Melissa Stephens Art

Note: The artwork featured above is 1 of 9 paintings of mine that will be on display at the Bellefonte Art Museum in March 2026. The show is titled, “The Flower Shop.” Please visit if you can! The museum is open Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays from 12-4:30 and is housed in a glorious historic home in Bellefonte, PA, 9 miles away from State College.

Now onto the post:

I was lucky enough to spend 6 days with Art and two of our sons in California earlier this month. As adults, our children have grown-up things like jobs and significant others, mortgages and car payments, and, for one of them, a baby on the way. In other words, spending time with their parents on a golf trip was a tremendous gift.  We played some wonderful courses but our favorite, Pebble Beach Golf Links, ranks #1 on the list of top public golf courses in the U.S. It hosts an annual PGA tour event and has been the home of many major championship tournaments won by golf legends such as Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods. It’s hallowed ground for both professional golfers and folks like us, who play the game for fun (and, sometimes, frustration!) Many of its iconic holes (including #7, a little par 3 whose green is precariously bordered by the Pacific’s rocky coast, and #18, a long par 5 with ocean waves crashing along the entire left side) are significantly more stunning in person than on TV. The Monterey Peninsula does not disappoint! This was our 2^nd trip to Pebble Beach, the four of us played there in 2021 as a surprise gift to Scott for his college graduation. On our recent return, we celebrated Art’s 60^th birthday. 

With Pebble’s rich history and challenging terrain, it’s easy to be distracted by the beautiful scenery and unnerved by the difficult shots. I know in 2021, we all found it hard to contain our excitement, maintain our focus, and remain fully present, grounded, on golf’s literal holy ground. This year, each of us approached the 1^st tee box with hopes of slowing down, breathing deeply, and more fully appreciating the experience. Scott said it best that morning, sharing his mantra for the day: “I just want to be where my feet are.” So wise! I repeated his words to myself throughout the round and they’ve continued to guide and inspire me since.

“Be where my feet are.”

That phrase got me thinking about a silly habit I’ve had for years, taking photos of my feet. My feet in the sand. My feet on a hiking trail. My feet in the snow. My feet at a temple in Nepal. I’ve collected hundreds of bare, sock, and shoe-clad photos of my feet in a digital album I call, “Where I Stand” (see a few of those images below). I’ve never fully understood my compulsion to the capture the various adventures of my feet until I connected those images to Scott’s words. Hmmm, maybe pointing my camera at my feet was never about concretely documenting where I was standing. Maybe, instead, it’s been a metaphorical record of time frozen, of ephemeral moments captured and cherished, of being present, where my feet are. Maybe all those goofy photos have been a rudimentary mindfulness practice, a simple undertaking meant to root myself, from my eyes through my lens to my toes, where I stand, in a single moment, in a single place, on holy ground. Looking back, those photos are a visual library of presence, of me being present, of me being where my feet are.

Creativity, I’ve discovered, offers me that same opportunity. It’s a powerful mindfulness practice. It anchors me firmly in the present. I’ve wasted countless moments of my life both ruminating on the past, words said (or unsaid), decisions made (or not made), actions taken (or not taken) or worrying and attempting to control the future. I haven’t spent nearly enough of my 60 years in the present, where I stand. However, when I paint or draw, I find myself delightfully tethered to the here, the now; focused on the task at hand, deaf to the nattering chatter of my mind, lost in delightful hours that pass like fleeting moments.

 As I look back over my creative life, especially my paintings and drawings of these past five years, I see loose lines and saturated colors, delicate patterns and interesting textures; but, far more importantly, I see a beautiful collection of present moments, another visual library of presence, of me being where my feet are. 

Thank you, Scott!

Some of the many photos from my “Where I Stand” digital album: