The Wintering

I wonder if we are meant to embrace this time of year. The leaves falling from the trees, the mornings darkening, the daylight shrinking more each day. Instead of fearing the slowing down, maybe we are supposed to accept it. It feels like something built into the rhythm of the world, our creativity, ourselves.

This change of pace is a reminder that everything has its season. It isn’t something to run from, but something to use differently. To take notes. To let yourself be still. To think more deeply, ask more questions, and spend more time pondering. Summer is for doing, for making, for seeing friends after long studio days, for sitting outside and feeling part of the hum of life. But autumn into winter feels quieter. It asks for reflection, for stillness, for looking at what remains once the noise lessens.

Lately I’ve been finding it harder to paint. I had imagined two new works following my map-like paintings, but something in me has been resisting. The clock feels louder, my body more rigid. My works are visceral, I tend to get lost in them, but recently I haven't been able to reach that place.

So, maybe this is the wintering. The body closing in, the pressure to make that takes hold. But that pressure contradicts everything my paintings are about: the ebb and flow of life itself and the truth that it is non-linear. Neither is nature, creativity, or me.

Maybe the seasons are simply reminding us to slow down. To be okay with not knowing. To make things that don’t quite work yet, and to make way for when they do.