Work well not hard

Small canvas work in progress

Hello Dear Readers,

I am not sure what is going on but my old studio blog is getting a lot of traction, especially in these last two months - the numbers suggest bots, but I will choose to hope there are real people behind the ever expanding view count. Hello! Thanks for joining me on this Friday ritual that has spanned over 18 years now. 

It's a gorgeous morning, a cool breeze rustles the leaves of the bay tree two doors down. I have a cup of Earl Grey (been off the matcha since having Covid) and I am listening to frequencies designed to help me focus.

The world continues to be "wild at heart and weird on top." The flood of information and outrage is really too much to bear by design. 

I have the privilege and deep need to focus on the breeze on the back of my neck, the way the sunlight makes patterns on the floor, and currently the ability to prioritise my relative peace. 

As I mentioned last week, I had Covid. I am now on the mend and grateful that I recovered as quickly and as easily as I did. Still not fun and quite worrisome at times of course, but I am glad to be feeling better (and grateful for vaccines and science).

You know that statement, "Do something your future self would thank you for?" I often struggle to know what statements like this actually mean, but I think I have figured it out. I just happened to feel inspired to batch cook and freeze portions of 3 different meals for myself before I got sick. It was incredible to have these tasty and wholesome lunches and dinners waiting for me each day that I was ill. I was struck by how smart, efficient, and caring it was to have done this small task that took maybe an hour and gave back so much more than the time I put in. This is something I will try to do more of in the future. I am a good cook (I think a lot of artists are) and it was such a gift to myself to be able to enjoy these meals. 

In other news, I was able to paint. I worked on two more new pieces in my Sunday series, just laying the ground work for what I will try to finish this Sunday. I seem to be developing more natural rhythms in my life that work with my brain rather than against it. It feels good to have these particular days, times, or hours for these specific activities. I have always mentioned that in painting, I find a limited palette more expansive. I think I am working toward creating a more "limited palette" for my whole life. You can do so much with four of your favourite colours, why mess with the ones that confuse, conflict, and muddy the waters? Seems like applying this to life could also be beneficial. 

canvas panel in progress

I will continue to take it easy this weekend, work more on my paintings, enjoy the light, music, and try to cook myself up some more care. I hope you can do something similar. You are worth the kindness you show yourself. You are worth the slowness, the time spent lost in your thoughts and dreams. These are gentle acts of resistance, joy, and love and are more important than you know. Please keep fighting. 

Two red lines = rest

latest canvas panel/ working snapshot

Good morning dear readers, 

The sun is rising, I am on my second cup of chai, and I am sitting in my favourite chair by the window. It is September and chai seems more appropriate than matcha. I am ill so it also seems more cosy. I tested positive for Covid yesterday. This will be the second time I have had it. 

Not to alarm, but if you and your pals have sore throats and "colds" just now, you might want to test as to avoid giving covid to someone. If you are in Scotland and happen to have any old government tests around they still seem to work. Mine lit up in seconds yesterday after testing negative on Monday when my throat first started hurting.

Also if you are ill, please stay home if you can or perhaps wear a mask when you are going to the shops or are riding the bus. It's just a nice thing to do. Being ill sucks - whether it truly is a cold or covid. Many of us haven't had a vaccine in ages these days and are more vulnerable. Okay, that's my spiel.

I am listening to this. A bit different from my usual vibes I know - but I do believe in the healing power of music. You might enjoy it if you are looking for some grounding, relaxing nature based music. 

Until I started feeling unwell on Monday afternoon, I had a nice time since last Friday's Studio Blog. On Friday, I met my pal Philip and did a bit of charity shopping and found some bargains (always a thrill). We also went to lunch at a vegan place I had been wanting to try. If you are local to Leith/Edinburgh, Faceplant on Duke Street is 100% vegan and a really cute spot. The food was great too! 

Later that afternoon, I  had a lovely art and life chat over video with my friend and fellow artist, Adelaide Shalhope. A great start to the weekend.

On Saturday, I worked in my garden weeding and tidying and learned how to make a new creamy iced fruit tea recipe. I also managed some batch cooking (so glad I had healthy food all prepared in the freezer as it has come in so handy this week). I went down a few wonderful musical rabbit holes and discovered some new songs and sounds. That is always a good thing. A lovely Saturday.

