Each month (beginning August 2025) on this page, we add a profile or interview with one of the Guild's Companions, professional partners, friends or associates. We hope you enjoy finding out a bit more about these remarkable people and their diverse interests and experience.
INTERVIEWS
August 2025 - Companion Lefteris Heretakis
September 2025 - Companion Kateri Ewing
Interviewees to come include Ashley Gallant, Richard Channing, Charlie Tebbutt, Terry Johnson and Dominika Wielgopolan.
Kateri Ewing
Tell us who you are.
I’m Kateri Ewing and I am a writer, artist, and teacher whose work gently invites others to slow down, pay attention, and honour the quiet beauty of their inner and outer lives. Over 25,000 students have taken my courses through platforms such as The Great Courses, Craftsy (formerly BluPrint/NBC Universal), and my own online school, Art & Spirit Studio, where I am known for my thoughtful, accessible approach to creativity.
I am the author of three well-loved books—Watercolor Is for Everyone; Drawing Is for Everyone; and Look Closer, Draw Better—all published by Quarto. Each title invites readers into a more mindful, heart-centered creative practice, and they continue to be widely shared for their meditative tone and welcoming spirit.
I live with my partner Rick and two cats in Western New York. I am a mother of two and grandmother of five. My daughter, son-in-law and their two daughters live near by and my son, daughter-in-law and their three sons live in Ireland. I visit them at least once a year and often wish we could all live there. It’s very hard to come home. I’ve wanted to live in either England or Ireland for my entire life.
How would you describe yourself professionally?
I would say that I am a writer and artist devoted to the practice of seeing, an inheritance I gratefully acknowledge in the lineage of John Ruskin. Through my teaching, writing, and art, I invite others to notice the shimmer of light in ordinary things and to discover the companionship of creativity in their own lives. I am currently at work on Two Stones, a book of reflections and creative practices on carrying both grief and wonder at the same time. My work is an offering of reciprocity: to give back more beauty, tenderness, and attention than I take from the world.
What does your work involve day to day?
On a day-to-day level, my work is a weaving together of writing, drawing, and teaching. Most mornings begin quietly at my desk with words—working on my book Two Stones, shaping essays, or writing for my Substack, fleeting, breathing, human things. Later, I turn to my art, often in graphite or charcoal, where the slow, meditative mark-making becomes both personal practice and preparation for exhibitions. I also create watercolor lessons and projects for my online community, filming and writing in ways that invite others into their own creative practice. Alongside this, I tend to the ongoing work of stewarding my courses, Patreon, and book projects, keeping them aligned with my values of reciprocity, presence, and noticing the beauty of the ordinary. I have a part-time job as a fine art framer, which is probably the most difficult thing I do! It involves a lot of math and precision and physical work and it’s about nine hours on my feet. I am really tired when I get home, but it helps keep the lights on, for sure.
What do you consider to have been the essential parts of your education and training to be doing this work now?
I actually began at university studying classical archaeology and languages, and I once imagined I might become a curator in a natural history museum. After a personal tragedy in my final year, I never went back to finish my degree. Motherhood soon stole my heart, though, and I chose to stay home with my children, never really entering the workforce until I was suddenly divorced at 43. At the same time, I faced a decade of serious health issues and surgeries, which left me with a lot of down time in between my working hours at a minimum wage job. I decided to teach myself how to draw in the early mornings and then again after work, and in the process I discovered John Ruskin’s The Elements of Drawing. From there, everything unfolded: years of hard work, taking risks, and, I think, a healthy measure of good fortune. Looking back, it feels like a meandering but marvellous path that shaped me far more deeply than any single straight line of education could have. Honestly, I am still amazed at how my career unfolded, and I am really proud of what I have accomplished, especially considering all of the health struggles I have endured.
What is one surprising or intriguing thing about your work, that other people might not expect?
One thing people might not expect is that one of my studios is in the historic Roycroft Print Shop in East Aurora, New York. The floorboards creak with every step, and I often think about the generations of craftspeople who worked there before me. That sense of lineage—of Ruskin, William Morris, and Elbert Hubbard—infuses my daily practice with humility and gratitude. It feels less like I work in a studio and more like I am a guest in a long tradition of art as service.
