When I first moved here to California, I went through a bit of culture shock. The air is grey, not yellow; people wear mostly dull browns, greys and blacks, not bright aloha shirts, sarongs and bright-colored clothing; friendly greetings in stores on the street are regarded as suspicious and either ignored or given stink eye; gruff answers to questions of store employees instead of aloha-friendly help – and the worst, the ugly conversation with one of my landlord’s managerial staff.

I’m not sure how we got off on the wrong foot, but boy, did we! I think it started when he sent a text saying the AC guy was coming over to do his annual inspection. I asked a question, and we continued back and forth.

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You know how when you watch a movie and you end up rooting for the little guy?

Well, I do, anyway – such a common theme – well this is the little guy who’s fed up with the shenanigans being pulled by the supposed ‘good’ guys (in this case, the all-powerful, ever-present moon, supposedly benignly watching over us, protecting us – hah – not.).

Little Freedom Fighter Birdie, his little heart beating right out of his chest he’s so scared but so pissed off that he’s transcended his fear, stands on the backs of all those little gathered-together hurt people who aren’t brave enough to say ‘stop hurting me!’ and screams at the Bad Guys, ‘stop hurting us! Go the f away!’

I know, you may not agree with my take on things, but that’s OK. I’ll stand for the helpless any day.

text and image © Angela Treat Lyon 2022


What happens to kids who just don’t fit the square, round or even triangular holes in society? They end up like I did, seething inside, wishing for friends, afraid of the certain mockery when I opened my mouth, envying the easy friendships others had.

Finding solace in art and reading; always alone, always wary of sly, scathing, scornful words. Not trusting a single person. I studiously and purposely developed a razor tongue after my dentist did The Bad Thing to me when I was 13 – after a very short time of intense practice, I could have cussed a sailor into taking notes.

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During this last two years, I’ve watched closely as I and many others have lost income, gained way too much weight, lost our health, got horrifically off track in biz, and felt generally unfocused, exhausted, uninspired and discouraged.

I decided I’d had enough!
(Impatient? Get the zoom webinar HERE)

I was tired of feeling tired, too exhausted to do a single thing. No matter what, things had to change, or I might as well give up and go be a Walmart door greeter.


Since being a door greeter is very definitely not on my list of desirable things to do in my life… instead: I set up an experiment, and I set a time frame of one month to see how it would go.

Here’s what I did (am doing):

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Now you really can transform your anxiety, stress, exhaustion,and inability
to focus into beautiful, useful, creative energy!

This is for you if you’ve been afraid, anxious or panicked about life after covid, your relationships, business, family, making a living, trying to live a fulfilled life, or if you’re having a hard time following your dream….

You’ll discover how to use your fear and ‘negative’ thoughts and beliefs to break out of your anxiety, so you can get on track to living a lovely, fulfilling CREATIVE life.

What you read or see in the book or videos will seem deceivingly simple. Don’t fool yourself. If you take what you get here and actively use it in your daily life, you’ll look back in a very short time in wonder that you ever suffered so much before.

When you read the book and/or watch the videos, you get to:
• Discover how to find, assess, and rate your ‘bad’ energy, so you can…
• Learn what to do with all that ‘bad’ stuff! Like:
• How to delete the habit of anxiety and your Restriction Code™
• Find out how to make your wishes come true; and…
• Find out how to choose creativity over anxiety… and way more!

“Always from the heart! You speak a language in that is understood on a higher plane – it shouts from everything you do. It is your identity and legacy.”  ~ Craig McL., NZ

Haven’t you suffered long enough?
What are you waiting for? 

Get yourself free! Choose one or more of these options:

90 minutes total – short videos for easy watching – exercises, processes and critical information
Get the videos HERE for only $10.00

108-page pdf ebook, with full color illustrations, exercises, processes and critical information.
Get the Ebook HERE for only $5 (or choose what you want to pay)

108-page print book, with full color illustrations, exercises, processes and critical information.
Get the Print book HERE on amazon for $19.99


Paintings and sculpture:

Fantastic products:


Request a print or commission a piece:
Contact me – we’ll get you what you want!

IMAGE: Who Am I?
Oamaru Limestone (sold)
© Angela Treat Lyon 2002


People ask me how they can support their favorite artists if they can’t buy from them.

Here are a few ideas you can try.

• Do you know any gallery owners? If you think your fave artist’s work would fit the gallery, send the gallery owner or acquisitions manager a link to your artist’s website or IG page, with a personal note suggesting that this artist would be an asset to their gallery.

• Contribute to the artist’s or account – even if it’s only 5, 10 or 100 bucks a month. You’d be surprised how much that can mean to the artist.

• Do you have a favorite art magazine? Email the art editor about your artist friend, include a link. Say why you love the work, and how interesting the artist is, and wouldn’t it be cool to have an article written about them.

• Take pix of the art you bought from the artist, and post it on FB, IG or other social media, with a link to the artist’s website, FB or IG pages.

• Brag on how much you love the piece you got, and why! Say more than “I love this painting’ – say why you love it! Like, it helps me feel calm, or it inspires me, or reminds me of … Continue reading

SAM: Likes Shiny Things

The second time I was raped was a far cry from the first. Looking back, I count what happened to me that day as a stroke of incredible good fortune for myself, and out-of- the-blue evidence of amazing community solidarity in its intolerance for violence and cruelty, and its endeavor to maintain peace.

I was 17. My first year at Parsons School of Design. My father had loudly lamented sending me there, telling me, “You’ll probably just get married and spend your life making babies and washing dishes, and give up making art anyway, so why should I go to the trouble of paying for this expensive school?”

If he meant that as a joke, it didn’t ride. Our family’s forté was the say-the-reverse-of-what-you-really-mean thing, so I never really learned how to tell if someone was speaking the truth or not. I still struggle with that.

As an example, instead of telling me I looked nice in a new dress, he’d say, “Too bad your ears stick out – kind of detracts from how nice that dress should look.” Gee thanks for the kind, supportive words, Dad. Not.

So I was wearing one of those dresses on my way to my apartment from school late one afternoon. I was carrying my purse jammed full of the jars of paint and brushes I wanted to use over the weekend, and my big, clumsy flat black portfolio. The thing was huge – imagine a flat faux-leather briefcase about 30” x 40”. It held all the drawings I’d done all week.

It was getting dark – I’d stayed after class for some personal instruction. There was a shortcut through a nasty alley that ended right at the steps to the subway. I knew I ought not go that route, but it looked clear, so I started walking fast. Continue reading

OLIVER: Sees You

September of 1999 was a hot one. I had just returned to Santa Fe a short month ago from a stint back east, house-sitting for my dear friend, Cynthia, out on Long Island. I hadn’t been able to find a place I could afford yet.

I did find a little secluded glade down by an arroyo, hemmed in by cottonwoods and brambly brush, on the edge of town. It was just big enough to park my little Kia and have room to turn around in.

Fortunately, I found work doing ad design at the main local newspaper, so at least my dog, Io (EE-oh), and I weren’t starving.

One evening as the sky wheeled through its usual brilliant show of cerulean blues, purples, and fuschias, Io and I came out of our little hidey-hole to go for an evening walk. It was earlier than usual, so I was cautious about anyone seeing where we came out of the weeds.

The very second we emerged, Io took off like a rocket, the leash snapping right out of my hand. She usually pulled on it eagerly, but never had she burst away like that! Continue reading

BELLA: Early

My dad used to burst into my bedroom, at dawn:30 a.m., throwing the door back with a bang, roughly yank all the covers completely off me and my bed, and cheerily spout, “Time to get uuuuuuuppp!!”

He thought he was being SO funny. N O T . But could I ever convince him of that? Or the way I felt terrified of him? Nope. He was a very big man. My space was totally violated, my privacy absolutely irrelevant to him. Nope.

Especially after I started filling in all the places little girls do when they get past a certain stage in their lives. I made my mother get me long flannel night gowns that looked like ones Granny would wear. In summer, cotton. Down to my ankles.

In this day and age when clothing seems to ride as far up near the crotch and down as far to the nips as possible, bare bellies sporting belly-button rings and all, you might think it strange that I grew up freaked out by body exposure. I still don’t like it. I’m OK with most people running around nearly nekked, but don’t ask me to do it.

Yes, I’ve done a bunch of inner work on that, but you know what? There are a lot of things way more important to think about.

Like how people seem to think it’s OK to cuss or yell at or even physically attack someone else for the most absurd reason.

Like how some are so entitled they think the rest of the world should think like they do, or call cops on people of color for nothing.

It’s so hard to deal with. When someone’s in your face, it’s so easy to take the same road and yell back. All that does is make things worse.

I run away if I can. If can’t, I stay quiet. If I can’t do that, I make a comment like, “Wow, you must be having a really bad day,” or something like that.

That can de-escalate a situation fast, helping the person to feel seen and heard. But it doesn’t always work.

I’m no miracle worker, but I keep the peace as much as I can, because I know it has to start with me. If I go off, I only join in to lower the vibes.

If I can keep my equanimity, I can be a reference point for calm, and the subsequent lifting of frequencies.

I can’t change the whole world, but I can change me, or at least stay calm in the face of mayhem. I had to learn how to do that to finally get it across to my father how I felt, because no amount of yelling, whining, or bitching at him worked.

You know what did it? I asked him how he’d feel if some man came into his and my ma’s bedroom and did the whole grab-the-covers thing to her.

You should have seen him turn beet red with rage at the very idea … and then … suddenly … stop, look at me, and get really, really quiet.

Long silence. His head down.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” he said, looking back up at me, actual tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry.” He never did it again.

Peace, calm, and if not joy, at least gratitude. Those things work

BELLA: Early

Prints? Sure. PM me.
text & image © Angela Treat Lyon 2021

BUDDY: in the Light, Shadowed

When I drew this, I was focusing on the white part so much that it wasn’t until later that I saw the funny blue face.

I particularly like this one because it’s so silly (Silly really ought to be my middle name), and so obvious … but not. It’s a great metaphor for my life – I go forward with stuff, and a lot of tangential events and other things happen, and it isn’t until later that I realize/see it.

And I like it, of course, because I love birdies.

I’ve always loved birdies. When I was a kid, we had an osprey nest on our land down by the pond, and I’d watch them for hours as they reinforced the nest, had their brood, flew off again.

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Lately I’ve been really struggling with sleep imbalance.

It’s so strange – I can sleep 2 or 3 hours, but then my legs get all jumpy and I have to get up. Then within an hour or three, my eyes slump shut and I’m sleepy all over again and have to get horizontal before I fall over. And it starts all over again.

Some days, I can be up as much as 8 or 10 hours. Continue reading

SELBY’S Favorite Game (Not Really)

Recently I watched one of those ‘cute’ animal videos where a seal was bouncing a ball around and playing catch with its trainer in one of those sea life shows.

I wanted to relf. Seals belong OUTside. They are cute, sure, until you come up close and dirty – if one decided to attack you for some reason, you’d be shit outta luck.

They weigh nine million pounds more than you do, can bowl you over faster than jets, and in case you didn’t know, those cute little flappy things at the end of their arms? They have claws on them. Sharp. That could rip you apart in seconds. Not to mention a mean set of very sharp, very efficient chompers.

Not cute at all. Powerful, beautiful, natural, belonging in the wild – not in a sterile, empty pool, swimming laps and jumping through hoops and playing endless rounds of ball with a human, no matter how ‘well-meaning’ that human might be.

Many years ago, I was at a flea market a friend had a booth at. She had this little stuffed seal, maybe 10″ long, fluffy and white and a cute smile. I named it my Seal of Approval (I know, groan – ). Now THAT is what is OK to play with, not real, live, sentient beings.

Whenever I see petitions about getting animals out of jail, I sign each and every one of them. I donate a few bucks if I can. The idea of captivity makes my belly hurt.


When I was a little kid, my dad’s mother would come stay with us. Granny. The one whose middle name, Treat, I carry.

I couldn’t stand her. She smelled like Eau d’Oldde Peoplle. And she made this weird little sucking-in whistle sound whenever there was something she disapproved of, but wouldn’t speak about.

This image is how she appeared to me then. Looking back from the perspective of someone who is now the age she was then, I understand more.

She wouldn’t speak up about things she didn’t like because my dad would shut her down. Never in front of us – always in another room. I heard him one time – it wasn’t pretty. So she communicated by sucky-whistle, or one of those high, wobbly hoity-toity voices as she asked us to do something we didn’t want to do.

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I’ve been writing up a storm lately, and last night as I got up to take a little break, I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I left – I looked kinda like this! I realized I’d be practically glued to the screen for days!

So today I’m focusing on remembering fun, funny, silly, laughterish things, jotting down notes as I sip my drink – in the kitchen – far away from the screen.

May your own day be funny, silly and outlandishly outrageously lovely.

text & image
© Angela Treat Lyon 2021


I was very honored to be invited to be the featured guest of the Lone Star Dowsers monthly meeting last week (July 28, 2021)!

First we went into dowsing, then EFT/tapping – pretty deeply. I’ve been using dowsing for 40 years, 20+ of those years using a dowsing rod, getting pretty extraordinary results.

I showed you how to do that, in detail.

Maybe you’ve never wondered why the age-old technique of dowsing is still around – isn’t it just woo-woo-la-la stuff?

Not at all. You’ve heard of the saying, ‘everything is energy,’ right?