On Sunday, I went to the local car boot sale with Philip and found a couple of small treasures. On Sunday evening, as scheduled, I had the weekly art chat with my mom and rectified two canvases I had been working on the week prior. You can see one of them above. 

On Monday morning, I attended a webinar by Global Trade Department - "Q&A session with Royal Mail: Shipping to the US with Royal Mail and Parcelforce post 29th August." I attended the previous webinar as well, and the situation sounded pretty dire, but now things seem perhaps a bit more manageable. I know that these tariffs are very concerning and impact many UK small businesses and artists. You can find  the latest Q&A webinar here. Things are constantly changing so this is a helpful resource to know in order to stay up to date as things develop.

After the webinar, I met my friend and fellow artist Julia Laing in the city centre for a wander and a blether. We went for a tea and then walked towards Dundas street not thinking that most of the galleries would be closed (we did look in gallery windows - and Julia got to hear my rant about frames being akin to painting jail). We enjoyed a couple of antique shops, a pop up gallery, and then found our way to another coffee shop, where I noticed my throat starting to feel irritated and then we parted ways. I tested negative when I got home and put myself to bed thinking I had the beginnings of a cold. 

Tuesday I rested (and had wild dreams), Wednesday and Thursday I worked from home as usual until I tested positive and here we are. I am now coughing quite a bit as I type. I will most likely be returning to my bed again soon. I hope to be able to do my Sunday art session with my mom. 

And that was a week in this artist's life. One day soon, I might tell you about what is inspiring me, and some of the bigger ideas I have about the future of my art, but currently this reportage style suits me and gets the job done. 

Be well and rest. Thank you for stopping by and for supporting my work - especially my wee kofi crew: Tamsin, Jennifer, Annie, and Jennifer - you are such stars and I am so thankful. 

Until next week, keep fighting. 

Working and worrying

Works in progress from last Sunday's Session with Mom

Hello, Dear Readers,

How are you doing? I’m really glad it’s Friday—the weight of the world is wearing me out. My eyes are desperate to close for the day.

Here's the week in review. I attended the Scottish Artists Union's AGM last Saturday. I gave a wee 10 minute report on the happenings of the Rep Team. Afterwards, I met up with a pal for some matcha and charity shopping in Leith.

Sunday was art day with my mom (see above—laying the foundations for two new paintings). My mother and I have been talking and working on art for eight Sundays now. It’s been a good routine for both of us. I aim to complete at least one of those pieces this Sunday.

I watched the documentary, "Turn It Around: The Story of East Bay Punk" on Sunday morning as well. It was inspiring. 

On Monday, I ventured into the hot wilderness of the city centre and felt "all lost in the supermarket" and tearful as I wandered through the mêlée. When I got home, I saw there was a warning of an active shooter at the University of Arkansas back in my hometown. This was very alarming. Thankfully, everyone was okay in the end, as it turned out to be a cruel and terrorising hoax. However, later in the week, there was another shooting, this time in Minneapolis. I can’t stand America’s relationship with guns.

On Tuesday, I participated in four video events—a training, two online workshops, and a meeting with a friend. On Wednesday and Thursday, I had work, and on Thursday night, I attended another workshop. And here we are. Today, I met a pal for some more charity shopping and a tasty vegan lunch. Afterwards, I had an art chat with a friend.

It was a busy week of working and worrying. But there was also a lot of learning, expanding, and feeling excited about possibilities.

I was strangely tempted to rescue a TV/VCR combo from the street but decided against it. And this is where I leave you.

the revolution will not be televised

Fire on the hills of yesterday

Reserving my words.

Until next week, take care. 

Art, Culture, and Community

dark foundations

 

Good morning, foot soldiers of culture,

It is just after seven in the morning as I take a deep breath and sit down to write. The light is warm as the yellow window shade moves back and forth in the breeze. Nils Frahm's song, Talisman will be the soundtrack for my post today - over and over again, feeling new each time, like a warm dark wave. 

As I mentioned last week, the Spanish band, Los Retumbes were in Edinburgh on tour. I went to see them again on Saturday at Elvis Shakespeare. These shows are Leith's version of a Tiny Desk Concert, held in a combined book and record shop. I was really glad I got to see them again in my community. 

