Yesterday, before I left for a pickleball lesson, I was sitting in my house worrying about money.

No, it was more like:

Who am I to be buying pickleball lessons? I need to fix my whole life. The house. The storage unit. The subscriptions. The clothes I don’t wear. The art supplies I’m not using. The basement. The boxes. The things that belonged to my mother. The life I am paying for and not always living

Do I need this?
Why do I still have this?
Why am I paying for this?
Do I need a side gig?
Do I need to downsize or shrink everything?

They’re not bad questions. Some of them are probably necessary questions. But sometimes they can feel more like accusations. Regrets. Guilt.

I can make a plan like a pro. I can research and revise and analyze and reframe. I can talk myself into clarity and then talk myself right back out of it. I can imagine a new structure, a new business, a new daily rhythm, a new publishing plan, a new version of myself who finally knows what she is doing.

But I also know this: I cannot THINK myself into change. At some point, there has to be motion.

So yesterday, after rumination, I went to the pickleball lesson. I didn’t glide there in a state of blissful, suburban serenity. Let’s be clear. The club is not especially close to my house. It takes at least thirty minutes to get there, and longer if I avoid the freeway and go the scenic route.

And while driving, I resumed ruminating. The old familiar loop started up again. Money. Storage. Work. The house. What if this never changes? What if this is my life now? What if everything just keeps getting smaller?

Then, fortunately, I interrupted.

Look around. It’s August in Minnesota. (Rude. How did that happen?) It’s green and warm and full of light, and there I was, driving back roads to a pickleball club like a childfree cat lady with somewhere to go.

I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out what my life is supposed to be about. I’ve had long conversations with myself about purpose, work, creativity, usefulness, money, aging, grief, identity, and whether I’m still an artist if I’m not making art.

Meanwhile, my body was going to a court to learn how to hit a small wiffle ball. To be an awkward, chubby beginner. In public.

My expectations were checked. But here’s the thing. Pickleball courts contain nearly 100% awkward people, even if they are not beginners. This is the ‘everybody’ sport if there ever was one. You CAN become a serious PB player. Or you can be a perpetual PB nerd with a perfect dink. Either way - you are among friends.

Come as you are, tennis skort optional.

At my lesson, I surprised myself a little. I’m not saying I played well. But I did better than I thought I would. My backhand, which was absolute trash when I first started, might now be my best stroke. I can serve consistently. I can keep a volley going longer than expected.

A ball hit me in the face, and I did not cry.

I can see what needs work, but I can also see that something is being learned. The part I keep forgetting is that progress can be happening even when I’m not watching.

After the lesson, I sat in the sauna for fifteen minutes. Magical. I don’t mean spa-magical. I mean intensely ordinary relief-magic. Heat. Quiet. Sweat. Just sitting there in my middle-aged Nordic body, which had just done a hard thing and was now being allowed to rest.

Then I stood in the cold plunge to just above my knees and counted slowly to one minute. It stung. Not exactly pleasant. But it was real and physical and immediate. For one minute, there was no room in my mind for the storage unit.

On the drive home, I felt so relaxed and satisfied, like I had accidentally stepped into a life I approve of.

I kept thinking: THIS is my life. On Sundays, apparently, I can go play pickleball, sit in a sauna, and use the cold plunge like the Viking woman I am. I can take a scenic ride home, feeling tired and loose and alive.

A few hours earlier, I had been worrying about whether I could afford this life. But there is another question now.

What am I making room for? What actually gives life back to me? What feels like stagnation - and what feels like forward motion?

There is the money we spend, yes. And then there is the life we forfeit because we’re afraid to spend anything at all. Energy. Attention. Motion. Contact. Play. The feeling of being a person among people.

Shrinking has a cost too.

Yesterday, I spent an hour chasing a ball instead of chasing my own thoughts. It’s not transformative, but it seems like therapy to me to discover a way to get even the quietest life moving somehow. And the movement can be subtle. One subscription canceled. A lesson booked. A decision to stop ruminating for the length of a drive. A minute in cold water. A willingness to be new at something again.

League play starts in three weeks. I’m ready.

June had some sweet moments, some not so much. I was very ill for a couple of weeks, landing myself in the hospital three times. I’m on the mend now (as is the air conditioner) and circling back around to where I left off.

This morning, I’m reading Tony Hoagland’s The Art of Voice, and it’s the kind of book that keeps making me set it down, not from boredom, but from recognition. He’s writing about how a poem earns its aliveness, but he’s actually describing what it feels like to sound like yourself on the page.

For a long time, I worried my writing voice wasn’t really mine. If you traced it back far enough, you’d find the writers I loved in high school, the podcasts I’ve binged, my mother’s particular way of ending a story, the Texan cadence of a friend who’s been gone a while now.

Hoagland calls influence a series of contagions, which is the least precious way I’ve ever heard it put, and the most freeing. Nobody’s voice arrives from nowhere. Mine is a patchwork of everyone who ever made me lean in and listen.

That reframe matters, because the thing that keeps most of us from writing isn’t usually a shortage of things to say. It’s the fear that the way we say them isn’t good enough, original enough. Hoagland dismantles that whole premise.

He’s got another line about what a reader actually wants:

A relationship. That’s the part I forget when I’ve been away too long, and the blank page starts feeling like a stage. The truth is, you aren’t here to watch me be impressive. You showed up for a companion, someone speaking to you the way Hoagland describes as “one ordinary person speaking confidentially to another.” Like I’ve pulled you aside at the party to tell you a real thing, not the version I’d say into a microphone.

And here’s where the book got a little subversive for me. There’s this rule we’ve all absorbed, this commandment of good writing: make every word count. Cut the fat. Kill your darlings.

But Hoagland pushes back. He talks about “gestures of presence,” the digressions and fillers and apparently useless words that humanize a piece. The little asides. The “Anyway, where was I?” The stuff a ruthless editor would wipe up and, in doing so, buff the writer right off the page.

I’ve been over-editing myself for months. Not just my sentences, my whole self. Trimming the digressions out of my life the way I’d trim them out of a paragraph, until what’s left is efficient and clean and lightweight. At a time in my life when there’s so much loss and falling apart, it’s felt necessary to let go of a few things.

But it also feels like I’m losing my voice. Voice, Hoagland says, is what makes a poem “an animate thing of shifting balances, tones, and temperatures, by turns confiding, vulgar, bossy, or cunning—but above all, alive.”

Alive. That’s the whole thing. Not polished, not correct, not optimized. Alive. A voice that can be confiding one line and bossy the next, that contradicts itself, runs on too long, and then stops short. The self is “an uneasy coalition of impulses, influences, misinformation, and truth.” That’s not a flaw to fix. That’s the precious, raw material.

This is the kind of writing that heals us. It’s what Insight Writing® asks us to practice: letting go of ‘good writing’ for a little while so our true voice can be heard. In the bustle of summer, maybe it’s what we need most. I think our next Sunday Firestarter session may have a little Tony Hoagland in it.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yeah, this is me, coming back around. Just a stubborn decision to sound like myself again, whatever that self is stitched together from.

---

Please accept this letter

as formal notification

that I am resigning from the position of

My Own Worst Enemy.

From TO WHOM IT DEFINITELY CONCERNS by Andrea Gibson

---

There is something a little subversive about a letter. Especially now, as we live in a world of instant dispatch. Send. Post. Publish. React.

Letters are slow. Letters assume distance. Letters assume time. A letter must travel. A letter requires patience. A letter requires intention.

And lately, I have been waist-deep in old letters, cards, notes passed in classrooms, in hallways - uncovered during recent adventures into basement archives. I wrote recently about finding a letter from my mom tucked between birthday cards. Before I read it, I remembered feeling so lucky she sat down and put pen to paper, just for me. There is an intimacy to a letter that feels almost radical now.

But here is what I want to propose. Write letters with no destination except your own free expression. We’re conditioned to think a letter needs to be received, opened. But I think some letters, once written, are already home.

Write to your past self. The one who didn’t know better, the one who was brave in ways you have forgotten. Write to your future self as a way of saying, “I won’t let you forget me. I’m on my way.”

Write to a person you’ve lost. Let the unsaid become said. The body relaxes when emotions find language.

Write to someone you admire but have never met. Write to someone you misunderstood. Write to someone who misunderstood you.

When you begin with “Dear…” you’ve already entered a different posture. You’re facing someone. You’re accountable to the page.

Dear Younger Me.
Dear Mom.
Dear Stranger on the Train.
Dear Body.
Dear Fear.
Dear April.

It changes everything. A letter can hold contradiction. You can love and accuse in the same paragraph. You can confess and defend. You can grieve and celebrate. You can write something true and then recognize it may not be as true as you thought. The letter form allows for that complexity without needing resolution.

Maybe that’s why I find myself drawn to writing them. Letters create a private space. A rehearsal for courage. A safe room where I can say what I’d never post online. A way of metabolizing experience without needing recognition.

And what I’m appreciating more and more: not everything needs an audience. Not every insight needs to be shared. Not every grief needs to be explained. Not every feeling needs a witness.

Some letters are scaffolding. Some are compost. Some are simply the sound of your own voice coming back around. We get to be the sender AND the recipient at once.

In a time when so many people are obsessed with visibility, the unsent letter might be one of the last sacred acts. Imagine how different your life might feel if you allowed yourself to write what you really mean. Imagine the tenderness you might discover toward your own history. Imagine the power of telling someone the truth, even if that someone never reads it.

Let the letter be the act. No need to send it. Some may choose to burn it. Or if you’re me, you might collage it into the background of an artwork.

Consider this your two weeks notice. The page is waiting.

Some questions for you...

• If you could write one letter with absolute honesty and zero consequence, who would it be to?

• And what would you finally allow yourself to say?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow a line from Andrea’s poem to push off into our pages:

Consider this my two weeks notice...

or

I had no idea…

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

LETTERS

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.

Dear friend:

I hope this Museletter finds you well. I hope it came right on time for you.

What I really want you to know is this. When I write to you, I’m thinking of YOU, not just a name on a list. It’s my way of coming alongside, even though we’re miles apart.

I don’t have things figured out yet. I keep trying. So I also hope you’ll take what speaks to you and let everything else pass by like the weather.

And I do love mail. So please write back soon.

xoxo

Cyn

A look back

In case you missed it, jump to the archive.

A look ahead…

Insight Writing at The Coven NE is happening on April 22nd. If you’re in the Twin Cities, I would love to see you there. REGISTER HERE.

Insight Writing Firestarters, a shorty-pie version of our favorite writing practice, is happening on Sundays at 2pm Central US, starting April 12th via Substack LIVE (online). This is going to be a free opportunity for us to write together live, online. Replays will be available for paid subscribers. Stay tuned - invitations will get sent to your inbox.

A new ARTWORK RELEASE is shaping up for later in April. It’s been a while since new works have been made available, so I’m excited to give you a few beauties for your spring collecting.

Insight Studio — the membership side of this publication — is becoming a real place. I'm building out the Rooms right now: spaces organized around themes like courage, letters, and desire, each one filled with prompts and experiences you can return to again and again. Insight Studio members are about to gain access to DISCOVER INSIGHT WRITING - a delightful, course-like journey to learn the magic of this healing writing practice I’ve been doing and teaching for ten years now.

If you’re a paid subscriber, you’ll start seeing Friday posts with writing prompts, art prompts, and invitations to slow down. There’s a welcome gift waiting for you, too — three original art prints, downloadable the moment you join.

Subscribe now

---

I show my own heart the facts.

It is still learning what is possible—

how out of brokenness can come

rampant connection, how sometimes

the darkness summons more light,

how even while grieving, the wounded

heart might not scar, but instead

find itself, sweet miracle, growing.

From Naturally by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

---

There is a particular kind of stillness this time of year brings. The ground is hard. The trees look skeletal. The light is thin. If you didn’t know better, you might assume the world has decided to stop turning.

But beneath the frozen surface, something is happening.

Roots are not dead just because we cannot see them. Bulbs are not empty just because they appear dormant. The earth holds its breath differently in winter. It is not lifeless. It is conserving. It is recalibrating. It is preparing.

I have been thinking about this in the context of grief since losing both of my parents in December. About what we cannot see. About where someone goes when they die. The mind wants a location. The heart wants something softer. It wants assurance that nothing real is ever truly lost.

Energy does not disappear. It transforms. It disperses. It rearranges itself into new forms. We accept this easily in physics. We resist it when it comes to love.

When someone we love dies, it can feel like a sudden winter. A hard freeze. The visible form is gone. The voice is gone. The ordinary, daily exchange of presence is gone. The surface of life looks barren.

And yet.

Something is stirring.

Memory begins to move differently. Stories surface. Mannerisms appear in our own gestures. The way we stir a pot, the way we fold laundry, the way we tilt our head while listening. Love becomes less about proximity and more about integration.

The relationship does not end. It changes medium.

We are used to measuring life by visibility. If it is blooming, it is alive. If it is green, it is growing. But so much of life prepares in darkness. Seeds split underground. Roots extend in silence. The most important transformations are often invisible until suddenly, one morning, there is a shoot pushing through soil that looked entirely barren yesterday.

This is the stirring. Not dramatic. Not loud. Not even necessarily hopeful in the conventional sense. Just a subtle rearranging beneath the surface. A quiet insistence that life is not finished with us.

If you find yourself in a season that looks like winter, you may be tempted to assume nothing is happening. That you are stalled. That the absence of visible progress means absence of growth.

But there are forces at play you cannot see. Grief composts. Longing deepens the soil. Questions stretch the roots of your understanding. Even confusion can be a kind of preparation.

Just because you cannot see life does not mean it is not preparing to re-emerge transformed. Something is stirring in you. In me. In the places that feel quiet and unsure.

Sweet miracle. Growing.

A Turn Toward What’s Coming

Not announcements, necessarily, but stirrings - things that are emerging.

In-person Insight Writing gatherings are returning. At a real table, with real people. Monthly in NE Minneapolis. Interested? Let me know (reply or comment).

I’m applying for a grant to fund a new art series and (eventually) a solo show.

The Insight Studio is taking shape — a place for people who want to go deeper. You can learn more and join here.

I’m preparing for Art A Whirl - the largest studio tour in the nation - as a guest artist at The Coven NE.

Some questions for you...

• What’s stirring underground for you right now?

• What is about to emerge, transformed?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow a line from Rosemerry’s poem to push off into our pages:

Still learning what’s possible...

or

Sometimes darkness summons more light…

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

STIRRING

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.

Final thought...

Maybe nothing looks different yet. Maybe the surface of your life still feels frozen.

But do not mistake stillness for absence. Something in you is already rearranging itself toward life.

You don’t have to force it. Just stay close.

xoxo

Cyn

I have not written to my friends on Substack in a while.

That sentence has hovered in my mind for weeks, waiting for the right moment to land. Not because I needed a clever explanation, but because I wanted to tell the truth without rushing past it.

The truth is: the last month has been full of goodbyes. Some obvious and heartbreaking. Some quiet. Some I did not recognize as goodbyes until I was already on the other side of them.

There has been a lot to tend. Family things. Grief things. Administrative things that quietly drain the nervous system. Long days of holding complexity, uncertainty, and responsibility without much room left over for language. When life tightens like that, even the practices that usually sustain us can slip out of reach.

I did not stop believing in writing. I just needed it for myself before I could offer it to anyone else.

Recently, I returned to a short poem by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, At First It All Felt Like Goodbye. Please click through to read the whole thing. The poem begins where many of us begin, in loss, in rupture, in the ache of something ending.

goodbye to plans and to laughter,
your clothes and your car. 

And then the poem turns.

Hello, love that still grows.
Hello as I rise, when I walk outside.
Hello, with my hands in the dirt, when I drive
the winding alpine divide

Not a shiny hello.
Not a solved hello.
Just an opening.

That turn has been staying with me.

January is often framed as a month of beginnings, but for many of us it is also a month of reckoning. Of naming what cannot come with us. Of acknowledging what has already slipped away. Sometimes the most honest way forward is to let both truths coexist.

So here is what I am holding right now.

Some goodbyes

Goodbye to the idea that I must always be consistent to be sincere.
Goodbye to forcing clarity before it has arrived.
Goodbye to rushing meaning when it wants to be approached slowly.

Goodbye to pretending that the world is not heavy, or that current events do not touch our bodies and lives. There are real harms unfolding. Real fear. Real grief. I do not want this space to become a battleground, but I also do not want it to become a place of avoidance. Writing, for me, has always been a way to stay human without becoming overwhelmed.

Some hellos

Hello to returning, imperfectly.
Hello to writing as refuge rather than output.
Hello to practices that help us metabolize what we are living through, one sentence at a time.

Hello to asking better questions instead of demanding better answers.

This is where Insight Writing® comes back into view for me.

I am turning to this practice not because everything is settled, but because it is not.

Because when life gets bumpy, when the ground shifts beneath us, meaning does not arrive fully formed. It arrives through attention. Through language. Through being willing to sit with a prompt long enough for something honest to surface.

Insight Writing has always been less about productivity and more about presence. A way to say: I am here. This is what I notice. This is what wants to be named.

I’m bringing back Insight Writing workshops.

But unlike before, these gatherings will be a monthly occurrence and just one of a many treasures included within a paid subscription here on Substack (and a scattering of free ones).

I won’t make this a sales letter. This is simply me opening the door and saying: this group practice is alive again, and I am tending it with care.

If you are someone who has been carrying a lot, if you are searching for language that can hold complexity without collapsing into despair or certainty, if you are craving connection within your creative practice, this may be something to lean into when you are ready.

More information to follow in a separate message. For now, I want to offer you something simple.

