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Hi y’all! Have you ever had a day, or a week, or a month even, where you just can’t seem to make yourself do the thing you think you’re supposed to be doing? I tend to follow my gut when it comes to my work: listening to know when to pick up the camera, sit down and write, or spend time in the darkroom. Things always tend to go most smoothly when I don’t force them. But this month my gut has been exceptionally quiet. It’s been tempting to panic, fearing that I’m not doing enough, not being productive enough. Ugh. We have such a screwy relationship with productivity, don’t we? How often we’re sold the idea that we have to be constantly producing something in order to have worth. And yet, this isn’t how nature operates. Nature, of course, gives in to seasons. Every other living thing seems to understand, and to welcome even, the wintering season, honoring its necessity not just for growth but for existence. A few months ago my dad gave the boys a book called All Creation Waits. It’s technically an advent book, but never being one to fold to convention I decided to start reading it with them this month. The book begins with the most beautiful story of the painted turtle who, sensing the coming of winter knows it is time to take one long breath and submerge herself into the mud at the bottom of the pond. She settles into the stillness, her heart slowing, her temperature dropping, her body depleting its nutrient stores, dissolving itself in the process; and yet it is the radical act of giving into this resting period that ensures her survival. I’ve spent much of January in a space of my own wintering: resting, listening, waiting. I’ve revisited some old work, and reimagined what I want for my work going forward. I’ve rethought my approach to some things, and made a few changes here and there, including trying something new here in the newsletter, tucking in a few extra photos and creating more of a visual narrative. I’d love your thoughts on it. It was gorgeous here yesterday, not particularly sunny but warm for January. The woods were still wet from morning rain and as the afternoon began to fade into evening my favorite sound: a chorus of frogs and winter crickets began to rise from the woods across from my house. It was a beautiful reminder to enjoy these slack and slow-moving weeks; spring will be here soon enough. As always I hope you all are well, wintering in your own way, whatever that may be. And you know I love to hear from you, so write me back. kg
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