When I am enjoying live music, my mind often puts together a whole new story while the bands are playing. A narrative that includes how beautiful the community of like minded souls are as they watch the band and how lucky I am to be part of it. Everything feels more connected and special, like a dream come true. I am exactly where I am meant to be in that moment.

Los Retumbes at Elvis Shakespeare on Leith Walk

After the musical excitement, it was a mellow weekend of chores, and the sixth week of art chat with my mother (you can see my progress above). I will try to finish those canvases off this Sunday. 

I watched the ITV interview with Nicola Sturgeon on Monday and plan to start listening to her memoir this weekend. I am glad I got to experience her tenure as First Minister of Scotland. I took comfort that a woman just under two years older than me, from a working class background was in charge. 

a photo I took of Nicola Sturgeon in 2019

In other news, besides work, I took a few walks, took some photos, saw a gorgeous moon, and attended three webinars on a variety of educational and training topics, along with two other video events. 

It felt like a busy and well rounded week. All the while the bigger art concepts are rolling around in my head. I still need to process those and bring them to the light of day. All in good time. 

I am about to meet a pal for a morning walk and will meet another friend on Sunday for some more culture - just another week in this artist's life. 

Until next week, please take care and keep fighting. 

Tear it up

under the earth (there is a stone heart)

I am sitting in my favourite chair on a Friday so this can only mean one thing, we are here again. We are spending time together on the Studio Blog. 

The first thing I tend to do these days, is review my photos to remind me of the past week. Then I will flick through my brain waves and see if there were any major themes that I am willing to share. 

Last week's post proved strangely popular according to the numbers - perhaps everyone loves a bit of small furniture or perhaps it was the photos of the dark paintings on the easel. 

On Sunday, I went to the local car boot sale with a pal, and purchased mundane things that I needed - in other words, no vintage spoons, art books, or anything cool. There was matcha (of course) and many laughs were had. Sunday also brought the fifth week of my art discussion sessions with my mother. My mom continued to work on her bird sculpture and I worked to rectify the two darkest canvases. They became slightly surreal - other worlds. See above and below. 

separation state

This week, I also received a concept to explore further in my art. The conditions were right, so the idea felt comfortable enough to let itself be known. A bigger than usual concept, of the sort I haven't had in a long time. I am not quite ready to present it here. But there is something afoot, it's happening now, and it's showing up in my daily life. I hope to be able to explore it a bit more this weekend and roll around with it. Stay tuned.

In other news, I cut my hair even shorter than usual and that was a relief. It always is - the shorter my hair, the more I feel like myself. My street finding energy was strong this week - let's just say, I have a new cool shoe wardrobe and that brings me joy. 

Los Retumbes

Last night, I went to a Fringe gig featuring the Spanish band, Los Retumbes. It was a joy to be able to walk 3 minutes to see 3 bands (The Screamin Kick and The Bad Moods opened) along with my friends and neighbours and all for a good cause, benefiting the community. I had a smile on my face the whole time they played their high energy set. I bought a t-shirt to support the band. They are playing again at Elvis Shakespeare tomorrow (Saturday 9 Aug) at 2:30 (free show) for any locals reading this.

Speaking of other cool Leith Fringe happenings for the locals: Go check out Cyan Clayworks during their Fringe exhibition and open studio. Chris and Fiona are good people, and you need their work and their vision in your lives. They have prints and photos along with their stellar ceramic works for you to enjoy in their gorgeous studio. 

And that's all the news I have for you this week. The world seems impossibly tragic and difficult right now and if you are struggling, you are not alone. What gives me comfort are the various communities I am part of and giving myself permission to find and hold on to joy. Your joy and my joy may not look the same and the jerks of the world hate that - so have more of it. Silence their voices with your kindness, your sparkle, and your open heart. 

Keep fighting and I will too.

The Small Furniture

a collection of weeks

I can't believe it's already Friday (says every older person everywhere). Time slides past at a rapid pace. Why do the first 18 years of life go at a snail's pace and then pick up speed steadily thereafter? Do our developing brains perceive time differently?

Regardless, here I am sitting in my favourite chair by the open window. Today's song endlessly loops on my headphones as I write. A strong matcha over ice in a tall blue handblown glass from Terra Studios in Arkansas will light the fire within. 