A gentle practice

Take a few minutes this week to write two short lists.

One titled Goodbye.
One titled Hello.

Do not try to balance them. Do not judge what appears. Let each list be as long or as short as it needs to be. You are not declaring permanence. You are simply noticing what feels complete, and what feels newly possible.

This is not a performance.
It is a practice.

Yet, if you want to be seen, you may share some/all of your writing in the comments or send it just to me.

Thank you for being here, even in the pauses.
More soon.

xoxo

It was sometime during the summer of 2024. I was in my car, parked in my own driveway, on the phone with one of my most emotionally intelligent friends.

2024 was one of those ‘falling apart’ years. I was in a tiny panic about how I was going to, once again, pull all the pieces together. You’d think I would be a pro at it by now. But it feels more terrifying as I get older.

My friend listened to me thoughtfully, not even flinching when I told her, “Yesterday, I gathered up my TVs and shoved them into the far back reaches of the closet. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I know it can’t be sitting on the sofa watching catastrophes on the news or the full catalog of Fixer Upper.”

“I fully support the banishment of TVs in your life right now,” she said kindly.

In that moment, I went from feeling like a crazed Brittany Spears to a human being who just needed some legit peace in her life, who needed to claim all the time and space necessary for healing and picking up the scattered pieces.

We all need at least one person who can write those kinds of permission slips. I’m here for you if you need it.

Fast forward to three weeks ago.

I dug those TVs out of the closet and drove them right on over to the county recycling center. It’s been well over a year without TVs, and I like my life a lot better without them. This isn’t the first time I’ve quit TV, but it is the first time I’ve tossed the TVs into the chipper.

You might be thinking, “This sounds a little radical. How the heck does she manage to watch NOTHING on TV? Like, ever?”

I said that SAME exact thing when I quit drinking over twenty-five years ago. “How am I going to live the rest of my life without having a single sip of alcohol? Like, ever?” It seemed radical and impossible to me (and almost everyone around me), who believed drinking was a cornerstone of existence and culture. When I came home from treatment, someone said, “But you can drink beer, right?”

What I’ve learned (and continue to learn) is that some people can be moderators. But others have to be abstainers.

I struggle to moderate effectively – with nearly everything. Whatever it is, if it brings me any joy or dopamine, I want more of it until I pass out from overconsumption. Alcohol, love affairs, carbohydrates, shoes. The list is long.

Born in 1968, I was literally conditioned to watch as much TV as humanly possible. It’s what my family did when we were not at school/work or sleeping. And if you’re too young to remember, it was FREE.

Somehow, I knew, if I could live my life without drinking booze, I could certainly live it without a TV.

So what have I discovered since tossing TV?

For a while (maybe a few weeks), I’d sit on the sofa and just stare at the spot where the TV had once lived. I played some music or waved a ribbon-toy for the cat. But mostly, I just continued to sit and stare.

I started to realize how absurd it was that this was what I had been doing for hours, every day of my life - sitting and staring. I cheated a few times and watched something streaming on my phone. But I found it less satisfying, and I couldn’t make it through an episode of anything without feeling intensely bored.

One day, my brain started thinking of better things to do – thank god.

• House got cleaner

• Diet got better

• Saw my doctor about a short list of things I had been neglecting

• Did better work for my clients

• Went back to school to get another degree

• Learned to sleep like it’s my JOB

• Unpacked boxes from nine years ago when I moved into this house

• Finally hung art on the walls

• Read books

• Went to a bona fide movie theater

• Organized my stuff – everywhere

• Got super interested in fitness again

• Spend more time on self-care

• Walk – not on the treadmill

• Reading saved letters, postcards and cards from the era before email

• Purging clothes I no longer want to wear

• Ironing the ones I’m keeping

• And maybe most importantly, I’m making art almost every day

I’m not only less interested in the BS they are broadcasting on TV these days, I’m less interested in scrolling social media, less interested in snacking, spend a lot less time on my ass, and feel so much more like the designer of my home and life.

I no longer say, “Geez, I wish I had time for X.” I have time. Call me - I have time for you now.

A lot changed, not just TV. Coming back together after a falling-apart isn’t easy or uncomplicated. Yet, sometimes you really do need to find the leaks in your bucket to finally fill it.

P.S.

During that same distressed phone call, back in the summer of 2024, I also mentioned I might shave my head like Elizabeth Gilbert and live in a van with my cat.

It’s not off the table.

---

Down near the bottom

of the crossed-out list

of things you have to do today,

between “green thread”

and “broccoli,” you find

that you have penciled “sunlight.”

From The Word by Tony Hoagland

---

I remember the beginning and the end. But everything in between is blurry and surreal.

I remember getting a rare view of the ceiling as I was wheeled into surgery. I remember the nurse making polite conversation. I remember thinking I was suffocating when they placed the mask over my nose and mouth.

And then I remember hearing everyone talking about their weekend and the familiar ‘ding’ of the elevator, a moment of weightlessness.

In between, there are four hours unaccounted for, except a faint memory of time travel. Liminal, dreamy and frightening, all at once.

For everyone else in the room, it was another day at the office, another gallbladder in the dumpster.

For me, it was stepping through the threshold from one reality to another, from the known to the unknown.

In my recovery, I became acutely aware of ordinary liminal moments - the parts where I’m not sure what I’m doing:

• Between making the list and carrying the groceries in from the car.

• Between opening the sketchbook and cleaning the brushes.

• Between the last day of one job and the first day of another.

• Between loneliness and feeling entirely supported by a loyal friend.

It’s late spring in Minnesota and the air is full of birdsong and breezes, bringing consciousness to the luscious and fleeting time between winter and summer – a wonderland of blooming and petrichor (may it last as long as possible).

And you know by now, how much I LOVE flowers. lol So I’m feeling quite inspired in the studio.

I’m also reflecting on the liminality of the pandemic, now being somewhat on the other side. Everything between 2020 and now seems like a Charlie Kaufman screenplay. Wait, WHAT just happened?

Even though it was all gradual, I now find myself suddenly with a new career, without a gallbladder, hurtling toward summer and the midpoint of 2024 and wondering how I’m going to bring all the delicious ‘inbetweenness’ into my art somehow.

My head is spinning a little bit.

Some questions for you...

• What are you ‘in the middle’ of these days?

• Your creative practice is a doorway into the unknown. Are you leaning in?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow a line from Tony’s poem to push off into our pages:

From someplace distant...

or

Time and light are kinds of love…

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

BETWEEN

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.

Final thought...

On your list of things to do today, pencil in “sunlight.” Also “deep breaths.” And “art.”

I’ve been off my game here on Substack these last months, but I’ve missed you. Glad I found my way back.

xoxo

Cyn

Explore opportunities to work with me to build a captivating website and grow your audience. Your referrals are deeply appreciated.

---

I notice my body
slide through time.
It is odd and peculiar,
genius of no one,
a perfect clock
making clocks
look simple.

From Red with a Touch of Sulfer by Zubair Ahmed

---

“Will you do something special for your birthday this year?” she asked.

That was six years ago when I turned fifty. My mother and I, separated by miles and miles of highway and farmland, don’t celebrate birthdays together anymore. And the older I get, the less sentimental I am about things like cake and candle-blowing.

“No, I’m just going to keep it simple,” I sighed.

For a time, I’d send a card to my mom on MY birthday. I figured she remembered that day better than I did. And I personally consider giving birth more of an accomplishment than breathing in and out for however many years.

This year, I’ll call her in Florida, where she’s wintering with her caring husband. Her memory fading, she gets to live in the moment and not worry about birthdays anymore. And at some point, I may find myself telling HER the story of my birth, just the way she’s told it to me so many times before.

At 56, I find myself in another career transition. An inner voice reminds me how it’s exactly what I asked the Universe for when I was a naive little teenager. “Please don’t let me gather dust in some back office corporate job my whole life.” Ask and you shall receive a life of adventure, curiosity and exploration, foregoing that pesky benefits package with employer match.

The last few years have been, as you know, turning my big ship toward creativity, expression and deeper self-awareness. It’s a slow, but awesome evolution. And now, I have an opportunity to complete this turn and press on the gas.

I’ve decided to marry my nerdy penchant for technology with my innate design sensibilities to design and build visionary online spaces - Squarespace websites, landing pages, event registrations, email campaigns and a few other bits and bobs.

Whew! I said it.

Not sure why that was so hard. I’ve been cultivating this work for many years already. Maybe committing to it as my primary focus sort of closes the door on some things that have served me well in the past, things I’ll need to say ‘no’ to in order to be a full YES to this next adventure.

My deepest desire is to do more than manifest websites. I want to create online spaces that are rooted in a core brand essence, develop a collaborative process, and empower my clients to be able to own and nurture their spaces with freedom and joy after our project is launched.