Why do you do this work?
I do this work because I believe creativity is a way of being present to life. Drawing, writing, and teaching are how I honour being alive and how I stay awake to the shimmer in ordinary things. After everything I’ve lived through, the loss of my first child, illness, and long seasons of uncertainty, my creative practice has been both refuge and revelation. It gave me a way to keep going, to make beauty out of difficulty, and to offer something back. What keeps me devoted is the reciprocity because when I teach or share my work, I see how creativity opens something in others too. That exchange of attention, tenderness, and presence feels to me like the truest reason for doing anything at all.
What is the positive impact you hope your work will have?
I hope that my work helps people slow down and notice the beauty that’s right in front of them, like the shimmer of light on a leaf, the way every single leaf on a tree is unique, the quiet miracle of ordinary daily life. If someone feels less alone because of something I’ve written, or if they discover a creative practice that brings them calm and joy, then I feel I’ve done my work. What matters most to me is that my work offers companionship and fosters reciprocity, that it reminds us to give back more tenderness, attention, and care than we take from the world.
What do you value most about what you do?
What I value most is the connection my work creates, both for myself with the natural world around me, and with other people, my students especially. Drawing and writing help me notice beauty in ordinary things, and sharing that often sparks recognition in others. That sense of companionship and reciprocity is what I treasure most. I am in awe of my international community of students, most of whom have been with me for almost nine years now, and it has been amazing watching them blossom in their creatives lives, and form close bonds with one another, even though they might be continents apart. So beautiful!
If you could communicate one essential thing about your area of expertise to people who don't know about it, what would that be?
If I could share one essential thing, it would be that drawing, painting and writing aren’t really about talent or perfection, but they’re about learning to see. When we give our attention to the ordinary world, whether with a pencil, a brush, or a few lines of words, we discover beauty, meaning, and even comfort we might otherwise miss. Creative practice isn’t about making masterpieces, it’s about being present, and in that presence, finding ourselves more deeply alive.
Is there a particular place in nature, a sight, a building, a book, a work of art, an experience, that you’d like to encourage Companions and others who care about the world, to experience for themselves?
One thing I would encourage people to experience is a simple path outdoors at dawn, when the light is just beginning to filter through the trees. You don’t have to travel far or seek out the grand or famous. What matters is the quiet, the shift of light, the sense that the world is waking. For me, those moments are as profound as any museum or monument. They teach us how to see, how to listen, and how to remember that beauty and renewal are always close at hand.
Two books I often encourage people to experience are Patti Smith’s Just Kids and Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass. Just Kids is, to me, one of the most profound love stories ever written. It is an exploration of unconditional love, art, and companionship that continues to shape how I think about devotion. And Braiding Sweetgrass is a book of deep reciprocity, reminding us that the natural world is alive with gifts and that our role is to give back in kind. Both books ask us to live more tenderly and attentively, and both have been essential companions on my own path.
What do you think art, craft, design and rural and environmental education can be used to make the world a better place?
I believe they can help make the world better by teaching us to slow down, to notice, to understand reality, and to care. When we learn to make something with our hands, or to draw what we see, or to tend to a piece of land, we begin to understand reciprocity—that we are in relationship with the world, not separate from it. These practices cultivate humility, attentiveness, and compassion. They remind us that beauty is not a luxury, but a way of honouring life itself. If more people carried that kind of seeing and care into their daily lives, I believe the world would become gentler, more sustainable, and more just.
What concerns you most about the world right now?
What concerns me most about the world right now is the way we are losing our capacity for attention and tenderness, toward each other and toward the natural world. Alongside that, I’m deeply troubled by the loss of truth-telling, and by the deception of political leaders in my own country. I feel like many of my fellow Americans are becoming more dumbed-down by the day. Critical thinking and higher education are in danger here. It feels dangerous when trust is eroded at that level, because without truth there can be no real care or justice. I worry about the violence of indifference, the speed and noise of our culture, and the taking without giving back. Yet I still believe we can turn toward another way, through small, steadfast acts of honesty, reciprocity, and care in our daily lives.
