve a memory, express a community’s identity, or inspire generosity. Through the Honor Card, I have watched an image become an invitation to help a neighbor.

I believe that is part of our state’s strength: we can build opportunity while caring for the people and places that give it meaning.

Third, optimism becomes valuable when we act on it.
Listening to my fellow panelists, I recognized the A.R.T. of Making a Difference: Awareness to see possibilities, Resourcefulness to put our gifts to work, and Timing to take the next step.

None of us uses exactly the same tools. Mine happen to include brushes. But every community needs people willing to imagine something better and accept the responsibility of creating it.

My thanks to John Martin with Fourth Elm Construction and Andy Harding with BRC CPA Firm for bringing us together. I left encouraged about our economy—and even more encouraged by the people helping shape it.

Sometimes the Best Way to Look Forward is to Look Back

I was headed to Grandfather Mountain Country Club to play golf with fellow members of the North Carolina Golf Panel. This time, I decided to take the long way. Golf would have to share the day with a few mountain overlooks.

The Blue Ridge Parkway rewards that decision. It gently meanders along the mountain peaks, offering views that seem to whisper, “Pull over. Stay awhile.” For me, it has always been an oasis for the soul.

Then I reached Raven Rocks Overlook, and nearly twenty years seemed to disappear.

I remembered another journey, at almost this same time of year, when that view first spoke to me. I set up my painting supplies and, over the next few days, captured a scene that has resonated with many collectors and introduced others to this beautiful place.

This time, I stopped again. That familiar landscape offered three reminders.

Take the road that gives you room to notice
We spend so much of life figuring out how to get somewhere faster. The quickest route. The next appointment. There is a place for efficiency, but some of our richest experiences happen when we leave room for an unexpected stop.

Had I hurried straight to the golf course, I would have missed this reunion with an old inspiration. A little extra time gave me a chance to breathe, look around, and let my thoughts settle.

Return to the places that help you measure your journey
All of us have places that hold a chapter of our lives. A childhood home, a college campus, or a favorite beach can bring back the person we were when we first stood there. What were we hoping for? What worried us? What possibilities had yet to unfold?

At that overlook, I thought about the years between my visits and all that had happened along the way. We rarely notice our growth while we are busy living it. A familiar place can help us appreciate how far we have come.

Let gratitude have a moment of its own
Nearly twenty years ago, I came to that overlook to paint. This time, I simply stood in awe. I could enjoy the beauty before me without reaching for a brush.

I felt blessed by the work I have been able to do and the people who have shared the journey. Above all, I was grateful for the extraordinary gift of life and the opportunity to stand there once again.

Perhaps there is a place calling you back, too. 
When the opportunity comes, go a little out of your way. Give yourself time to remember and appreciate. You may arrive looking at a familiar view and leave seeing your life with fresh eyes.

Your Greatest Advantage May Be What You Do Next

I doubt anyone looking at my first 59-cent tray of watercolors would have seen a career in it. I certainly didn’t. I was an amateur, curious about what might happen if I put a little color on paper.

Years later, I had developed a recognizable style, earned awards, and made my living as a watercolorist. It would have been easy to believe I had found my place and should stay there.

Then again, I’ve never been very good at staying in one place.

Recently, I listened to my friend Dr. Nido Qubein talk about a differential advantage—the quality that allows you to bring something distinctive to the world. His words made me think about my own journey. Painting was my gift, but learning to pursue the possibilities around that gift changed my life.

Master the gift in your hands.
Those early years mattered. I painted constantly, learned from the work that succeeded and the work that didn’t, and developed the consistency that gave people confidence in me. Curiosity can open a door, but dedication is what lets you walk through it.

Look beyond the canvas.
Over time, I began to see that a painting could do more than hang on someone’s wall. It could celebrate a place, bring people together, support a cause, or help someone tell a story. The Honor Card grew from that way of thinking. Art gave me a way to invite others into something much larger than my studio.

Stay willing to begin again.
Today I paint traditional landscapes and contemporary work. I’ve moved from watercolor into acrylics and found fresh ways to share the stories behind my paintings, including from a stage. Each change has asked me to be a beginner in some respect. That can be uncomfortable, especially after you’ve spent years becoming good at something. It can also make you eager to get up in the morning.

I have chased more opportunities than I could have imagined when I opened that little tray of paint. Some led nowhere. Others changed the direction of my career. Following them has kept me learning, meeting new people, and wondering what might be waiting just beyond the horizon.

Perhaps your advantage is a talent you’ve spent years developing. Perhaps it is the way you notice a need, connect people, or see a possibility others have overlooked. Whatever it is, give it your best effort—and then ask where else it might take you.

I’m still asking that question. Nearly fifty years after my first watercolor, it remains one of the most exciting parts of being an artist.

What possibility have you been meaning to explore?

When an Entire Community Picked Up the Brush

Long before Pinehurst became the subject of my paintings, it was the setting of my story.

I was born there, began studying art at Sandhills Community College, worked my way through school as a bag boy and waited tables at the opulent Carolina Hotel, never imagining that art would eventually bring me back to celebrate many of the places that shaped my life.

This past weekend that journey came full circle.

More than 125 guests gathered at the beautiful Country Club of North Carolina for a festive evening supporting the Given Tufts Foundation. Surrounded by lively conversation, a silent auction and a lovely dinner, I had the privilege of painting live, but I wasn’t the only artist in the room.

Throughout the evening, guests were invited to add their own personal brushstrokes to a collaborative painting titled Welcome to Pinehurst. Some approached the canvas confidently. Others needed a little encouragement. Before long, even our auctioneer, Matt had even picked up a brush!

The finished painting became more than a colorful interpretation of Pinehurst. It became a portrait of community—and a reminder of three important truths.

Every contribution matters
No single brushstroke completed Welcome to Pinehurst. Some marks were bold, while others were small and subtle, but each became part of the finished work. Communities are built the same way. We may not always recognize the importance of our individual contribution, but something extraordinary happens when each of us offers what we can.

Enthusiasm is contagious
When the collaborative painting opened the live auction, the spirited bidding immediately energized the room. Many guests wanted to take home a work they had helped create. That enthusiasm continued when The Heart of Pinehurst was unveiled. Collectors familiar with my artistic journey raised their hands again and again until a five-figure bid secured the painting of the historic Village.

Their response reminded me that people are drawn to more than an image. They are drawn to the memories, relationships and stories held within it.

Generosity can complete the picture
The evening’s final painting was The Given Memorial Library. Once again, hands rose throughout the room as bidders competed for the work. Eventually, one couple’s bid prevailed—but then came the evening’s most touching surprise.

They announced that they were giving the painting back to the Foundation as a gift for the new library.

In that moment, the purpose of the evening came beautifully into focus. A painting inspired by a treasured community landmark had been purchased to support its future—and then returned so generations of visitors could enjoy it.

Art has a remarkable way of preserving what matters. It can capture a familiar place, awaken a cherished memory and bring people together around a shared purpose.

But the event reminded me that the greatest masterpiece is rarely created by one person. It emerges when many hands, generous hearts and individual acts of kindness come together.

We may not all consider ourselves artists, but each of us holds a brush. The question is: What will our next stroke contribute to the picture?