Kindergarten mind: we all have one.

You might think, not anymore. I lost it long ago.

But it's there, I promise.

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A kindergarten mind is curious.

It's open.

It's constantly experimenting.

And to do that it needs safety.

It needs space.

It needs time.

It needs nurturing.

A kindergarten mind is naturally creative.

It already knows how to draw and paint. It knows how to build things. It knows how to tell stories.

It has a sense of self. It's sovereign. It loves to learn.

It has stuff to show you - wild tales, nifty gadgets.

It knows what it wants. It knows what it needs.

It's about working and playing sometimes together, sometimes in our own corners.

It's not worrying about being an expert.

It's about modeling more than teaching.

It's about process more than product.

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In my ideal, imaginary kindergarten classroom, you're not tied to a desk all day.

You move through different activities. Mind and body. Right brain and left brain.

You can take a nap. You can fake a nap.

You can have a snack.

The space feels both safe and stimulating.

There are quiet spaces and raucous spaces.

There is color and light.

There are toys and tools and materials that beg to be explored.

That's what I hope you find in this space. That's what I hope to create for you and me.

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“My name is Maryann Devine, and I am a _________.”

Over the past 30 years, I have filled in that _________ with many roles + titles + things.

Things like:

'Amateur fashion designer.'
'Non-profit fundraiser.'
'Marketing + publicity strategist.'
'Creativity teacher.'
'Writer.'
'Artist.

At a certain point, that last one became very difficult to say. Excruciatingly difficult.

And so, for 13 years, I didn’t say it — or do it — at all.

Instead: I focused on helping (other) people discover how to become playful, inventive + creative. I studied shiva nata and the science of curiosity. I wrote, taught classes, and led secret play dates. I led a miraculously artistic life — big, whole, and full of absolutely everything. Except … actually making art. Which didn’t really bother me. Until it did.

And so: a few years ago, I started making art again. Quietly, without much of a fuss.

It began as a private experience — little delights, made for nobody.

I didn’t want to sell it — or even share it. Until I did.

Today: I’m still making art for nobody — except that it’s really for somebody. It’s for you.

Especially if you believe (like I do) that everyone is inherently creative, and that making things — whether it's a painting or a scarf or a smartphone app — is undeniably enriching. For all of us.


My name is Maryann, and I am an Artist.

(Pause: It feels really good to say that. Really good.)

My question is:

What would you make ... if nobody was watching?

And:

What would you call yourself ... if nobody was listening?