I intend to create digital spaces that are embraced on the front end by a visionary brand and a sustainable marketing strategy on the back end. It feels significant. I feel aspirational and full of potential at the moment, which is punctuated by the usual imposter syndrome and self-doubt. All part of the package.

So this month, on my birthday, after I call my mother, you’ll find me simply rolling up my sleeves and getting to work in the studio. Creating with a different kind of substrate and medium. Activating a deeper mission and alchemy.

But as always, transforming complexity into simplicity.

Some questions for you...

• How is “Keeping it Simple” showing up for you these days?

• In your creative or professional life, what new substrates or materials are you interested in working with?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow a line from Zubair’s poem to push off into our pages:

Isn’t it funny...

or

My age is a number…

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

SIMPLE

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.

Final thought...

When change comes your way, you may find yourself cringing and bracing - especially if you didn’t see it coming.

But it’s always coming.

Every moment is new and holds an opportunity to open to what’s possible. But it requires release and letting go. And I find that I sometimes hang on much too long to what has become comfortable and predictable.

Everything is in the process of becoming something else. Even you.

xoxo

Cyn

Explore opportunities to work with me to build a purpose-led brand that resonates, elevate your presence with a compelling website and deploy strategic marketing to build awareness and grow your audience. Your referrals are deeply appreciated. xoxo

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I won’t kiss anyone after you die
for at least 60 days, and probably longer, but if I meet
someone who smells like you, I might invite them into
the rain and keep my eyes closed.

From I Would Do Anything For Love, But I Won't by Traci Brimhall

---

Today’s inventory of loved things:

Spontaneous laughter with a friend

The snowflake that lands on my nose

Paint under my fingernails

Letters worn off the keys of my keyboard

Black and white photos of my family

A cat curled up in my armpit while sleeping

Aromas of soup and bread

Every single kind of cheese

Having a great answer to someone else’s question

Dangling feet in the lake off the end of a dock in July

Soft, oversized bath towels

Salon day

My childhood book collection

The first day, of each spring, when the windows are open all day

Spotting a satellite amid a starry sky

Periwinkle

Q-tips

Yes

Some questions for you...

• What or who do you love?

• What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever done for love?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow a line from Traci’s poem to push off into our pages:

I will always let you...

or

The only time I will give up…

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

LOVE

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.

Final thought...

Remember, love is a verb and it doesn’t require a return on investment. The opportunity for love is all around, even if you’re sitting quietly alone, sipping your tea in your old bungalow without a heart-shaped box of chocolates by your bedside.

Remember, I love you. I truly do. Even though we are an undefined distance apart. Even though I don’t know your middle name. Whether you want it or not.

It’s simply my pleasure to close my eyes and add you to my inventory.

xoxo

Cyn

Explore available artwork in the online shop and enjoy an automatic 10% collector appreciation savings when you buy any two or more items, including TellMe Insight Cards™. SHOP HERE

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I wanted the world:

history with its wide and fiery maw,

bristlecone pine trees, endangered species,

the seven secrets and their keeper.

From The World Card by Alison Luterman

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There are seven things I’m going to change this year.

I could probably think of more. Maybe it should be ten, a nice, expected number. Maybe ten would be too overwhelming. Ok, seven.

Follow my intuition

When I set out to become an artist, I paid attention to what other artists were doing. I noticed that most were building a business selling original artwork and then scaling their business with many other activities, like digital products, prints or courses.

It’s important to me to never lose the joy of simply making art. My intuition has told me that if dive into the ‘rabbit hole’ of productizing my art practice and all the marketing hoopla that follows, I’d bury my authentic love of making art.

Participating in one open studio event demanded so much of my time and energy, I lost a solid three months of studio innovation time. And in the end, the return on that investment was very small.

Don’t get me wrong. I have no regrets and enjoyed the events I joined or ran this year. I’ll likely do them again now that I have much of the foundation set.

But I’m going to follow my intuition and let go of any notion of the ‘right’ way to build a business as an artist and focus much more on making the art I want to see in the world.

Push the boundaries of my comfort zone

Oh my – this sounds awfully cliché. But the fact remains – I’m terrible at being uncomfortable. I am a comfort junkie.

Getting out of my comfort zone, for me, just means doing the hard work of learning new tricks, getting out of the house, starting more conversations with strangers. It means doing the damn workouts, shoveling the stinkin’ sidewalk before it turns to ice, cooking legit meals made from legit ingredients.

It means ruining a lot of canvases, wasting a lot of paint. It means foregoing the usual whining when things don’t work out and getting straight into the work again.

I don’t enjoy the comfort zone as much as I think I do (yawn), so I have no idea why I cling to it. It’s time to take some risks.

Seek out connection

Yeah, here’s another thing that seems to show up consistently on my wishlist.

I wish I was the kind of person who was just drawn to people (and vice versa). But honestly, relationships are hard. And we, with our imperfect and needy ways, can be really hard to please. My expectations of other people are quite high – because my expectations of myself are high.

I want to lose the expectations this year. I just want to love people. I want to be the one who can give it away with absolutely no strings attached and, not for one minute, expect something in return.

I’m not talking about ‘doormat’ stuff here. I’m talking about being a perpetually loving and compassionate force.

Balance hard work with deep rest

I tend to think hard work will get me where I want to go (thanks, Boomer parents!). But it’s shortsighted.

The prevailing feeling I have at the end of 2023: tired. And it’s because I’m always thinking I haven’t done enough, haven’t worked enough, haven’t hustled enough.

I’m sure this is the result of past financial trauma – years of debt, never saving enough for retirement, periods of my life when I wasn’t earning enough to pay my bills, being single and always bracing for impact when it comes to money.

This has to change.

Life can pass you by while you’re busy hustling and paying the bills. I think I actually DO work hard enough. And it’s time to better protect the boundaries of my rest and well-being.

Accept the pace of growth

I don’t know. Was it unreasonable to think I would have everything figured out by now?

Maybe I’m comparing myself to a false narrative, exemplified by social media. I just want to be one of those shiny middle-aged women with a fabulous blowout, sipping hot cocoa on the porch swing with her darling children and dogs romping around in the autumn leaves while she sells thousands of copies of her book online and makes seven figures while she sleeps.

Oh, sorry. I drifted off there for a minute.

I sometimes forget that real life isn’t like social media. I can waste a lot of time dreaming and scrolling. I want to stop wanting more than I have. I want to enjoy exactly where I am on the life continuum, even if I may be a late bloomer. I want to simply enjoy the blooming.

Extend what I bring to the table

I don’t know if you know this about me. I’ve had a long career as an implementer.

I can make something out of nothing in almost any context you can think of – a spiffy haircut, an organizational budget, a website, a work of art. I’ve been implementing the crap out of business operations, financial management and brand-building my whole adult life.

I’ve been like a mechanic. I fix things. I maintain things. I make sure stuff runs.

At this juncture, I’d like to be more of a strategist, a conniver of plans, an offensive coordinator (for the football fans out there). I have more to bring to the table in my work – both as an artist and as a business coach.

More ideas, more playbooks, more leadership.

I want to grow brands. I want to devise genius marketing strategies. I want to coach emerging entrepreneurs through the weeds and to the shores of their big business dreams. I mean, I LOVE a scrappy, self-starting founder with their aspirations and ‘wear all the hats’ determination. I’ve been there many times.

So, less mechanic. More wingwoman.

Ask for help

I was that little girl who protested when anyone tried to help tie her shoes. Don’t HELP me! I can do it.

I still feel that way about most things. I really think I can do anything. I don’t think it’s going to be easy. But I can do it.

While I’m driving myself crazy trying to do all the things, I’m sending a message to the people in my life that I don’t need them. I’m essentially saying, “I don’t trust you to handle this thing for me, so I’m gonna do it myself.”

Even though what I’m actually saying in my head is, “No one wants to help me, so I have to figure it all out on my own.”

False. How do I know this is untrue?

Because I know the pain of not being asked for help. You feel unneeded, unwanted, unappreciated. I actually WANT my friends to call me up and ask me to drive them to the airport. It would feel SO good to know they trust me that much.

So why don’t I ask THEM for help? I need to rewrite this code.

Want to help me this year?

• Reply to this email and let me know how I can help YOU. Let me love and support you.

• Follow and help me boost my new business coaching channels – Instagram, LinkedIn & on Substack.

• Subscribe to my business coaching email list and tell me what you think about the sequence of welcome messages I send to you. Feedback wanted.

• Buy some art! This is a win-win.

• Buy me a coffee. I had to stop drinking coffee (sobbing), so my coffee fund will now be spent on tea. Send recommendations, please.

Some questions for you...

• What needs changing?

• What could change if you were brave enough to ask for help?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow a line from Alison’s poem (at the bottom of her newsletter) to push off into our pages:

I wanted the world...

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

SEVEN

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.

Final thought...

Let’s not get overwhelmed by the urge to set goals, lose baggage and think we need to be better year after year.

I mean, I hope we all just naturally get better, wiser and happier as time goes on and it doesn’t require a year-end review, a checklist and a critical inner voice to make it happen.