Well, dowsers use universal energy to discover lots of details you’d never even guess about, or thought were important!

For instance:

Do you know what a geopathic stress zone is, and why they are critically important?

Did you know that a geopathic stress zone under your bed can cause insomnia? Cancer? Insanity? Continue reading


Burt is the kind of dad everyone should have. Holds little babies as if they were the gods’ own treasures; plays with the toddlers; treats little girls to merry-go-rounds and lots of colorfully illustrated books and art supplies; little boys to Tonka trucks, small-hand size tools and paints, encyclopedias, roller skates and skis; and young men and women as if they were better than royalty.

I had Burt when I was a little kid. Everyone else thought he was Pooh, but I didn’t like that it sounded like he was being pooh-poohed, so I secretly called him Burt. We snuck ginger snaps from the cupboard together.

When I had the run-in with the dentist, Burt became my very, very, very best friend. He held me tight as I laid there splayed on my bed, unmoving, staring at a blurred ceiling, numb, unbelieving, wishing for someone who could tell me who I really was and that I might be lovable and that I’d never be betrayed by any person or my own body ever again.

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SHYLEE: Searching

I was 13 years old the first time I was raped. Not to worry, this will not be a rant or a self-pity party. Just a story about overcoming evil who took the form of a ‘nice’ man everyone liked and respected.

The summer before my sophomore year, my mother thought it would be a good thing to get my teeth taken care of before I was sent away to school in the fall. Well-thought-of in the community, not overly expensive, doing good work, Dr. Rosen (close, but not his real name) was her choice.

Week One was all about x-rays and all that.

Week Two was “Nurse, would you please go get (some medical supply) for me?” as he then cheerfully placed his hand on my thigh, reassuring me that this was going to be a safe and easy procedure. Surely, with how gentle he was, he meant well. Right?

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Some days I feel just like this. Like there’s not a single thing I can get right, and if I do do something right, it isn’t enough, or good enough.

Who the hell sets up those rules??? We are so conditioned! So programmed to think we are less-than, not good enough, not productive enough, not doing enough, not worthy of praise, mock-able, shameful, undesirable…

Well. I reject all of those assumptions. I lived my life ruled by them for way too many years, and suffered too many years of deepest depression, before I finally broke free. (How? Using EFT-tapping and concrete determination.)

Poor Gus looks exactly how I felt on the inside, every day, day after day.

Now? Now I choose what to do, how to do it, to whom to show it – or not – and whether or not it’s good, bad, or just meh.

Be free. Get out of the I’m-not-good-enough BS. Do whatever it takes.

text & image
© Angela Treat Lyon 2021


I have a friend who, no matter what befalls her, is always happy. For a long time, it would piss me off that she never lost her equilibrium. I think I was jealous that I didn’t know how to do that, too. But then she told me why.

She grew up in horrifying circumstances. Imagine the very worst. At 17, after just too much to take, she contemplated finally ending it all.

As she prepared to do the thing, she was suddenly struck by the idea that she could take all of her anguish, despair and angst and use it productively.

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Have you ever watched as birdies peck at seeds on the ground? It doesn’t look like they pick and choose at all – more like they do a general all-over snatch and grab, no matter what it is.

But they actually have sharply discerning senses that allow them to choose ‘seed’ rather than ‘something awful,’ saving them from glomping down tons of stuff that isn’t food.

Petey is smart that way. He likes his seeds Just the Right Size – the small ones aren’t ripe enough, and squooshy ones are too ripe, and the greenish ones? Perf.

They do eat sharp pebbles, which stay in their throats, because they don’t have teeth. How weird is that?!?

text & image
© Angela Treat Lyon 2021


Did you know that a group, or gathering, of ravens is called an ‘Unkindness’? It’s odd to me that that’s so – I’ve never thought of them as unkind.

My dog and I used to walk the arroyos outside of Tesuque, New Mexico. Always there would be groups of huge ravens in the trees above us.

They’d wait until we got right under them and then they’d sound off, all at once – LOUD! – like they were all saying, “Hi! Where ya been? What took you so long?”

We’d always bring kibble and yarn and weird things we’d find in the sandy gullies. I think they liked us.

These drawings are so much fun. They push me in directions I never thought I’d go.

I like seeing the way the colors and shapes interact.

text & image
© Angela Treat Lyon 2021


I didn’t realize, as I was drawing this, that I had drawn 3 horses. See what I mean?