Being a Guild Companion, to me, means standing in a lineage of people devoted to beauty, justice, and truth, to the idea that art and craft are not just personal pursuits, but ways of serving the world. That in itself is an honour. What makes it especially meaningful for me is the immense gratitude I will always feel for Clive Wilmer and Jim Spates. Jim first opened my eyes to a more expansive appreciation of Ruskin, and through him I met Clive, and it was Clive who introduced me to the Guild. Both Jim and Clive’s encouragement have been such a gift. They believed in me and urged me to carry on with my work as an artist in a way that felt utterly authentic. To be welcomed into the Guild as a Companion felt both humbling and deeply sustaining, as if I’ve been given not only a home for my Ruskinian spirit, but a responsibility to keep giving back.
How would you describe the value or purpose of being a Companion to someone considering joining the Guild?
I see it as a chance to belong to a living tradition, one that holds beauty, truth, and justice at its heart. It isn’t just about being part of an organisation, but about joining a community of people who believe that good work can make the world gentler and more just. For me, it has meant companionship, encouragement, and a sense that my own work is part of something larger than myself. And I believe that when we truly learn to see—whether through drawing, walking in nature, or paying close attention—we also foster a deeper care for the environment and the earth that sustains us, and the Guild is so beautifully involved in fostering a deeper care for our Earth. To anyone considering joining, I would say: if you long for a place where your creativity, your concern for the environment and the world, and your desire to share beauty can be nurtured, the Guild offers exactly that.
I would love to see the Guild and its Companions bringing the timeless insights of Ruskin to a wider audience, sharing them in ways that feel alive and relevant to our daily lives. The heart of his teaching is as urgent now as it was in the 1800s, but many people today find his Victorian language difficult to approach. I think one of the most valuable things we can do is to carry the essence of his ideas forward in a modern context by translating them, so to speak, so that more people can recognise how profoundly they address the challenges of our own time.
I would love to come to England and participate in an event, showing people hands on the benefits of learning to see by drawing the natural world…can you imagine a retreat at Brantwood? I can. :)
Is there a particular line, or work, or idea, or artistic work of Ruskin’s that resonates for you?
Of Ruskin’s work, The Elements of Drawing has been deeply important to me. It was the book that first opened the door to my own path as an artist, and I still return to its lessons on seeing with reverence. Perhaps even more profoundly, I was taken by Unto This Last. The radical compassion at its heart, the insistence that justice, beauty, and dignity belong in every corner of society, feels like it matters more than ever. The idea that valuing people and the world not for their utility but for their inherent worth has shaped both my art and my teaching, my politics, and my way of being in the world.
Lefteris Heretakis
Ruskin’s Timeless Call: A Conversation with Guild Companion Lefteris Heretakis on Art, Design, and Education
In an era captivated by fleeting trends and hollow profits, the voice of John Ruskin, the 19th-century artist, writer, and social critic, resonates with striking clarity. His words, steeped in a reverence for truth, beauty, and justice, offer a compass for navigating our fragmented world. I recently spoke with Companion Lefteris Heretakis, a designer, educator, and podcaster based in Valencia, Spain, whose 30 year career in visual communication design and higher education has been profoundly shaped by Ruskin’s teachings. Drawing on The Elements of Drawing and The Seven Lamps of Architecture, Lefteris shared a vision for revitalising art and design education, urging us to heed Ruskin’s call: “There is no wealth but life.” Our conversation revealed how Ruskin’s principles can guide us towards a future rooted in ethical imagination and quiet, meaningful action.
From Violin to Vision: A Practitioner’s Path
Lefteris’s journey began not with a paintbrush but a violin. Trained rigorously from childhood, he practised six to seven hours daily, only to realise at 16 that this path was not his own. This led him to art and design, starting with a foundation course at the Kent Institute of Art and Design in 1994, where students were treated as serious creatives with access to inspiring facilities. He went on to study illustration at Kingston University and earned a master’s in Visual Communication at the Royal College of Art. By 2009, he was teaching, driven to give back through dialogue with future designers.