Suzuki Roshi once said, “You’re perfect, just the way you are. And there’s always room for improvement.”

Perfectly imperfect.

Please share with me by replying to this message. Send me a link, excerpt or snapshot of what you're creating and I'll send you back fistfuls of love and gratitude. 

xoxo

Cyn

If you didn’t make it out to Art on the Porch, it’s not too late to BUY ART in my online shop. I have many smaller artworks and arty gifts available to ship in time for you-know-what. You’ll get automatic 10% collector appreciation savings when you buy any two or more items, including TellMe Insight Cards™.

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And I think of legacy,
how I come from a long line of sorcerers
who make good work of building
joy from absolutely nothing

From Red Wine Spills by L. Ash Williams

---

What I love about L. Ash Williams' poem is the reminder that this being human thing isn't about making things perfect. Spills happen. Nothing is permanent.

We carry some wisdom deep in our bones, guiding us to shore, giving us a story to tell, keeping us zigging and zagging and creating joy from absolutely nothing.

Isn't that phenomenal? We're somehow born in this human form to do difficult things AND find contentment in the simple act of breathing in and out. 

It’s a good thing, too, because we need our inner compass more than ever during these darkest days of the year, up here in the Northern Hemisphere.

My inner compass is pointing me to…

• warm, savory, nourishing food

• less caffeine and sugar

• an extra fluffy duvet on the bed

• my favorite Champaca candle

• a forgotten pair of suede moccasins

• catching up on mending and ironing

Sounds nice. But what I want you to know is that I’m also feeling unsteady, sort of feeling my around. I don’t know anything for sure. Truly, even at my age, I can’t tell you what’s going to happen tomorrow. My real life is less than Instagrammable.

And this is really disappointing to me, sometimes. When I was younger, I thought I’d certainly have cracked the code by now, the secret to joy and happiness.

I guess the only thing that seems to be true is I’m almost always happier when I unclench my grip around whatever it is I’m clinging to. And there’s always something, right?

To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go,to let it go.

- Read the whole poem, In Blackwater Woods by Mary Oliver

So I’ll let my compass also point to…

• unloading unnecessary stuff taking up real estate in my drawers and closets

• releasing the expectations of others

• letting go of my own expectations

• allowing time to accept change and loss with compassion

• letting the holiday season be simple, quiet and light

Some questions for you...

• What is your inner compass pointing you toward right now?

• Are there things you might let go of to create more joy?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow this line from L. Ash Williams’ poem to push off into our pages:

Joy from absolutely nothing...

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

JOY

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.

Final thought...

This is my last Museletter of 2023. So allow me to send you out with a few blessings.

Let your heart be filled with gratitude for the blessings of this year, and allow the new one to bring you even more reasons to be thankful.

May the road ahead bring you growth, moments of serenity, lots of creative messes and the strength to face any challenge with resilience and self-compassion.

Never forget, I’m always right by your side.

Please share with me by replying to this message. Send me a link, excerpt or snapshot of what you're creating and I'll send you back fistfuls of love and gratitude. 

xoxo

Cyn

If you didn’t make it out to Art on the Porch, it’s not too late to BUY ART in my online shop. I have many smaller artworks and arty gifts available to ship in time for you-know-what. You’ll get automatic 10% collector appreciation savings when you buy any two or more items, including TellMe Insight Cards™.

.

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Though darkness gathers, praise our crazy fallen world; it’s all we have, and it’s never enough.

- Read the whole poem, Praise Song by Barbara Crooker

---

Praise the waning autumn light, the daylight saving dance of darkness waking me at 4 am. Could also be my grumpy gallbladder. Praise the gallbladder while it’s still with us.

At first, I thought I was sad, forlorn, just a little depressed.

Then it occurred to me that I may just be tired. How important it is to discern this accurately because the cure for sadness is connection. But the cure for tiredness might be solitude.

So I’ve been addressing tiredness with all the appropriate tonics.

• drinking more water

• getting better quality sleep

• turning off the news and social media for a while

• eucalyptus

• declining a few requests

• chai + Spotify playlist + studio time + no agenda

I found I was also falling into the old trap of lamenting the impending winter, completely missing the present beauty of November. I got outside and gave more of my attention to the golden glory of it all.

Did I love it enough, the full-throttle foliage,

While it lasted? Was I dazzled?

- Read the whole poem, November by Maggie Dietz

Yesterday was my final Art on the Porch for 2023. I brewed up spiced cider and decked out the porch with artwork and arty gifts. At the same time, I held it all lightly, stayed curious to meet whoever came my way.

It seemed a fitting celebration of the 100-year birthday of my sweet, old bungalow on Pascal Street. Praise these creaky floors, the crooked windows, the bronze doorknobs, the shelter of the big Blue Spruce. Living here is like living in another time.

I’m holding everything with tenderness and a touch of nostalgia, opening to the classic theme of gratitude at this time of year and following Barbara Crooker’s lead to praise everything I possibly can.

Even the flat tire. Even the unexpected invoice. Even the stain on the rug.

But mostly, praise those tiny puffer coats on children walking to school. Praise the early spruce top pots popping up on neighborhood stoops. Praise the too-soon Christmas standards playing overhead at the phlebotomy clinic.

Bless you, November, caught between autumn’s dazzle and the holly-jolly grand finale. Our collective middle-child month. I’m going to make sure to love you enough this year.

Some questions for you...

• How do you discern tiredness from sadness?

• What are some of your go-to ways to restore yourself when you’re tired?

• What do you love the most about November?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow a line or two from Barbara’s poem to push off into our pages:

Did I love it enough...

Behind pulled curtains…

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

GOLDEN

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.

Final thought...

My deepest gratitude extends to you, dear reader.

I’ve been writing to you (from one platform or another) for seven years now, can you believe it? There have been long stretches of silence when I couldn’t find my voice. But so many of you stayed with me. We are old friends now.

And many of you are new here. It’s no small thing to me when you read my musings, leave comments or reply. I see you. I am so glad you are by my side.

Old or new, if you’re reading this, we are connected. And I want you to reach out any time at all when you need some warmth or a listening ear. I am here.

Thank you ALL, from the bottom of my gallbladder. lol

Please share with me by replying to this message. Send me a link, excerpt or snapshot of what you're creating and I'll send you back fistfuls of love and gratitude. 

xoxo

Cyn

If you didn’t make it out to Art on the Porch, it’s not too late to BUY ART in my online shop. I have many smaller artworks and arty gifts available to ship in time for you-know-what. You’ll get automatic 10% collector appreciation savings when you buy any two or more items, including TellMe Insight Cards™.

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I want to stand at the door in the rain

LIstening, sniffing, gaping.

Fearful and joyous,

like an idiot before God.

- Read the whole poem, What’s Left, by Kerry Hardie

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I’ve been rubbing up against some challenging times and a few big, hairy goals looming. I’m wavering between leaping right into new things and retreating back to activities that feel safe and Difficult-Easy.

As a coach, I’ve invited many people to contemplate the concept of DIFFICULT-EASY. It’s the stuff we do that FEELS challenging, yet it’s actually easy because it’s familiar, predictable, even productive. Ultimately, it doesn’t produce the results we’re hoping for.

• Staying in a job we hate

• Walking on the treadmill while watching cartoons

• Sorting digital files and photos instead of making new art

(Talking from experience here. lol)

Difficult-Easy keeps us busy. It looks like work, but it’s often what we do when we’re avoiding a more risky thing.

The Difficult-Difficult stuff is where growth happens. It’s what makes us feel uncomfortable just THINKING about doing it. The gatekeeper is a feeling of dread, trepidation, vulnerability. That’s because there is REAL risk involved.

• Going back to school to start a new career

• Investing in a fitness coach

• Creating a public exhibition of our artwork

While the results from doing Difficult-Easy things can be disappointing, sometimes it’s all we have to give. It’s not ‘bad.’ But we can get stuck there.

The results from doing Difficult-Difficult things are often surprisingly awesome, even if they aren’t what we expect. Even failure tends to be worthwhile.

Difficult-Difficult also isn’t about being hard on yourself. In fact, if it feels like punishment, your Difficult-Difficult task may be to set better boundaries or practice self-compassion.

Difficult-Difficult can be a simple (but not easy) ‘no.’

Then, there’s something else. Easy-Easy.

THIS is what I’ve been learning to appreciate, especially as I get older.

Easy-Easy is when we set aside striving, set aside expectations, set aside the belief that only things that are hard-won are worthwhile. Easy-Easy is allowing EASE to be an option.

• Taking a needed mental health day off from work

• Going for a leisure walk around the lake

• Freely playing with paint in a sketchbook

I find myself judging Easy-Easy things as lazy, indulgent or unproductive. But really, choosing ease is a masterful way of bringing presence, openness and balance to a life full of demands, goals and responsibilities.

