Squarely in the now

work in progress 2026

Happy New Year!

I am sitting at my work table in the studio to write this. I am looking out of the windows to the sky. The sun is casting shadows on the buildings around me. I see planes flying into the city over the Forth, I telepathically welcome them. Seagulls gather on roof tops. I am surrounded by my paint, pencils, charcoal, pastels and brushes. All of my available art from the last 11 years is in one place and under the same roof as me and that feels good. 

I worked yesterday and today in my studio - filled with the "begin the year as you mean to go on" spirit. Filling the pages of an old photo album with mark making and collage. Collage has always been foundational to my work, even though I don't like getting glue on my fingers. It's a good starting point.

We've made it through the holidays, the first without my dad. There are many people missing - loss seems to cling to the years but we carry on.

I don't really want to write a year end review blog for 2025. Maybe this is why. The thought of it seems heavy and complicated.

So, I make another cup of tea, plug in my sunshine lamp, eat some dark chocolate and play music on my big headphones instead.

I will get around to the year end review post eventually (because I am a creature of habit and superstition) but not today. I will write it when I am ready -  that's how I work, I move slow and then I move fast. 

I have been thinking about what I want my art to say and mean in 2026. I don't usually think like that as it seems a bit prescriptive but I thought it could be a good exercise. I usually make art as a necessary exorcism or as a reaction to outside forces.

A pal sends a message: the sun is out and it would be good to get out and away from the screen. I leave my blog and make a mad dash out the door.

It was very cold but bright out. We had mediocre coffee in a dark and divey cafe but we had some top notch laughs. I also noticed bunches of somewhat sad daffodils for sale in the shops - it's too soon, but it is good to remember spring is around the corner. I took photos of the shadows. 

Sunshine on number 55

Once back home, I noticed that there was still a good amount of light left at 4pm. 

Now, I can hear the wild wind outside playing my bamboo chimes, and this is where I am going to leave you on this first Friday of January 2026 - squarely in the now. 

With peace and gratitude from my wintering heart to yours. 

Tend to the small fires

Awake in the dark, the screen illuminates my fingers as a cup of coffee balances on the arm of the sofa. Flames of dancing light from my electric fire pretend to lap the air. Kodomotachi by Susumu Yokota plays on my big headphones.

It's Friday morning; the work week is behind me once again. This is a strange way for me to think about time. When one is self-employed (as I have been for much of my life), the work week is never behind you. Time has been bending in on itself, forward and then back. I am somewhere in between - my dreams vivid, the subconscious hard at work.

I didn't "make art" this past Sunday but I reflected on it and discussed these thoughts with my mother. We felt that this counted as a "sunday session." I hope to return to making art this weekend.

Last Sunday, I attended a cultural event, which is perhaps even better than making art, due to the energy exchange that comes from being around like-minded people with a singular focus. 

I was fortunate to see Stewart Copeland (the brilliant drummer of The Police and a gifted composer) speak about his life and work at The Queen's Hall. He was always my favourite member of the band. I still vividly recall the pride I felt as I wore my new Ghost in the Machine Tour t-shirt (a gift from my brothers who had actually seen the tour) to elementary school when I was barely ten. Years later, I wore that same shirt to a Black Flag show in 1986; at fourteen, though, I remember feeling pretty square in it. Needless to say, I left that gig wearing a different band's name. 

Anyway, I loved The Police, and Stewart Copeland was the best, so seeing him tell his stories about it all was a delight. Beyond his obvious talents, he is funny, irreverent, whip smart, and is an expert storyteller. Laughing at his antics as part of an audience of his admirers felt good and warm. 

On Monday, I met up with my good pal, Ever Dundas for a return visit to the secret garden in the city centre. With our hot chocolates, we enjoyed talking about all things music while sitting in the garden on a bench in the sun. It was a lovely outing. Music and friends make the world go round. 

Before I met up with Ever, I popped into Edinburgh Central Library to visit the Art & Design Library housed upstairs. I was short on time, but it was good to peruse a few art books and to just see what they had on offer.

Tuesday was a grey day of rain and remembrance, tears, and smiles.

Wednesday and Thursday were filled with work and meetings, and now here we are.
I am not sure what this weekend and week ahead holds. 

I'll leave you with my cheeky visage just to show off my latest charity shop acquisition (the necklace) because I love it and finding such treasures brings me joy. And we can all use a bit more of that.

Thank you for spending some of your precious time with me. Until next week, keep fighting for good, take care, and stay warm.