I am going to take a page out of my friend Julia's wonderful blog this week, and perhaps just share a few flashes from my week. 

You can see the paintings (above) in progress on my easel from the weekly prompted sessions with my mother. Last Sunday, I didn't have much in me, but I did work on two pieces rather than just one even if it was mostly just painting things black. Progress, not perfection, and all that. 

But I have gotten ahead of myself. On Saturday there was the Stop Trump Rally and demonstrations at various locations across Scotland. I went along with my neighbours and it was good to see so many people out and outraged.

Scots give good signage

On the way home, after the protest, I took a photo of the St. Columba's Charity Shop window as they do a good job of their display. It is always full of colour, pattern, and a sense of nostalgia. I needed and enjoyed the visual relief.

Charity shop vibes

On Monday, I took a bright neighbourhood walk around some of my favourite parts of the Water of Leith. I have been dealing with a random hip injury and haven't been walking quite as much this past month. The sun was bright and lovely and the sky was blue. I went to visit my Scottish friend tree (my original friend tree, was my childhood touchstone back in Arkansas). I was unnerved to find my local tree had been cut back significantly by the council. I hate that it has been disturbed but I also know it was diseased in parts and they seem to be doing a very careful job trimming it. I must have faith that it is being cared for and not that it is about to be destroyed - that would be too much for me to bear. I told it that it was strong and resilient, and to root down and resist if needed. I kissed its knobbly bark and thanked it for its grounding presence in my life. I have two wee branches of it now in my home - I love it so.

water of leith

Scottish friend tree

On Tuesday, I met my pal Julia in the city centre for lunch and a blether. We met on the steps of the National Museum of Scotland on Chambers Street. It was a strange thrill to sit on the big steps and wait for my pal. I have always liked sitting on the sidewalks/pavements and I used to say that anywhere I could do that, I felt at home.

School children waited in a line with their minders to go in and have a big adventure. It brought to mind field trips of my youth, and how exciting it felt to be somewhere new as a group - wild, free, and out of the classroom! 

Waiting on a friend

this must be the place

During our outing, I spied some handmade dollhouse furniture in the window of a charity shop in Morningside. I exclaimed when I saw it and had that instant rush of being pretty sure that I needed it in my life. My palms tingled - the same way they do when I see art that I resonate with - that "got to have it" energy flooded my system, worried someone might beat me to it. But it was doll house furniture... Did I really need it... What would I do with it? Why did I love it so much and what did it really represent?

I took a picture of it in the window and looked at the picture the whole time we were browsing inside. Never one to make a rash decision, we left the shop to look at a few others nearby, but I was distracted, still itchy and worried someone might get it. We walked back up the street and looked in at it one more time, and the tears came. I had to have it. It didn't matter if it didn't make sense; it made sense to me. It represented something important to me - it reminded me of home, my mother, and my brothers. It reminded me of the dollhouses and the furniture that they made together late at night for me after my mom had worked all day. It reminded me of all the love and care that goes into the making. It deserved a good home that would understand and love it the right way. I needed my mother to see it and to know that I was thinking of her.

When I walked in to buy it, the relief was immediate. The shop volunteer called out for an assistant to come and retrieve the pieces from the window. I caught the eye of a man who smiled at me knowingly regarding the handcrafted treasure I would be taking home. I was excited to unveil it to my mother over a video call a couple of hours later. She understood and appreciated it just like I did. It was worth every penny.

On Wednesday and Thursday, I was busily back at work, but rest assured, the small furniture was set up nearby so I could steal glances at it.

I am thankful for the moments of joy and the crashing waves of sadness. I am grateful that I feel big emotions and that I have friends and trees that I can share them with. I am grateful for the family that created me and shaped the things I value.

Here’s to the things that bring us joy and tears. Until next week, keep fighting for all your small furniture moments.

Two steps forward (six steps back)

neighbourhood feverfew

Hello Dear Readers,

This past week was hard for a variety of reasons.However, last Sunday provided a bright spot - I had the chance to spend some time with my pal, Annie. We went to Söderberg near the meadows where I was treated to two cups of wonderful matcha and a vegan fruit and nut bar. Everything was lovely, we split our time between the outdoor seating with its collegiate vibes and the minimalist cafe's natural light filled interior. We had some laughs, took some photos, and had a right old blether.