Ask yourself: How would this look if it were ridiculously easy?

You might imagine delegating, simplifying, re-using, letting go, asking for help, improvising, outsourcing or removing self-imposed limits.

What if what we think of as Difficult-Difficult is ACTUALLY pretty easy: apologizing, forgiving, resting, surrendering, accepting a compliment, being generous? Eating more vegetables?

I’m learning that there’s always a time for ease. It brings such richness to my experience because it requires me to slow down, pause, pay attention and appreciate what IS rather than constantly trying to change things or avoid difficulty.

What if it were easy? Are you open to that?

I know more or less

how to live through my life now.

But I want to know how to live what’s left

With my eyes open and my hands open

- Read the whole poem, What’s Left, by Kerry Hardie

Some questions for you...

• What are examples of ways you keep things Difficult-Easy?

• What’s holding you back from doing a Difficult-Difficult thing?

• Where could you place more Easy-Easy in your life right now?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow a line or two from Kerry’s poem to push off into our pages:

I used to wait...

Untidy, unfinished…

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

LEAF

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.

Final thought...

I can tell you with certainty that life will have difficulty. It can also have ease. And it may not always be up to you which one you’ll get today.

The beauty of it all is that both things can co-exist. Praise, blame. Gain, loss. Pleasure, pain. Fame, disrepute. Ever-changing. A big box of chocolates.

The invitation here is to attune. Where is your tension? What is asking for your soft attention and care? What do you find yourself thirsty for - the safety of things that are easy or the urge to grow?

Please share with me by replying to this message. Send me a link, excerpt or snapshot of what you're creating and I'll send you back fistfuls of love and gratitude. 

xoxo

Cyn

BUY ART in my online shop and SUBSCRIBE to Studio Notes to stay aware of upcoming events and releases of new artwork.

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It’s quiet here. The cats

sprawl, each

in a favored place.

The geramium leans this way

to see if I’m writing about her

- Read the whole poem, Afternoon in the House, by Jane Kenyon

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Admittedly, I’m a ‘homebody.’

I work from home, spending a lot of time in my house, which is 100 years old this year. It’s a needy house, as any centenarian would be. But she steadily serves me and waits patiently for me to remedy what ails her.

It calls on my creativity and persistence to live in an old place. There’s a lineup of improvements to make, but also a desire to preserve or bring back the 1923 Craftsman luster.

I watch all manner of renovation shows on tv. But lately, I’ve been diving into some amazing blogs.

My Scandinavian Home

Vivacious Victorian

The Design Chaser

Daniel Kanter

Chateau Gudanes

Bungalow 5

True Tales from Old Houses

I find myself asking how I can operate with more grace and craftsmanship in my home projects, but also in my art practice. And in life - in relationships, in self-care, in service to my community.

Last year, I had a vision for creating a space on my front porch for my artwork and a cozy place for friends and neighbors to stop by and hang out. And my front porch needed some serious work.

I finished painting it just before winter. So I couldn’t enjoy the space fully until spring. It’s been such a treat to hang out in this clean, bright room with Bella, the cat, and my coffee each morning.

So the question remains: how can I use this space to share my artwork and cultivate connection?

I don’t suppose I can entirely answer that unless I start gathering the art and the friends into the space. So, diving right in.

I’m excited to share that I’ll be convening an event called ART ON THE PORCH on a weekend in early October and another weekend in early November.

There’s nothing like hosting an open studio exhibit and sale to light a blazing fire under one’s ass to make more art. I am pushing myself to leave the comfort zone of THINKING about my art and cannonball jump into simply DOING it.

I am planning to have new, ‘gift-sized’ art alongside some familiar favorites and larger pieces. And maybe a few freebies and fun surprises too. Mostly, this is a very casual and easy way to see what I’ve been up to - and put a little art into your life.

If you’re in my neck of the woods, I hope you’ll come! If you’re too far away, I will definitely let you know when new work drops online.

In other home news, I finally cleaned up the landscaping. I wasn’t able to do much planting, but I got a lot of debris and overgrowth removed. So next spring may be my time to get creative in the garden - for the first time ever.

I’m also putting new windows, doors and trim on the exterior, thanks to a spring hailstorm last year. I had hoped for new paint as well, but my budget and timeline aren’t going to let that happen for a little while.

Sadly, my girl, Bella (in the photo at top), needs dental surgery. To be honest, it’s stressing us both out. Eating is painful for her right now. And the expenses are adding up. I have some money for emergencies like this. But the total cost may be $2000 or more when we’re all done.

If you have the call to help us with this ordeal, I have a GoFundMe set up to make it easy to chip in. Every little bit helps. At times like this, it sometimes does take a village.

If you can’t donate, feel free to share the GFM link in your circles. And if I happen to raise more than the goal, I’ll be so honored to donate the extra funds to Feline Rescue, the no-kill shelter that cared for sweet Bella prior to adoption.

I just love this girl so much and look forward to seeing her get some more peaceful porch-naps in before winter.

Some questions for you...

• How does your home call you to be creative?

• Where do you find inspiration for your home design?

• What do you need help with right now? Are you brave enough to ask?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow a line or two from Jane’s poem above to push off into our pages:

I am writing about you...

In the middle of perfect possibility…

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

HOME

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.

Final thought...

Whether you live in a small apartment, an urban bungalow, a seaside cottage or a conversion van, home is where you can really be yourself - creative, messy, falling apart and coming back together again.

I think this time of year is such a delicious and nostalgic time to enjoy our home spaces, clear the clutter and find healing for our various summertime bumps and bruises.

I hope your home provides a safe place for that kind of beauty. And if not, you’re always welcome at my home. We’ll sit on the porch, rock in the chairs and sip on something yummy until we find our legs again.

Please share with me by replying to this message. Send me a link, excerpt or snapshot of what you're creating and I'll send you back fistfuls of love and gratitude. 

xoxo

Cyn

BUY ART in my online shop and SUBSCRIBE to Studio Notes to stay aware of upcoming events and releases of new artwork.

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Maybe there are no problems to solve, no holes that need filling. You don’t have to be everything. You can be one thing, or no thing, shapeless as new putty, thinly flavored as unsalted broth.

- Read the whole post by Maya Stein

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After Art-A-Whirl in May, I took some time to clean up messes, get re-organized and just find space to wander and breathe.

My fear about taking time away from my creative practice is that I won’t find my way back into it.

Every time I sit down to paint lately, I get mired up in thinking and planning. It isn’t feeling easy and wonderful – at all. I just keep wondering what’s next and how I’m going to prepare for it, whatever IT is.

Like when we stop moving our body, things start to get stiff and achy. We’re tempted to think something is broken, that we’ve lost our mojo for good this time.

I remind myself that FREEDOM is a skill. Learning how to not overthink things takes courage, commitment and practice - just like a pullup.

I’m a classic overthinker. So in true overthinky fashion, I leaned in to look for some methods and merits of UNDERTHINKING and here’s what I’ve learned so far.

• Healthy underthinking is doing the opposite when I catch myself overthinking.

• Underthinking aims for the simplest possible option available.

• Great underthinkers limit their choices and establish basic parameters.

• Underthinkers don’t spend a lot of energy solving problems they don’t have yet.

• Underthinking requires trusting everyone else to handle their own sh*t.

• Underthinkers find beauty in things that are unfinished, unperfected and underappreciated.

Underthinking also has its perils. A total lack of planning or concern about impacting others has consequences. Abstinence doesn’t work for overeating and it’s also not the remedy to an overthinking brain.

Go ahead, try it. Stop thinking so much.

Yeah, it’s not so easy, is it? We have to do the hard work to be self-aware, recognize when thinking has gone rogue and create simple ways to lure the thinky brain back to the barn (again).

Thinking, in general, is risky business. The brain doesn’t always self-govern. The best way to respond to anxiety is to just notice and name when it’s happening, which is difficult when you’re in the throws of ruminating, list-making and catastrophizing.

The real bulletproof way to calm an overthinky brain is to center attention on the present experience. It’s why meditation and breathwork are so effective.

Some ways I’m trying to underthink it…

• Getting out of the house when it feels icky to be sedentary while painting or writing.

• Letting myself not create anything at all – embracing a period of rest, exploration and finding inspiration.

• Making random, messy collage papers.

• Eating salads - super simple foods that don’t require a lot of planning or prep.

• Using the FitBod app to tell me how to workout.

• Choosing ONE household chore to complete each morning - the most obvious thing.

• Sending a simple ‘hello’ email to people I haven’t connected with in a while. No long messages or pleas for a coffee date. Just “Hey – thinking about you. Hope you’re doing ok. If not, I’m here for ya.”

• Just posting a picture of my artwork on Instagram without crafting a clever caption or including all the hashtags.

• Not feeling bad about my utter lack of interest in Threads or Barbie.

Food for thought. lol

Even without a name to call what it is you are doing here, you are here still. You are still here.

- Read the whole post by Maya Stein

Some questions for you...