Messages on the wind

to the weir

Dear Reader,

I hope you are okay. Before I sat down to write to you, I opened the window to let in the crisp morning air and I said good morning to the moon.

Earlier this week, I walked by the water of Leith on slick yellow leaves, mud, and cobbles, and found myself at the foot of my favourite tree, seeking refuge. I breathed in the damp earth and sent messages on the wind.

process

Last weekend, I managed to paint, but I couldn't focus. I washed my brushes, looked at my previous work, and pushed some paint around. It's all part of the process and practice. I am reminded of this repeatedly.

On a rare Wednesday off work, I met my friend Julia for a day of art in the city. We saw the following exhibitions: * = personal highlights

RSA Academicians Gallery: Toby Paterson RSA

Scottish Gallery: *Modern Masters XIX, *Rachel Larkins - Raising Ghosts, Lachlan Goudie - From the Forest to the Forge

Open Eye Gallery: Adrian Wiszniewski RSA, Jonathan Gibbs, Alex Malcolmson and select artists from the gallery (*David Schofield RGI)

Graystone Gallery: Boundless Motion: Land & Form - Astrid Leeson & Sophia Pauley and select artists from the gallery

Rachel Larkins' jewellery exhibition at the Scottish Gallery was magical and enchanting, with plenty of favourite pieces. The Modern Masters XIX exhibition has some wonderful Joan Eardley pieces among other standouts.

At the Open Eye Gallery, David Schofield's piece, This Mortal City, appeared illuminated from within and was captivating with its dreamlike narrative.

down stockbridge way

Thursday was mostly a blur, but that brings us to today's exhibition, or rather, experience.

Leith School of Art: *Jessica Wolfson - Rain, I don't mind

On my way home this afternoon, I popped into Leith School of Art. And by popped in, I mean I interrupted a group of women chatting in front of the school, and asked if I could go inside to see the exhibition advertised on the fence. They buzzed me in and then left me to it.

Once I entered the space, the familiar art school smell overwhelmed me in the best way. The natural light, white walls, and spareness of it all felt like home. I continued through the space following Wolfson's paintings through an entryway to the school's small library as the exhibition continued. I turned to look at the wall of art books and felt a catch in my throat as a beautiful stained glass window caught my eye. I took a postcard with course offerings and then let myself out. I waved my thanks to the group as I made my way off the small campus.

Back on the road, my soul absolutely ached - it had recognised itself within those walls. The old Norwegian Seaman's church turned art school was calling after me, "come back... you've lost your way - please, come back..."

As tears welled up in my eyes, I heard the old building loud and clear.
____________________

Until next week, keep listening.

With love and gratitude.

X.

Strangers tell me things

Sunday works in progress: a different ground

 On the way to carboot sale

Brutal Monday evening 

On Friday Leith provides

Anarchy in the everyday

Hello Dear Readers,

With one song on repeat I settle in to write to you. It was also one hell of a week and I am glad it is over. It's Halloween. Tomorrow is November. How is that even possible? Are you sensing a theme? I feel like each week, I write: things are hard, time is moving fast, what the hell... here's some art, here's some photos - cheery bye.

I write a lot in other places, I talk a lot in other places too, and now I am tired and worn out. I feel like The Giving Tree.

But back to the song, the bass vibrates in my ears in a way that I can see it - I shake my head back and forth to the beat. This song has that wonderful industrial metal scraping clang that my brain loves. The bass and guitars are perfection. I don't think there is much better than listening to a song on really good headphones. This one is ticking all the boxes tonight - it is reviving my tired heart.

However, I still can't focus enough right now to talk about art in any meaningful or moving way. Perhaps if I had written this in the morning I could have, but I needed to go out and meet a pal. I sat with the locals on the community benches at the foot of the walk and I purposely breathed in their smoke. I comforted them as they shared their fresh grief with me and was hugged by a stranger.

I love community spaces and I love talking to people. I love making people laugh and I love laughing. I love hearing music from pub speakers and I love knowing that cosy places for folks to meet still exist.

Just another beautiful day in Leith, just another day in my life.

Until next week, try to talk to someone you don't know and try not to worry so much.
We need you and the gifts you bring. 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

Funny faces, piss and vinegar

My dad Stephen Chapman died on March 5th. He was 90 years old.

My dad was made up of words and music

A house full of books and records

Built of films and movie star trivia

A wild nest of knowledge

Jonathan Winters meets Raymond Carver

Speaking in tongues

Homebrew beer caps exploding and hitting underneath the basement stairs

He was a charming character

Driving gloves and no stops

Old Milwaukee and a book in bed in the afternoon

"Sunrise, Sunset" on a turquoise painted piano

Funny voices, laughter and thunder

Funny faces, piss and vinegar

Opinions, passions, and outrage

A complex collection

Wild loud jazz

Enunciation and projection

An abstract painting come to life

He wasn't like the other dads. He was something else

and I love him exactly as that.