I returned to my home to participate in a new ritual. For the last three Sundays, my mother and I have been holding each other accountable and focussing on making art. To quote Martha Stewart, "It's a good thing." Speaking of, I happened to watch a documentary this week on Martha that was strangely soothing.

On my side of the Atlantic, I worked on a small canvas painting while my mother worked on finishing up an abstracted mythical bird sculpture. My painting didn't quite come together as in previous weeks, but something showed up and that is good enough. I am glad my mother and I can encourage each other from a distance.

fire on the hills of yesterday

15x15cm/ 5.9x5.9” mixed media on canvas 2025 Megan Chapman

£45 & free UK 2nd class shipping

Besides painting, I managed a bit of genealogy. Genealogy is usually my rainy, dark season hobby so researching family ghosts in the summer is a solace seeking measure. I even went to the local library to access their database - mostly just for the change of scenery. My mother has been telling me some poetic stories about the family so it's at the forefront of my mind. I imagine these stories will be explored in a new series at some point.

This week also consisted of meetings, work, some classic avoidance techniques, frustration, tears, and strange dreams. A rare Chinese meal was ordered and delivered and an online community was joined and then promptly quit. A podcast was listened to and shared, and there was a tram journey into the city centre where I took a tourist photo of the castle on the rock watching over us all. At home she feels like a tourist.

A sadness seems to sit in my bones so careworn.
And tomorrow Scotland takes to the streets.
Keep fighting.

I hear the earth turning

Studio still life: Vase by Chris Donnelly Ceramics 
Next to a card featuring a print of West Highland Landscape by Barbara Rae. 

I woke with a start at 4 A.M. after having a waking dream about my job.

At 6 A.M. I am drinking a strong matcha and listening to one song on repeat on my big headphones with my windows open. I have sat down in my favourite chair to write this. If you missed last week's post you can find it here.

This week went quickly.

There was a bit of local charity shopping, new matcha and the associated accoutrements arrived in the post, the crocosmia lucifer flashed red in the garden along with the geranium. 

I met my pal Julia for a spontaneous wander on Sunday to the City Art Centre to enjoy Out of Chaos: Post-War Scottish Art 1945-2000. The exhibition didn't disappoint with several personal favourites. West Highland Landscape by Barbara Rae stole the show and practically vibrated off the orange wall it was placed on. It is probably my most favourite painting by Rae that I have seen so far. It was a perfect study in composition, colour, and expression. Both my pal and I left the exhibition with a printed version of the painting on a card from the giftshop. Prints don't do this work justice though, so if you are able please go see it yourself. No photos were allowed of the exhibition or I would have shared some here, so again, go see it. 

Next we wandered through the city centre and I introduced Julia to the work of Michael McVeigh the artist who I had met the week before. It was good to chat with him again while enjoying his work. 

Afterwards, we enjoyed our supermarket lunch on a park bench in Princes Street Gardens and happened upon the vibrant sounds and colours of the Edinburgh Festival Carnival. We then moved on to the RSA for the Paul Furneaux exhibition, 旅路 | Tabiji - Journey (with wonderment) It is a gorgeous, jewel-like exhibition. 

It was a lovely and spontaneous Sunday, filled with all the best parts of living in this city and enjoying it all with a good friend.

Later that evening, I worked on another small painting. I have returned to the inspiration from a series I began in 2004 or so. I will write more about this in a future post. 

I hear the earth turning 15x15cm/ 5.9x5.9” mixed media on canvas 2025 Megan Chapman
£45 & free UK 2nd class shipping

Then on Monday it was back into the city centre for a different kind of art. My pal Anthea and I met up for a gorgeous fancy vegan/vegetarian lunch at David Bann, a gift I had received from my oldest brother for Christmas. We both dressed in bright saturated colours by chance and pretty much laughed the whole time - we played the part of ladies who lunch but with an edge, expertly. It was great fun and the decadent food was a rare treat that I was delighted to be able to share. By the way, I met my pal, Anthea in March at a movie screening - just two folks who crossed paths around a shared interest and then became fast friends. As I noted in my post last week, it's good to talk to strangers! 