• Are you an overthinker? If yes, how is it showing up in your creative practice?

• How might you do the opposite, take a break or set some simple parameters?

• When you feel the tension of overthinking, what helps you let go and become more engaged in your present experience?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow a line or two from Maya’s post above to push off into our pages:

You don’t have to be everything...

What it’s like to be half-hearted…

Maybe there are no problems to solve…

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

EVERYTHING

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.

Final thought...

I have found an on/off switch to my overthinky brain.

It’s movement. Any kind at all.

Stretch, dance, walk, squat, tap, climb, jog, play, skip, saunter, breathe deep.

Moving the body requires collaboration with the brain. Movement is a kind of chorus that makes it much harder for the mind to steal the spotlight.

3-2-1-move

It’s not permanent. At some point, we become still again. Yet, other than meditation, I find it’s the most accessible and effective thing I can do to quickly change my thinking, wherever I am.

I’m now referring to a walk around the lake as going to “Mosey Outside the Matrix.”

Please share with me by replying to this message. Send me a link, excerpt or snapshot of what you're creating and I'll send you back fistfuls of love and gratitude. 

xoxo

Cyn

BUY ART in my new online shop and SUBSCRIBE to Studio Notes to stay aware of upcoming events and releases of new artwork.

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Clearly, my creative sensibilities do not extend to the outdoors.

I've never been much for gardening or hard labor of any kind. But this year, I've decided to make an effort (or at least an investment). 

Other than a gigantic blue spruce, the yard has no landscaping to speak of, so any effort makes a noticeable difference. As a treat to myself, and in lieu of an obligatory husband, I hired a landscaper to help spiffy up my outdoor spaces. 

My landscaper cleared out about 12K pounds of weeds and debris between the garage and fence, and then installed beds with river rock and wood mulch. She cleaned up a couple of other jungley areas and gave me heaps of advice that I surely did NOT write down.

I remembered I had these amazing terra cotta pots from Mexico just sitting in the garage, vessels of my best intentions. So I headed out to find some pretty things to put into them. And because it's a bit late in the season, I found the annuals half-price, which, I think, makes me an expert gardener.

Another shopper at the garden center even asked me to recommend a plant for her empty pot. I promptly obliged. 

My other 'effort' has been to sprinkle magic fairy dust on the lawn, aka weed+feed. I put down some grubX as well and have been legit watering the lawn here and there. The lawn looks greener and less patchy, as promised.

I may even have myself a morning ritual of dragging the wand sprinkler around the premises every morning. You know, to water all my pots and wake up the bees. 

It's nice. I might be into it. 

(landscaper on speed dial)

Explore all artwork in my new online shop!

As I get older, I don’t do vacationing very well. I’ve become more high-maintenance, so travel is really a challenge.

I’ve had plenty of adventure in my life. And REST isn’t what I really need. ‘Rest’ sounds nice, but no one’s ever accused me of being unable to just sit down and relax.

Keep in mind, I’m a single, fifty-something woman with no children. So ‘vacation’ for me feels really indulgent. Compared to a lot of people, I’m always on vacation.

My time off is typically a time of self-directed exploration, doing the stuff I never think I have time to do and playing with POSSIBILITY.

I’m headed into a nice stretch of time I could call ‘vacation.’ Maybe ‘retreat’ is a better word. I’m making the traditional list of things I can choose to do during the break from the normal work-eat-sleep groove.

Spoiler: Fishing isn’t on the list.

Take a ton of photos

I have a new camera and I haven’t yet taken her out into the world to see what she can do.

Summertime in Minnesota is abundant with vibrant urban scenes and nature. It’s time to get out of the house and do some contemplative photography. It’s also an opportunity to capture a pile of images I can use to inspire my next collection of artwork.

Browse some thrift and antique shops

I love old stuff. And besides being a really fascinating place to take photos, an antique shop is where I find a lot of the vintage paper ephemera I like to collage into my artwork.

I’m starting to have a significant collection of these old papers: newspapers, magazines, maps, books, sewing patterns, letters, ledgers, as well as painted papers.

I’m thinking about curating small collections of papers together and offering them in my shop.

Purge excess stuff

I think stuff procreates in closets and in the basement.

I swear, I keep taking boxes to Goodwill, but there’s as much stuff as ever. And in a very small house, with ridiculously small closets, it doesn’t take much to fill it up.

Especially in my studio. I need to be aggressive and get rid of anything I haven’t used in the last year or find a new spot for things that are constantly in my way.

Reacquaint with healthier habits

Without the excuse of lacking time, I need to practice preparing healthier meals, finding new recipes, and eating more slowly.

Ever since winter left, I’ve been trying to go for more walks. I’ve managed to get out a few times a week, but I’d love for walking to be more of a DAILY practice - not just for exercise, but for the magical way a walk disrupts even the tiniest mental anguish.

Expand my creative practice

I’ve intended to learn ProCreate for almost three years now. So this week, I’m going to dig in.

I want collage to be a more significant feature in my upcoming artwork. So I need to create some sketchbook studies to experiment with the best way to handle cutting and pasting.

I thought this would be so straightforward. But it turns out, collage is complicated if you want it to be precise or smooth. When it gets wet, paper wrinkles, bubbles and tears. It gets really messy.

I also need to figure out how to manage all the paper bits - everywhere! I can only pray for a bigger studio someday.

But we already know how that will go, right? More space…..more stuff!

Hold the list lightly

What I want from a vacation or retreat most of all is FREEDOM. So I will add this reminder to the bottom of my list.

It’s not a checklist. It’s a POSSIBILITY list. No need to get it all done or to do anything with a sense of urgency or perfection.

Pick and choose. Go rogue. Follow your intuition. If you feel better at the end of the day, then you’ve done it right.

When in doubt, find your people. Connection is the cure for everything. And they will never hesitate to tell you what to do.

Are you taking a break soon? A vacation or retreat? Are you more of a stay-cation kind of person? Or do you love getting out of Dodge? What’s on your possibilities list?

Leave a comment and let me know!

Leave a comment

Explore all artwork in my new online shop!

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Though darkness gathers, praise our crazy

fallen world; it’s all we have, and it’s never enough

- Read or listen to the whole poem Praise Song by Barbara Crooker

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This week, I’m craving a little roundup of deep, beautiful examples of gratitude from my favorite poets.

The trigger was listening to a recent podcast episode on We Can Do Hard Things, an interview with poet . I was so moved by how Andrea describes the experience of having cancer as “building a loving relationship with mortality.”

And then I remembered something else Andrea Gibson wrote not so long ago about the paradox of gratitude lists.

…what taught me to be grateful was not what’s sweet about this life, but what’s sour.  

I know the gratitude lists work for many, but they never succeeded in making me more grateful. I had no clue as to why that was until this year. Here’s what I’ve come to—when I point to the obviously wonderful aspects of my life as the source of my joy, it predisposes me to believing the challenges in my life are what robs me of my joy. As soon as I began exploring the ways I could be grateful for the hard stuff, I no longer felt like the outer-world was the sole dictator of what was happening in my inner-world. Challenging myself to see how grateful I could be for what once felt impossible to be grateful for has improved my mental health in a way nothing else ever has.

That explains why, when I see praise for small things, ordinary things, even painful things in poetry, it feels so healing to me.

It can be so small, what saves me.

- from Small Stuff by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Praise the crazy. Praise sad.

- from Praise the Rain by Joy Harjo

When I think how far the onion has traveled

just to enter my stew today, I could kneel and praise

all small forgotten miracles

- from The Traveling Onion by Naomi Shihab Nye

I mean, every once in a while, aren’t you struck by how beautiful this beast of a world is? Or is that just me?

Look, every month the moon blossoms into a peony, then shrinks to a sliver of garlic.

And then it blooms again.

- from Listen, by Barbara Crooker

so many this mornings so many movement so many breezes

- from So Many by John Pluecker

Lucky sunshine, lucky air, lucky clouds,

the ozone still holding,

and all of us in it together.

Lucky, lucky, lucky!

- from $18.88 by Alison Luterman

And isn’t it the best kind of prayer, the ‘thank you’ prayer? A simple, spiritual connection to the deep richness of life?

Thank God he was sitting, he said,

with his feet up on a rubber hose half-facing

a morning glory, the last, or the first, and thanks

for the ledge, he said, to put his coffee cup on

and the bush for his Inquirer and the watering can

and the pot of red petunias.

- from He Said by Gerald Stern

Bless the yellow leaves on the Geranium for teaching me about too much or too little. Bless the weeds with tiny blue flowers that grow relentlessly in the cracks of the driveway. Bless the distant thunder reminding me to close the upstairs window. Bless the sweet meow of a tabby cat telling me it’s time to get out of bed and greet the day.

Some questions for you...

• What are a few unlikely things you could explore with a sense of gratitude?

• How might you create a more loving relationship with a part of your life that feels aversive or painful to you?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow a line or two from a poem listed above to push off into our pages:

Praise the crazy...