I love you, Dad. Thank you for your encouragement and understanding of me as a painter.

___________________________________________

I turned 53 the next day.

You can read next week's post here.

I click my heels together

Listen

Conduit

I'm trying...

Dedication

 

Thank you. 

Weather report

 

She talks to rainbows

I painted before I patched

Dirty boots

Hello. Here we are again on an actual Friday. 

Thanks for checking out the Friday Studio Blog. I hope you are doing well. I am sitting out in the sun while I write this. Thanks again to everyone who came out to support the artists of the Out of the Blue Drill Hall last week for our exhibition, Outside + In. The show came down last Saturday at 5pm. It was good to spend so much time in the hall for that week - it was like pushing a pause button on my grief. Art has always protected me in that way. 

This week I found myself plunged back into the trenches and didn't feel my best but I still managed to do a few art-related things. First, I did go to the studio on Tuesday and I decided to patch the holes and repaint my painting wall. I also looked at my paint supplies and just handled a few things in the space. I also managed to record my Tuesday Studio Video Visit! I haven't recorded one in a long time, so that was a relief to do and to do it from the studio. 

Here it is if you missed it on social media. 

I have to admit I didn't feel my best in the space at the time. That space sometimes feels like it is filled with the old ghosts of my hopes and dreams and a heavy dose of punishment. Sometimes it feels like I must go to that room to prove I am working. I must go to that room and prove I am busy and deserving of the space. I must go to that room to make myself scarce. I must go there to be contained. To be my wild self but enclosed in a windowless space where I won't bother anyone. I must go to that room to prove my dedication, worth, and my value. I must earn love and appreciation in that room. 

Heavy wee room, eh? Aye. Fuck that noise. 

So I have to exorcise it and that's what I just did. I just smudged it with the truth. Feelings come and go and feelings shared, lose their power. I am exorcising a lot. Some of you will be here for it and others might need to bail out. That's cool. 

On that same Tuesday, I also saw a fleeting exhibition by another studio mate (Ian Gonczarow). I haven't yet met him but now I have seen his work in the hall and that is a good thing - hopefully, I will meet him soon. More community the better. More art in the building, the better too. I had a good chat with an art worker in the building and my studio mate and then went to hers for lunch and I enjoyed a sunny walk home.

Wednesday (4 weeks of missing Theo) was heavy and I did hard things. Thursday, I ran errands and rewarded myself for the hard things I accomplished and was gifted with a bit of anxiety for my efforts. Yoga and meditation were required as was a book in the sun that evening. Today in the sun as I write this, I love feeling warm, surrounded by flowers, and being outside and free. I love the transportive quality of the music I am listening to - it takes me everywhere. 

In other news, I got another copy of The Artists Way and decided it was time to surrender to that process again. If you know, you know... I'm doing my morning pages and the artist's dates will follow. I got myself an A2 drawing board - it will be here soon. 

In the meantime, I am walking, walking, walking... 

"The position of the artist is humble. He (She) is essentially a channel." - Piet Mondrian

That's all I have for you this week on the Friday Studio Blog. If you missed a few posts, please go back and check them out. Thanks so much for your support!

Want to buy me a ko-fi? Click the link! Thanks!

Without an anchor

I am still here, I didn't turn into dust. I am not sure how. I am walking for miles (my go-to coping strategy) talking, seeing friends, sleeping, resting, grieving, recovering, eating, crying, crying, crying. I talk to you as I look back into the empty rooms. I hope you will visit me in my dreams. I want you back. This is pretty fucking hard. Layers upon layers of grief. I can't move your things. 

My friends have been amazing and the flowers are blooming and the trees are leafing out. I talk to the squirrels, pigeons, and birds. I suddenly have so many bird feeders. My wee animal friends help me - stray cats roam in the garden. They are not you, but I hope they bring messages from you. I am surrounded by beauty in sadness, I am surrounded by big hearts and am aware of all the bodhisattvas that walk in our midst. All the caregivers, healers, and helpers. I try to practice compassion, my mind throws me endless curveballs. I am feeling it all and walking through it. Again I say, this is pretty fucking hard. I miss you so much, Theo. 

In other news, I learned of another loss. My friend, patron, supporter of the arts, punk rocker, photographer and all-around good guy, Peter Goodbody passed away at the end of March and with everything else going on I only just found out. 