Selections from the set lunch menu at David Bann
Thanks again, to my brother Ben for this lovely gift

Then it was back to life, back to reality, and back to work and here we are at the weekend once again. I plan to rest, talk to family and friends, sit in the garden, and paint.

Every day we reach out, set boundaries, and take care to express ourselves through art and action (however we are able - quietly or loud) is a victory.

Thank you for being here. Keep fighting!

Remember

Remember, 15x15cm/5.9x5.9" mixed media on canvas 2025 Megan Chapman
£45 & free UK 2nd class shipping

I am talking to strangers on the street, at the bus stops, in shops, and on the pavements as they clean out their cars. I am talking to them like they are long lost friends and they are letting me. We are laughing, sharing, and relating - we talk about music, politics, and despair. We share favourite bands - an obscure Interpol song radiates out of a car window. We smile, we nod, and we bond. 

A woman takes a photo of something I'm wearing - a shared political belief. The artist on the corner tells me about his paintings and challenges my history. We laugh, we know, we have lived similar lives.

The worker in the tea shop enjoys our banter and gives me my matcha for free. I'm touched, I'm thankful, my day made. 

I find more things I need and some things I don't on the street. A friend helps and supports me with a task and then we eat strawberries in the sun. 

Old things remind me of who I am and new things flesh it out even more. My hair grows longer and a bit wild. Glances shared through windows, laughter of later stories. Daisy bouquets and sunshine. 

I am okay. 

I am okay. 

I am okay. 

The strangers tell me so. 

This gift remains

Little Edie Flag Dance, Grey Gardens, Maysles Brothers' Film 1976

It's the 4th of July and while not patriotic, it is still an atmosphere that I can easily recall: a hot, sticky, Arkansas summer. Picnic tables at the park, Mom's amazing BBQ baked beans, hot dogs, and watching the country club's fireworks from a distance at the picnic table on the side of Mt. Sequoyah, and then later the fireworks at the Northwest Arkansas Mall. Bottle Rockets (and getting hit in the neck with a bottle rocket - thanks, Sean). The smell of burning snakes (not real snakes) as they undulated on the pavement. A feeling of a bit more freedom and extra wildness, walking the hot streets in the neighborhood to the pool with my friend, Annie. Vivid summer memories of childhood. 

But today, my brain has other plans—today it feels like the hashbrowns at the Waffle House (another American institution). Today, I am scattered, smothered, and covered... if you know, you know. This 4th of July I am anxious, angry, and fretful.

Today, the sky is grey and featureless as little Edie from Grey Gardens does her perpetual flag dance, frozen in time on my computer screen. Rain starts to fall on the pane of the tilted open window and I am a bit cold and far from home and the people I love. 

The US government did a bad, bad thing yesterday, and it all feels a bit much. I soothe myself by looking at and crying over Bruegel paintings. Yes, really. It's all right there. The paintings of Bruegel and Bosch were my version of Where's Waldo. Certain paintings become touchstones for grounding. These paintings serve as kinship and provide strength and a knowing. Like holding up a mirror passed through the family for decades—all your people have gazed in the same glass, and they are still there with you now.

The Triumph of Death, oil on panel c. 1562
117 cm × 162 cm (46 in × 63.8 in) Pieter Bruegel the Elder
Museo del Prado, Madrid

In these hard and strange times, I am so grateful to have this type of relationship with art. To be able to slow down and just go into a painting, to know a painting, to feel the support of a painting, to marvel and dream over a painting. To feel seen and known by a painting and to know it in return. It's a rare gift that I credit my parents for making  available to me through the prints on the walls and the books on the shelves in our little home in Arkansas.

No matter where I am or what happens, this gift remains. 

I still shake

Above the old studio sink

Hello Dear Readers, Friday finds us again.

Thank you for spending some time with me in a world that is always pulling at your attention and lifeforce. Last week's post seemed to be a popular one, and I am glad it resonated. 

This hasn't been a great week, but there have still been moments of beauty and laughter, as well as tears. I took time for it all.