What saves me…

So many…

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

PRAISE

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Then, use one of your images to push off into another creative practice - painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, collage, more writing…..just allow the image to show the way forward.

Final thought...

A good old-fashioned gratitude list can be a powerful way to disrupt a habitual way of finding what’s wrong, broken or irritating about our lives.

If you’ve tried it and haven’t felt particularly moved by the experience, try listing things you wouldn’t normally think to be grateful for. Just ‘test drive’ being grateful for even the ordinary, random, or even crappy stuff.

Maybe the crappy stuff has an important message for you, if you’re open to it.

Maybe the crappy stuff wouldn’t insist on being so crappy if it were more seen, more acknowledged.

Maybe the crappy stuff is in your way for a reason you haven’t fairly considered.

Maybe the crappy stuff has secret beautiful stuff in its back pocket.

Please share with me by replying to this message. Send me a link, excerpt or snapshot of what you're creating and I'll send you back fistfuls of love and gratitude. 

xoxo

Cyn

VISIT ME in my new exhibit space in NE Minneapolis for upcoming Open Studio events OR let’s set up a time for a private showing.

BUY ART in my brand new online shop.

SUBSCRIBE to Studio Notes to stay aware of upcoming events and releases of new artwork.

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Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

- Read or listen to the whole poem Perhaps the World Ends Here by Joy Harjo

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Hope you don’t mind an early Museletter.

April is not over. There’s still time to eke out more April goodness. Take your time. Savor it. No rushing into May.

It’s just that a few of my wilder dreams have decided to push their way into reality recently. Be careful what you wish for, they say.

About two years ago, I was rather dream-less. I felt trapped in my peri-menopausal body, with a full-time middle management job and a minuscule retirement account that made me think I might have to stay chained to the 9-to-5 machine for the next fifteen years.

I started to have some awareness that my job was accounting for 90% of my reason for living. I held the tension of that reality in my body, walking around clenched up and holding my breath until I fell into bed every night.

I felt very alone and experienced intense pain all over my body every day.

I didn’t know what to do. So I did the only thing I could think of.

I took my COVID stimulus check to the art supply store. I decided to leave the blue glow of my computer monitor and live my life with more color.

The more art I made, the more content I felt. I started saying ‘no’ to everything (and every person) that made me feel small and ‘yes’ to everything that made me feel FREE.

Freedom became my compass. It led me deeper into the forest of a new dream. Fear and worry came along too, but they weren’t leading the way any longer.

I simply made the art I wanted to see in the world, the art I felt the URGE to make. Every piece was manifested with intense curiosity and boundless possibility. Each one has spent time on my mantel or bedside table.

I resisted the notion of exhibiting or selling to collectors. It felt too much like hustling. It didn’t feel like freedom.

But while I was painting and drawing and gluing and splashing around, I was healing. And I was quietly putting myself in the way of new people, new ideas and new opportunities.

In the last few weeks, I’ve been invited to serve on the board of an arts organization, led to a permanent exhibit space in a large art studio complex, made some incredible friendships with other artists, and created a new online shop where my artwork can be explored and purchased by joyful new art collectors.

It has ALL felt surprisingly expansive and free.

So I’ve bravely said ‘yes’ to a bigger dream and you are the first to know. I couldn’t wait another few days to tell you. Scroll to the bottom of this post to explore.

Some questions for you...

• What dream are you resisting because you feel trapped or stuck?

• What could happen if you started using freedom as a compass?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow a line or two from Joy’s poem to push off into our pages:

Perhaps the world ends here...

Our dreams drink coffee with us…

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

DREAMS

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Final thought...

We have responsibilities and commitments. We don’t want to abandon them or burn any bridges. Our choices can sometimes make us feel limited, and that’s ok.

But if you feel the life you’re leading is leaving no room for freedom and joy, you could start to feel the consequences in your body. It may manifest as illness, unrest, tension, anxiety or depression.

It’s not your fault. You may need a new compass.

My new compass is freedom. But yours could be joy or truth or light.

I invite you to audition a new compass. Don’t just imagine it. Grab a new compass, let it point you true north and take a few steps.

Could things fall apart if you make a change? Yes. Though maybe not as much as you think.

Can you put yourself back together at the table? Absolutely. 100%.

Please share with me by replying to this message. Include a link, excerpt or snapshot of what you're creating. I'll send you back fistfuls of love and gratitude. 

xoxo

Cyn

Explore some new, exciting developments…

VISIT ME in my new exhibit space in NE Minneapolis for upcoming Open Studio events and Art-A-Whirl®. I’m so excited to get my artwork out of my house for the first time ever!

BUY ART in my brand new online shop. Yes, it is finally FOR SALE.

VIEW A VIDEO EXHIBIT and a portfolio of all my favorite pieces on brand new website pages.

SUBSCRIBE to Studio Notes to stay aware of upcoming events and releases of new artwork.

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Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

- Listen to the whole poem Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

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“Maybe the true purpose for your art practice isn’t about selling art.”

This is what a good friend (who happens to be a social worker) told me recently over a coffee chat on Zoom, both of us unabashedly still wearing pajamas. We took turns throwing our worries out on the table like a game of gin.

“Maybe YOU need your art as much as the world needs your art.”

I love the people in my life who lean in and aren’t afraid to challenge my paradigms.

About eleven months ago, I decided I would spend a year making art for the purpose of participating in Art A Whirl, the nation’s largest open studios event held in NE Minneapolis every May.

It was a ‘start before you’re ready’ decision.

I wanted to learn what it was like to create art for a show. I want to eventually answer ‘yes’ to the question, “Is your art for sale?” I wanted to learn how to bring my artwork through its entire lifecycle, to experience what it really takes to make, finish, show and sell artwork (spoiler: it takes more than you think!).

One more thing: I wanted to find out if I could make art FOR other people without losing the joy of making it.

Well, the event is less than six weeks away now. Joy is still present, though my artmaking tasks have shifted into finishing, framing, photographing and figuring out how to sell a thing I’m not sure I’m ready to let go of yet.

There’s just something so personal about making art. It’s a whole year of self-doubt and discovery in those paint layers. Maybe a few tears and cat hairs too.

Each piece became a teacher, appearing at just the right moment. I didn’t know I needed to learn about courage or boldness or contentment or surrender. But these paintings showed up with those lessons for me.

So the upcoming show feels more like a graduation party than an exhibition. But who’s really graduating? Me or the paintings?

I say it’s them because I have a lot more learning to do. And as I brush on the varnish and give them each a name, it’s like I’m combing their hair, straightening their ties and sending them off to college.

I’m nervous. Have I done a good enough job with them? Are they ready for the world?

“What happens if no one comes? What happens if no one buys my art?” I asked my friend between sips.

“Well, then you’ll get to spend a little more time with them. You’ll find a place to enjoy them in your own home until they’re ready to go. Lucky you.”

Some questions for you...

• How do you keep yourself grounded in the joy of creating when you’re working toward a goal like publishing, performing or showing your work?

• What is your creative work teaching you?

Hit reply and let me know! Or leave a comment.

Leave a comment

This month

Let's borrow a line or two from Mary’s poem to push off into our pages:

You don’t have to be good...

Your place in the family of things…

Set a timer for 5 or 10 or 15 minutes, write with old-fashioned pen + paper, write quickly, keep going, don’t stop to think of better words, forget the commas, say yes to whatever is coming to the page. Repeat as you like over the weeks ahead to peel away the layers. 

As you move through your days, let your camera (any kind you prefer) find some images that conjure this month’s photo theme.

LOOKING UP

Your images can be literal, figurative, abstract, or something completely surprising.  Lean in, breathe, see with new eyes. No need for staging or filters — just snap real life with all its imperfections, smudges and wrinkles.

Final thought...

Spring is finally pushing through a very long, snowy winter in Minnesota, and I find myself looking up a lot. The sky is bluer, the clouds are fluffier, and the birds are making a comeback.

Wherever you are, take a few minutes to look up. Feel the expansiveness of the sky. Notice how the weather floats in and floats out. Always changing. Sometimes dramatic, sometimes furious, and sometimes peaceful or dreamy.

This is life. It’s bigger than you and me, bigger than most things we worry about. Sometimes we can’t help getting caught up in the small stuff, the drama unfolding while we peer down at our phones.

Look up. Life, harsh and exciting, is calling. Lucky you.

Please share with me by replying to this message. Include a link, excerpt or snapshot of what you're creating. I'll send you back fistfuls of love and gratitude. 

xoxo

Cyn

Save the dates! May 19-21st

I’ll be having my very first Open Studios event, concurrent with Art A Whirl, at my home in Saint Paul.

I’m planning both a VIRTUAL and IN PERSON exhibition of artwork created in the last year or two. Many works will be offered for sale and I can ship anywhere for an additional fee for packing and postage.

More details to come in the next Museletter. xo