Each of these 3-color images has so far ended up being mysteriously more than what I had thought I’d created! I love that!

text & image
© Angela Treat Lyon 2021


I love Fido. He is faithful, calm, loyal and very wise. He knows just when I’m hurting inside because he comes up to my side and rests his head on my lap, and looks up at me with those big brown eyes that say, “No worries, My-Human, I’ve got this! You just go relax!”

Too bad he isn’t on this physical plane of being! I miss being the human for my other dog who lived with me for ten blessed years in the 90s.

Who are you human for?

Who is your dog or cat or other critter friend?

Do you suppose you and your critter would like a ride on my Moon Broom?

What will you do once you get to the Moon with us?

What adventure would you like to have?

text & image
© Angela Treat Lyon 2021


Well, so I started a new series. This is the Odd Critters Series. Although it will probably include humans, too.

I can’t help it. I just keep seeing all these new beings, and have to draw them.

The underdrawing is all in blue against the black.

Then I go over it with white, and include areas to radiate the light, and leave out the dark shadows. To make, erm, the shadows.

I like how the blue looks against the black, and the white overall.
And how silly she is.

text & image
© Angela Treat Lyon 2021


Have you ever felt like there was a mean mad genie inside your computer who just does not want you to get a single thing to work?

I swear, there are days it would be better to go back to sleep! It really isn’t the computer – it’s an app that doesn’t work the way you’d like (ie., why the hell can’t I use my computer to post on instagram, FFS?) or it’s a stupid website that’s down – gagh!

So here’s poor Feckless Fred, struggling with his electronics, and poor Fido who has to see the horrors of the struggle…

Available in prints, tiles, etc. PM me.

text & image © Angela Treat Lyon 2021


I have a friend who is more prolific than I am! Can you believe it? He paints so much I think he has paint for blood!

So of course I hadda paint him, right? He’s splashing and painting away, and there is his doggie, howling to go for a walk…

Can you see the pens and brushes in the middle of the picture? Spattering ink and paint all over the place?

And the spilled cans of paint under Fido, and the half-full ones under his feet – watch out! Don’t step on them!

Available on all kinds of surfaces – tiles, prints, fabric, wrapping paper…

text & image © Angela Treat Lyon 2021


In January, I enrolled in a course to learn how to create sellable surface pattern designs. I’m intending to find out how to create designs I can sell and license to individuals and companies for reproduction on fabric, wallpaper, wrapping paper, and you name it, all kinds of products.

I started out trying floral designs, but very quickly felt completely out of synch – and then, the instructor said: “Stories! Tell stories!” And my juices started running!

So I started creating tile designs that are repeats within the tile, rather than repeat tiles put together. The more of these tile images I make the more fun I have!

Tonight I made this one, and had to close my windows I was laughing so loud – can you what he’s doing?

I just laughed and laughed – I mean, really – art is soooo serioussss all the time – let’s have a little fun with it – riiight???

Can you guess what the bottles and jars are? What did he put on his hot dog? And poor Fido – will he only get some crumbs, or will he get a real bite?


When I was a kid, I spent my summers sailing and swimming. On weekends, we’d race our boats in little weekend regattas. Either I’d crew for one of my family, or one of them would crew for me.

One weekend when I was 13, my older brother Tom was supposed to crew for me. We got the boat ready, stashed our stuff under the deck, and made sure all the lines were free of tangles.

Tom stepped out of the boat onto the pier, and pushed the boat to the end of the slip – and let go! And stood there waving and smiling … as I nearly had a heart attack, thinking OMG what’s he doing? He yells at me that it’s time for me to solo, get going!

I’m freaking – I’m going all alone? He wants me to solo? I’m only 13! I can’t do this!
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Exactly 20 years ago today (April 1, 2021), I returned to the US from my year and a half stint as the first Artist-in-Residence for Gore, New Zealand. I left NZ at 7 am on April 1st, and after a 9 hour flight, arrived in Honolulu at 8 am on … April 1st!

I was so happy to be out of the cold, cutting winds and chilly air, back in my love-home of Hawaii! Gore is about 3000 miles away from the South Pole – with nothing but vast ocean between. The winds would come thrashing through town and it would be all I could do to even get up in the morning – I hate being cold!

I decided I’d paint how I felt about being cold – so here I am, all snuggled up under one of the World Trees, all warm and cozy, dreaming of Hawaii.

While I was in Gore, I was given the use of a couple of side rooms in an old church the local art council had saved from being torn down, and which they were going to turn into an art center. It was the perfect place to hold painting classes, which I did twice a week for several months. That was where I painted this.

oils on canvas, 36″ x 36″
Prints available