If you bought a print or t-shirt with one of my faces on it, Peter Goodbody is the reason why. He suggested that I make them and so I followed through. I will always be grateful for his patronage, friendship, and support. He was a brilliant supporter of musicians and artists across the board. 

Peter interviewed me for his music and art website, P3DRO. I was honoured to be asked but even more thrilled with how brilliant the interview was - he asked great questions and I enjoyed being able to weave my love of music and art together. The interview felt like a special gift. I will always be thankful for Peter and all his help and support over the years. Rest in Power, my friend. You will be missed. 

Here is the interview again for those who missed it the first time or who would like to read it again. 

https://p3dro.net/2021/03/01/megan-chapman-this-is-our-family-tree-made-of-charcoal-dust/

Peter Goodbody modelling one of my shirts.

Thank you, Peter. 

My warrior, my champion is gone

I don't want to write this post, but I do want to honour my best boy, best friend, companion and love, champion, warrior, protector, familiar, dear heart - my sweet Theo. 

We worked so hard for as long as we could, but we had to say goodbye on Wednesday, April 26th 2023. 

My heart and house feel so empty. 

I will never forget you, Theo. Thank you for all the love, joy, and comfort you gave me and for everything you taught me. Thank you for being with me as I learned so much about my new country and myself. Every day I got to come home to you was a good day no matter what was going on in my life or in the world. 

Words will never express how much you meant to me or our bond. I would do it all over again and I wish I could. 

Hug your dear animal family, they aren't here long enough. 

Many thanks to Connor and Beatrice at Braid Vets and everyone else who crossed paths with Theo during his care there. I will always be grateful.

In this world

In this world
mixed media on canvas 30x26"
Megan Chapman 2006
private collection

Waking up to find the sunshine and my cat alive is a gift. The sunshine means he can sit in a pool of light and get warm - one of his favourite things that makes his fading life worth living.

The sun helps me with my anticipatory grief and the sadness of caring for my fading friend. If I were a witch as I surely would have been back in Scotland's dark days, Theo is my familiar. 

Since the last post, there was another vet visit. And this time opioids were prescribed and a 10-day course of antibiotics was administered in a single shot. So many times since then, I thought he was going but he thought differently. So here we are in the sunshine of today. 

Today

Today

Today

I know today is all we have.

It's been intense, awful and sad but today the sun is out and we are here. 

In between the hypervigilance, tears, naps, and friends and family checking on me - I am starting to think about art again little by little - the future. 

I am thankful for the blue skies, flowers, and the spring birds darting back and forth, my brilliant cat Theo, and you.

Obstacle 2

Return to me 
mixed media on canvas 30x26"
Megan Chapman 2006
private collection

Hello, there studio blog readers, 

Thank you to everyone who read last week's post. I appreciate hearing from you across my social media channels. Always good to get feedback, hear if something resonates, or just to see a friendly hello, a name and a face. 

Today I am up at dawn monitoring the breathing of my cat, feeling how small he has become and how soft and delicate. I turn the light on in the darkness to see how his eyes look and I plot my next course of action. He needs to eat - today is the day I open the forbidden small tin of food - to mix some in with his prescription that he only licks these days. He needs subcutaneous fluids too. And after the sub-Qs, he will get a bit of an equally forbidden lick-e-lix treat. We have played by all the rules for so long, we have done our very best, and now we are tired - we need a few rewards. 

Before warming the fluids and brandishing the needle, I tidy up the kitchen and let him linger by his water bowl unsuspecting. As he sits "turkey style" staring into nothing and everything, I look out the window watching the world wake up. I put things in order, walking quietly for some reason and yet moving with decisive action. It reminds me of the past. 

It reminds me of hearing the calling at 3am and rolling out of bed to float up the stairs to my attic studio to put on my headphones and get lost in music and paint. Dancing upstairs with Alizarin Crimson, Orange Oxide, Gold, and Phalo Blue...  

"I'm gonna pull you in close

I'm gonna wrap you up tight

I'm gonna play with the braids that you came here with tonight..."

(I am back there now - dancing in the attic to Interpol - walking and working in dream time, painting for you and you and you and I am still in my 30s and it seems like all the doors are still open). 

And then the track changes and I am back sitting here at the table. My sick cat is resting, tears are close to my eyes and I am 51 living in Edinburgh, Scotland. I have closed a lot of the doors and I have had more than a few closed on me...

And I am sitting with all this space and I envision doing something out of the ordinary - you know like painting or drawing... How did this happen?