Welcome to My World

Every home filled with love. Safety. Peace. Whimsical and beautiful.

Yes, I know the whole world is not this way.

But perhaps that is exactly why I keep making it.

I imagine stepping through the torn-paper opening of one of my paintings and finding that the world on the other side is real. There are flowers growing where you don’t expect them, little houses tucked into gardens, birds perched among strawberries, ribbons drifting through the air, and patterns layered over patterns.

Nothing needs to be terribly serious here.

It simply needs to make you feel something good.

That is the world of Joan Davis.

Walking Into the Painting

My dream is to take the artwork beyond the wall and create an immersive Joan Davis shop or department-store experience—a place that feels less like walking into a retail space and more like stepping directly into one of my paintings.

The entrance itself becomes part of the installation.

Imagine an oversized garden arch inspired by the torn-paper doorway in my artwork. Around its edges are flowers, painted vines, strawberries, gingham, birds, and dimensional objects.

And then there are the birdhouses.

Not simply merchandise lined up on shelves, but beautiful little architectural forms clustered around the entrance—as though a tiny village has grown out of the artwork itself.

Some are blue-and-white gingham. Others are covered in Joan Davis floral patterns. Some are whimsical little houses with unexpected roofs, tiny painted doors, birds, and flowers.

You walk between them to enter the collection.

You aren’t just shopping the artwork. You have entered its world.

The Table for Six

Beyond the entrance is the heart of the installation: a beautiful table set for six.

This is where the painting becomes a home.

A patterned tablecloth or runner carries the flowers, birds, strawberries, gingham, and hand-drawn marks from the original artwork. Six place settings are waiting.

There might be blue-and-white floral dinner plates layered with smaller plates featuring a strawberry, a bird, a flower, or one of my little houses. Napkins coordinate without matching perfectly. Perhaps each place has a slightly different motif.

A small ceramic house might hold flowers. A tiny bird could become a place-card holder. The centerpiece feels like one of my collages brought to life—wildflowers, daisies, greenery, strawberries, and small sculptural elements wandering naturally down the center of the table.

Nothing is too perfect. It should feel collected. Made by hand. Loved.

Art isn’t only something we hang on a wall. It can become part of how we live.

The Little Houses

The houses in my collages have always meant more to me than architecture.

A house represents shelter. Belonging. Family. Safety. Home.

I imagine translating them into a collection of small ceramic Joan Davis houses—each with different shapes, patterns, and personalities, designed to be collected over time.

A customer might begin with one. Eventually there are three. Then five.

They could sit across a fireplace mantel like a tiny village. They could gather on a bookshelf, a console table, or in the center of a dining table.

Some could be candlelit from within. Others might hold a single flower. At Christmas, they could mingle with greenery. In spring, with flowers and birds.

The collection could keep growing because every little house is slightly different.

A world of homes filled with love.

A Room You Can Live In

Then there is the sitting area.

I imagine a wonderful patterned sofa—not timid, but joyful.

Perhaps a small-scale blue floral or a soft Joan Davis garden pattern. And on it, just a few pillows.

One might feature the black bird with the flower. Another the blue hydrangeas. Another the gingham house. Another could simply be an exuberant field of flowers taken from a painting.

Nearby hangs one of the large original works, beautifully framed.

Painting → pattern → textile → object → room.

A customer can sit on the sofa and understand how the entire world works together.

It isn’t necessary to buy everything. One pillow can bring a little of the world home. One plate can. One tiny house can. And certainly one painting can.

Why I Make This World

A long time ago, I attended a dinner called “Power of One.”

I never forgot what that meant.

To me, the Power of One means taking action.

It means sharing in the pain of our neighbors and our world and contributing in the most beautiful way you know how.

We can’t individually repair everything that is frightening, unfair, or heartbreaking. But we can decide what we put into the world.

I can make something beautiful.

I can create a place—even if it begins on a piece of paper—where flowers grow wildly, birds appear in unexpected places, little houses feel safe, and there is always room at the table.

The best way to deal with your own loss is to work on something bigger than yourself.

That doesn’t mean pretending loss didn’t happen. It means allowing what remains of your life to create something new.

For me, that something is this world.

The Joan Davis World

I would love someday for someone to walk into a store and unexpectedly discover it.

They see the strange little doorway first. They walk through. There are birdhouses climbing the entrance.

Beyond them is the table for six.

There are paintings on the walls, patterned dishes on the table, linens, flowers, ceramics, little houses across the mantel, and a sofa covered with a few wonderfully mismatched pillows.

Maybe there is even a small studio table where someone can sit down and make something.

For a few minutes, the outside world becomes quieter.

And perhaps someone smiles.

Perhaps they remember a grandmother’s garden. A childhood house. A summer afternoon. A person they loved.

Or perhaps they simply think: This makes me happy.

That is enough.

I don’t need a Joan Davis painting to change the world.

I hope a Joan Davis painting can bring joy.

Simple as that.

Welcome to my world.

It is how I wish the whole world could be.