I have decided that I must approach things differently. It's once again time to reframe, change, embrace, and accept. Of course, it is always this time unless one is fighting against the very nature of life. I am actually pretty good at doing this - I can be pretty stubborn. I am a fixer and an optimist, a hard worker and much of the time, a black and white thinker. These qualities can serve me well to a point and these traits can also make things harder than necessary. I embrace my hardwired tendencies and breathe into what I can soften and release. 

This week, I walked more and listened to nature's lessons. 

As I think many of you have gathered, my art "career" is not the same as it once was, my feelings and motivations towards it have changed a lot since the pandemic as well as from all I have learned through my involvement with the Scottish Artists Union. I no longer work the same way as I did. Some of this is okay with me and some of it, is not. 

The arts (in all of its forms) was such a huge part of who I was as a child, how I was raised, what I valued and how I perceived my value. I credit art with "rewiring" my brain, giving me a purpose, and helping me make sense of the world and my place in it. Art built my confidence and gave me a shorthand language to help me find others that I could understand and who would understand me. Art supported me emotionally, spiritually, sometimes financially, and gave me a sense of community. 

Most of my friends are artists or in creative fields of practice and many of them have also changed the way they work. We talk about it differently now, in a wistful way. Longing for something that was lost. Back before algorithms, likes, and shares - or back to when likes and shares still equaled opportunities and income. Back before we realised how much all the open calls were costing us, before we realised the labour involved in pursuing speculative opportunities that seemed to generate income for everyone but the artists. Back when we had that hungry energy when we were younger. 

How do we peel it all back and begin again? What systems need creating to make it work? What is the goal now? How do you keep expressing and creating when you are the only audience for your work and your storage space and finances are limited? How do you remain committed to the creative practice when the world seems committed to misunderstanding it and you? 

How do you ignore the pressures of society to protect the tiny flame within?

I think you tell the truth. I think you keep showing up, even if showing up looks different now. I think you keep walking in nature, and realising the value of all things that feed the creative work. I think you get quiet and maybe a little angry. 

And you create to please yourself, to calm, soothe, explore, excavate and exorcise. I think you meditate and cry and limit the bullshit from taking root. 

Why would the path look the same as it did five, ten, or twenty five years ago? It wouldn't. We've changed, the world has changed, the internet has changed, galleries have changed, motivations have changed and this is simply the nature of things. 

Art is the constant, even in fits and starts. From youth to now, I think about it, write about it, talk about it, work around it, create it, cry and worry over it, and feel its exaltation.

I let go of what was, accept what is, and do not fear the future, but I still shake.

A shift in the weather

Time folds in on itself

Co-Star Mic Drop 

I am having frequent migraines, I am working more hours than usual, and there is still never enough time to get things done. My life's work is largely ignored and my anxiety grows. I am avoiding the news because I can't think about war.

Time folds in on itself - how did we all get so old. 

I slept until my alarm chimed bird sounds at 7am. This is a rare occurrence.

My dreams were wild but not memorable, only the feeling and flashes of colour left behind. This is my weekend now, time to recover and regroup but I already feel the weight of obligation and the plans I made for myself. 

I am tired and on shaky ground, yet I will it solid. As I type these dour words I think, what a bummer of an intro, surely this can't stand. I will delete and share the beauty and lightness that I also found this week. Because I can always find it.

If resilience is a curse, I have been hexed. 

Remember too, this place is a creative exercise. Perhaps the only creativity I will experience in the week. I like putting words together. 

The words are partly crafted from the music playing in my big headphones, Marconi Union, Brian Eno, Hammock, Nils Frahm - icy and atmospheric on a warm June morning. Music for introspection - like I need any encouragement. 

I want to write, I think you are beautiful. But who am I thinking of, I do not know. 

I think you are beautiful. 

I walked. I watched a show everyone is talking about. I listened to an audiobook. I have sat in the garden in the sun, knee deep in buttercups and daisies, punctuated by poppies and foxgloves. I am going to see live music on Sunday and Monday. I have talked to friends - human and the furry kind and I have harvested fresh spinach.

I have made good food and healthy drinks, enjoyed naps, yoga and breathing exercises. See what I am doing? I can't help it. 

If resilience is a curse, I have been hexed. 

Susumu Yokota comes on my headphones - glorious. I was trying to be reminded of this album. There are no accidents. 

and I still think you are beautiful.