It was during this period that Ruskin’s The Elements of Drawing and The Seven Lamps of Architecture became his guiding lights. “I was inspired by Ruskin’s words,” he told me, quoting, “What we think, or what we know, or what we believe is, in the end, of little consequence. The only consequence is what we do.”. “These works hold the keys to saving art and design education,” he said with conviction. Ruskin’s emphasis on practice over theory, on the act of creation as an expression of moral purpose, struck a deep chord. “His ideas, written over a century ago, feel as though they were crafted for today’s digital disconnection and commercialised education,” Lefteris noted, echoing Ruskin’s lament: “We have much studied and much perfected, of late, the great civilised invention of the division of labour; only we give it a false name. It is not, truly speaking, the labour that is divided; but the men.”
The Digital Divide and Ruskin’s Craftsmanship
The advent of digital technology in the late 1980s and early 1990s promised to enhance artistic practice but often severed ties with tradition. “When digital arrived, we didn’t know how to integrate it thoughtfully,” Lefteris explained. “There was no need to abandon tradition; we could have used digital tools to continue it beautifully.” Instead, an obsession with appearances—polished surfaces over substance—took hold, a trend Ruskin would have deplored. As he wrote in The Seven Lamps of Architecture, “The highest reward for a person’s toil is not what they get for it, but what they become by it.” This focus on becoming, on the sacred essence of craftsmanship, is what Lefteris believes we must reclaim.
In academia, the integration of art and design into universities has further skewed priorities. The push for theoretical dissertations, while valuable, has diminished practice. “We have 25% theory, which is splendid and important, but 75% practice—that’s what’s been forgotten,” Lefteris said. “Those who focus solely on research, without practising, are leading the field astray.” Ruskin’s insistence on doing, on aligning hand, heart, and eye, offers a corrective. His Elements of Drawing emphasises “attentive seeing,” urging creators to observe with care and intention, a practice that counters the superficiality of our digital age.
The Commercialisation of Education: A Ruskinian Critique
The commercialisation of education, Lefteris argued, is a modern betrayal of Ruskin’s vision. In the UK, universities outsource services like security and catering, inflating costs while reducing teaching staff. “This is a plague,” he said bluntly. “Students are treated as clients, expecting ‘value for money,’ which distorts the honest exchange education should be.” He recounted a disheartening experience at a UK university, where a vice-chancellor’s failed project disrupted teaching with construction noise, leaving students feeling neglected. “If students feel nobody cares, they’re not engaged,” he said, echoing Ruskin’s warning in Unto This Last: “The first of all English games is making money… But it is a bad game, and a worse education.”
In contrast, countries with free education, such as some in Europe and Asia, often provide better resources, though public institutions may suffer from outdated curricula. The best teachers often gravitate to private schools for better pay and flexibility, meaning “the best teachers rarely meet the best students.” Ruskin’s focus on practice and ethical purpose could bridge this gap, prioritising students over profit.
Awakening the Moral Imagination
For Lefteris, the heart of design education lies in what Ruskin called “hand-heart-eye coordination”—aligning actions, emotions, and ideas. “Ruskin wrote that art, craft, and design, rightly taught, awaken the moral imagination, guiding the hand and heart towards truth, beauty, and justice,” he said. This is not just about creating objects but designing lives. He shared the story of a Leeds student, trained in graphic design, who applied its principles to build a successful pub business. “Teaching design isn’t just about making things,” Lefteris said. “It’s a way of thinking, helping students design their lives within moral and ethical boundaries.”
When a student experiences this awakening, “there’s an energy in the room,” he noted. Ruskin’s teachings urge us to ask, “Why are we making this? For whom? What does it uphold?” These questions transform the classroom into a space for ethical imagination, not mere visual production. As Ruskin wrote, “True craftsmanship is an act of love.” Designers must care deeply, infusing their work with purpose, not chasing wealth or self-gratification.
