The Moment That You Know.
On becoming an artist, Winter as a time of reflection, and unexpected gifts.
I've always been a naturally reflective writer, and Winter feels like a significant time for me when it comes to sifting through all the parts of my creative experience to study and explore how they continue to shape my work. Maybe it's because in contrast to the rest of the busy, frenetic year, this post Christmas, new year, January, February time is slow. Still. Quiet. Entirely conducive to meditative exploration of all that has been.
For a long time now, I've had an annual Winter project - something creative just for me. Not work, not a commission, nothing with a hard deadline. Something to fill the quiet days of this hibernation time. One year it was a king size rainbow patchwork quilt (I'm writing this from under it!), one year it was my very first knitted jumper and then the next it was a shawl - perfect for my menopausal hot flush one minute, freezing the next, personal temperature fluctuations. Focusing my creative energies inward, and settling into a time of reflection as the dark days of this season invite us to, always feels incredibly nourishing.
This year, I spent most of January recovering from a nasty bout of tonsillitis, with little energy for personal creative projects, but plenty of time for contemplation.
When I was still in primary school, a friend I'd known since pre-school, gifted me a quote she'd hand written by SARK, called “How to be an Artist”.
I still have it, kept safe in a box full of memories, and reading it again, I wonder if everyone who creates can identify that moment in their lives when they knew, for the first time, and with absolute clarity, that they were an artist.
I was not quite 4.
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