I recently wrote this letter for one of my most favorite for the greater good causes… nothing quite tells my story like my own words- so first please checkout The Curated Letter Club and then read my own:
Dear friend,
I’ve recently found myself reflecting on this past decade of my life, and honestly? I keep coming back to the same tiny, twinkly truth: paint and hidden little worlds helped me find my way back to myself.
If you had told me years ago that so much of my heart would end up tucked behind park benches, nestled in tree roots, peeking out from sidewalks, and offering painted messages of hope to strangers, I probably would have laughed. I mean… who goes around planting pocket-sized wonder like wildflower seeds?
Apparently, I do. And I am so glad I do.
We live in a world that can feel fast, loud, and far too complicated. Creating “Fairy City” became my quiet voice—a gentle antidote to the hopelessness and helplessness I was feeling about current events. What started as a random act of kindness and a whisper of magic grew into a space where I could finally breathe, look closer, and remember that wonder is always waiting in the mossy corners if we are willing to notice it.
Cracked pavement started to look like secret pathways. Overgrown corners began to feel like miniature neighborhoods with very important fairy business underway. Tree trunks, brick walls, library paths, and quiet edges all seemed to whisper the same question: what tiny bit of magic could live here?
The best part has always been watching people notice. Every now and then, someone stops mid-errand, bends down, points, smiles, or leaves a gift behind for the fairies—a crystal, a necklace, a note, a tiny thank-you. Those moments make every paint stain, every sticky finger, and every dawn installation feel like a spell that worked.
Fairy City made me an artist and a storyteller, which is all I have ever wanted to be. Eventually, I brought that magic from main streets and parks closer to home by starting a Free Little Art Gallery.
It began with a simple invitation: take a little magic, leave a little magic.
Before long, those tiny offerings became a neighborhood conversation without words. One person would leave a painted miniature. Someone else would add a tiny clay treasure. A child might tuck in a drawing that felt brave and joyful. Watching those gifts come and go reminds me that art doesn’t need to live behind expensive frames or museum walls to matter. Sometimes it matters most when it travels like a dandelion wish—passed hand to hand, freely given, freely received, and shared among people who may never even meet.
I am always painting rocks. Not fancy rocks. Not perfect rocks. Just solid bits of color and hope waiting to be found at exactly the right moment. I’d write a gentle reminder like “you are enough,” and set it loose into the world—on a park bench, a trail, a curb. Just a quiet place where someone might look down and find the tiny message they didn’t know they needed.
I never know who will pick one up or what kind of day they’re having, but that’s the point. It’s an anonymous little act of love, a whispered spell left out in the open saying: you are loved, and I hope you always find a reason to smile.
This year, I also spent hours building small environments inside boxes disguised as vintage luggage, toolboxes, safes, and old books—as if each one had secretly been waiting to become a doorway. These tiny spaces carried much bigger feelings. Some were about kindness; some were about belonging. They were safe enough to hold heavier ideas while keeping their lanterns lit. Instead of fairy doors, I placed these out around our small city.
Looking back, this year wasn’t about finished pieces, perfect paint lines, or clever installations. It was about presence—the kind that tiptoes quietly and leaves footprints of wonder behind.
Fairy City gave me a way to interact with the world instead of simply moving through it. It asked me to slow down, notice the overlooked corners, and ask how I could make one small place one percent more joyful, one mushroom more cheerful, one doorway more inviting.
It taught me patience, gratitude, generosity, resilience, and the strange freedom of letting go. When you put art outside, you relinquish control. Weather taps on it. People move it. Time rearranges it. And still, there is something beautiful about sending it out into the world with a tiny wave and a whispered good luck.
Most of all, it reconnected me with the kind of childlike wonder that so easily gets buried under schedules, errands, hard days, and ordinary noise. The kind of wonder that makes you look twice at a crack in the sidewalk because maybe, just maybe, a tiny door belongs there… and maybe someone very small has been expecting visitors.
Here’s to another year of painting it forward, hiding hope in plain sight, leaving breadcrumbs of magic, and making the world a little wilder, a little smaller, a little bigger, and a whole lot sweeter.
With love, gratitude, and a pocket full of tiny possibilities,
Kerry
Posted at the end of Fairy City – 2025 It’s hard to believe it’s been a whole decade since I first started sneaking art into your lives this way! Ten years of seasonal creations, quirky installations, and hidden gems!
We’ve cleaned up the 10th and final season of Fairy City – and the fairies had flown somewhere warmer for the winter Yes, final. If we missed an item or two, I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that this has all been done with non-toxic, upcycled, biodegradable garbage! Ten years! It’s been a wild ride transforming these streets with my art. This spring marked the end of an era – my final year of seasonal installations. But hey, who knows when inspiration might strike again? Keep your eyes peeled, you might just find a surprise lurking in the future.
A huge thank you to my Houston Fairy, my amazing kids and grandkids, Mr. Amazing, my cutest Stone Sprite and Spouse, and everyone who has put out doors or simply enjoyed finding them. You’ve given me purpose, made me an artist and storyteller, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.
This past year has been a challenging one, as many of you know. My health has taken a bit of a turn, making it harder to create and install art like I used to. But my creativity and hope will not be cancelled! Consider this year a celebration of ten years of art, evolution, and resilience. And remember: there is wonder in the world, you are enough, and you are loved.
We’ve had hard conversations with the fairies over the years, about everything from Ukraine to Masks, Building bridges to Black Lives Matter, and of course reminders that LOVE IS FOR EVERYONE!
My lil fairies have flown all over the globe! From Stonehenge to the Bahamas!
We’ve learned and grown together, and through it all, love has remained the boss, the greatest force on this planet.
We have been the good, seen the good, and picked up trash along the way!
No one is unimportant. No one is too small to change the world. Thank you.