The Guild of St. George: A Call to Quiet Action
As a companion of the Guild of St. George, Lefteris is part of a global community across 12 countries, united by Ruskin’s vision of living as though the world were sacred, restoring harmony between humanity, nature, and the divine through quiet, meaningful action. “In a world driven by individualism and profit, these ideas can feel out of place,” he admitted. “You can’t go around saying this stuff—people might sideline you, especially when you mention the divine in a startup-obsessed culture.” Yet Ruskin’s call to align values with actions is universal, transcending time and culture.
The Guild offers a space to connect with others who share this commitment. For those hesitant to join because they’re not “Ruskin scholars,” Lefteris was clear: “Ruskin wasn’t a scholar; he was a practitioner.” The invitation is to live differently—thoughtfully, simply, with care for the world. “We need more guilds,” he said, “groups of people working to make life better through quiet action.”
Ruskin’s Warning and Today’s Challenges
Ruskin’s words capture the crisis of our time: “We’ve mistaken wealth for virtue and progress for wisdom. We build great engines in monster cities, yet forget that our soul is starving.” In the West, individualism has eclipsed collective responsibility. “It’s all me, me, me,” Lefteris said. “We need to realise we’re one humanity.” In Asia, he’s seen cultures that retain values of respect and community lost in the West. In the UK, we’re sliding towards what Ruskin called “illth”—the opposite of true wealth, driven by greed and selfishness. “Everyone’s a mini-tyrant in their workplace or family,” he observed.
The solution lies not in blaming politicians—“they’re powerless,” Lefteris said—but in our collective actions. We must act reflexively, applying Ruskin’s lessons, reflecting, and refining. “I find clarity in the pre-dawn hours, when nature is still, and there’s a beautiful silence,” he shared. The Guild could offer spaces for such reflection, perhaps through “pre-dawn forest bathing” at Ruskin Land, to help us reconnect with our values. We should also learn from global practices. “Europe often ignores what’s happening in the East and West,” he noted. In Asia, small, ethical projects receive support, unlike in the West, where funds are misdirected. The Guild could foster public-private partnerships to prioritise students over profit.
A Vision for Renewal
Lefteris’s work—spanning graphic design, education, and his podcast Design Education Talks—is at the service of the Guild. “Ruskin’s The Elements of Drawing and The Seven Lamps of Architecture are an ecosystem for renewal,” he said, “shifting our focus from output to process.” They urge us to design curricula rooted in “attentive seeing” and ethical inquiry. “The design classroom should be a space for ethical imagination, not just visual production,” he added.
Through The New Art School and the Design Education Forum, Lefteris is nurturing future designers and connecting global specialists to revive Ruskin’s principles. His vision is collaboration—through workshops, events, or shared projects—to amplify Ruskin’s ideas. “Let’s learn from East and West to rebuild a world where beauty stems from ethics,” he urged. As Ruskin said, “There is no wealth but life.” The Guild invites us to live with purpose, aligning hand, heart, and eye.
A Call to Companions and Beyond
Ruskin’s frustration was that too few embraced his ideas. Today, we must heed his call to action. The Guild of St. George invites us to live thoughtfully, to design lives and communities rooted in truth, beauty, and justice. For those considering joining, it’s not about scholarship but practice. Let’s collaborate to create ripples of change, transforming education, design, and society for the better. As Ruskin wrote, “The work of our hands and hearts, however small, can restore the broken harmony between man, nature, and God.”
Lefteris Heretakis is a designer, educator, and podcaster with international experience, having worked with multinational corporations, cultural organisations, and start-ups. As an educator, he has taught visual communication challenges in various countries, including the UK, Spain, China, Turkey, Vietnam, and Latvia, emphasising both traditional and digital skills to prepare students for today's rapidly evolving design landscape. Lefteris founded The New Art School to nurture future designers through a curriculum focusing on observation and hand-eye coordination. He also established the Design Education Forum to connect global specialists in art and design education. Additionally, as a podcaster, he hosts and produces "Design Education Talks" and mentors designers worldwide, promoting accessible, expert mentorship. A companion of the Guild of St. George, he is passionate about reviving Ruskin’s principles in art and design education. Connect with him through the Guild or his podcast on design education.
You can find more on his work in links below: