Stepping off the Carousel

A Letter about finished paintings, removing pressure and getting lost within yourself

Hello Dear Reader,

How are you this foggy June?

Here in Nova Scotia, it’s been a rather rainy transition into the month.

This past week, I made the three hour drive to the north of the province to visit family and photograph my most recent artworks of Icelandic landscapes. It rained all day, every day. I didn’t want the cold and wet weather to stop us so wrapped in wool we ventured into my beloved mossy conifer woods (and every time we returned home, we had to hang our dripping outerwear by the roaring fire as late as May 31).

Where I go is a place so quintessentially Nova Scotian: acidic soil, lush moss and swaying evergreens. The quiet is only interrupted by croaking ravens or chirping red squirrels reminding you that you’re an intruder in their domain. Unfortunately in recent years, add to the quiet, the constant check for ticks. It’s a vast and largely empty land, huge tracts of forest growing back after logging (likely awaiting that next fateful day), bogs and lakes.

I finished a small series of Icelandic landscapes now available on my shop: atmospheric rhyolite mountains, fog and moss. These were painted over the last few months while getting my bearings straight for developing a creative practice. Choosing Iceland was an easy subject - something about the landscape and its location straddling the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates under the Arctic circle has gripped my imagination since childhood. If I can’t be there, at least I can get lost painting…

I’m at a point now where more importantly than improving, is just doing. To remove the pressure of expectation and allow whatever it is to reveal itself through focus and intent. To paint and not wonder, am I good enough? What does it really matter? Our existence alone is so infinitely rare… so why the pressure on your precious life? Carving out time and space for you to just be you, whether it’s creating something beautiful or going for a walk, we need more time to just be our true selves. Removing the mental barriers from art, is a great way to just get lost in yourself.

It sounds almost selfish… “get lost in yourself.” But to get lost in yourself is like… stepping beyond your limiting cyclical thoughts. To escape rumination and anxiety. It feels like you step into a different realm and you’re not in your head at all. Just existing and flowing along as you’re really meant to be. No audience or pressure. Perhaps, you have an activity that transports you to this place (writing, reading, building lego, cooking)? Whatever it is, I think we all need to get in that place more often. Constant attention economy hijacks this precious place from us. It can be such a simple task too, sometimes as simple as doing the dishes.

A more colourful square for my recent blanket… knitting this time of year is almost non-existent. I’m just slowly knitting when I find the time.

I was lost in this feeling when I made the video I shared above and as I write this letter to you here on my laptop. But the intent and the environment feels completely the antithesis of the attention economy, which is one reason why I can now do this.

Sometimes it is the browsing on the internet at different artist’s work that begins to build the pressure. Removing social media from my life has really helped since I’m no longer bombarded by constant progress, constant mental stimuli. A carousel that inhibited real personal growth. There was no room to breathe and reach deep inside and figure out, who am I actually?

a small progress shot of my new banner

Finishing these few paintings was like turning a page. Of course, I will keep painting - but the sun lingering into the evening definitely moves my focus outward: to our bodies, the earth and home projects.

It’s like the inner world no longer needs nurturing. The winter has done her job and it’s time to embrace the sun. It’s such brief period. Twilight skies, salty air, a sense of hope that seems to just float on, like the clouds.

Soon, our surfboards will be strapped to the roof of the car while the sun rises and with a thermos of coffee, we’ll meet the seals to watch the fog burn off the Atlantic. I can’t wait to feel weightless in the water and soak in all of the healing saltiness. Since learning to surf, summer has taken on such a deep new layer and has become the most magical time of year. My approach to this rather intimidating solo sport is similar to painting - it frees something in me when I let go of the pressure and am just present. My life feels enriched.

But… add on the pressure, and I start to unravel.

the fairy hill - a walk to check out the surf

The water is still too cold to surf so, until then the garden must be fully planted, and our 1950s midcentury cottage is in need of the kind of interior projects that require wide-open windows and sudden bursts of motivation that the sun brings.

We are fully in the midst of painting every cupboard in our kitchen. We aren’t changing anything major because it’s fully functional, but we are doing what we can to reduce clutter and make it feel more us. Sage green cabinets, folk art, a vintage shelf. I’ll show you the bits when we’re done. I love Swedish folk cottages, midcentury design and a general grandma from 60 years ago vibe.

This week, every book on hold come in at the same time from the local library. I’m currently reading Lolly Willowes (1926) by Sylvia Townsend Warner. Reading the summary alone, I was surprised by how modern it was: After a death in the family, an "aging” (28) woman is sent to live with her brother and his family with the intent to support his young family, but to their chagrin, leaves them to become a witch in the countryside.

The writer must have been speaking directly to us nature misfits through time - a remnant that we have kindred spirits across the centuries. Who, if we are willing, can still speak directly to us.

I’ll report back in my next letter to you and the other books on my bedside table. They often form a little tower while the library continues to email me about due dates and new books on hold. Praise be to the public library. I often think that as long as a town has a local library and a post office, I can be happy.

Until then, I’d love to hear how you’re spending these long, shifting days (or these short days in the southern hemisphere). Are you feeling pulled toward the outdoors, or are you finding this burst of light energizing your inner creative world?

Be well.

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☾ Thank you for being here.

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