Wistful Sadness and Blissful Joy
Musing on the weather, the holidays, and making art that feels like something.
I probably do not need to wax poetic about it being December and, therefore, dark, cold, and rainy. We (Portlanders) know it. It's been a wet, dark, cold fall! Rain brings along her friend Cold, who ends up inviting Dark, and the whole month turns into a sad weather party that no one wants to attend!
The winter solstice is this weekend, and I'm looking forward to the days getting longer (not shorter). I know these wet days will all be worth it in the summer when everything is in bloom. In the meantime, I've been trying not to dwell on this weather and focus instead on the tiny joys of the season.
I have never been a holiday gal, and typically, you can find me turning off the holiday music and opting out of holiday traditions wherever I can. I know this about myself and am not trying to force myself into fake joy, but I am trying to notice the parts of this season I like. I'm trying to notice all the things that feel fun and festive in hopes that one day, maybe, I will be a holiday gal.
Earlier in the season, we rode our bikes around Portland International Raceway to see the raceway lights with some friends, and yes, that was fun. When visiting family in San Diego, we decorated cookies with our niece and sister-in-law, and yes, that was fun. Last weekend, we wandered around an empty tree farm with my family, and despite the classic logistical drama of getting 11 humans who live in disparate parts of the city to arrive at the same place at the same time, I had fun doing that, too. It was outside. I took photos with a film camera; I drank hot chocolate, got some fresh air, and caught up with my siblings.
Nick and I got a tree, and I decorated it. We made plans for next week, mainly involving ski days and hanging out with our dogs. I've worked late these last few weeks to finish as many things as possible so that I can enjoy myself over the next week without worrying about work. I am very close to crossing things off that list; this newsletter is one of them. I had a goal to write one every other month; this is the last one on that list, so here I am.
I am sure many people won't read this newsletter as they will be too busy enjoying their time off (or frantically working to finish things), and honestly, that's okay with me. Leading up to writing this one, I've been thinking about this newsletter and what I want from it, what I hope others get from it, and what I want to do with it in the new year. I want to write more often, and I want to use it as a way to share my artwork, thoughts, and feelings. I don't want it to be another thing that 'grabs attention' or tries to 'take time' away from anyone. I want it to be a slow and intentional thing that people can read to keep up with me and an outlet to work out what I'm working on and thinking about.
Things are so fast-paced that I often feel like I'm rushing around to do a million things (this could be because I have ADHD), but writing and making art help me slow down, and I need more of that in my life. I need more slow, less fast, more intentional focus, and less "I gotta do a thousand things right now, and I don't know where to start." The more I slow down, the more I'll make things I'm proud of, show people I care in a way that feels intentional, and feel more grounded in general. I've also been thinking about how I want my artwork to feel.
I am always thinking about the kind of work I want to do, how I want to do it, and what I want to do, but lately, I've been thinking more about 'the feeling.' What do I want my work to 'feel like’, and what am I trying to achieve? It feels like a lofty thing (a feeling) to try and work into my artwork when I still feel like I'm trying to capture something right or figure out composition and color, but it also feels like a worthy purpose.
I keep thinking of that feeling of magic when you're in a wild place, like watching the sun sifting through the trees near a lake on a perfect summer day, mixed with the nostalgic, almost painful feeling of knowing it won't last. It's the feeling of something sacred and special that you know is also fragile and fleeting. The magic of wild spaces always feels that way to me. It’s why it shows up in my artwork so often.
The feeling is one part blissful joy and one part wistful sadness. I wish I could catch that feeling, put it in a jar, and take it out to hold it whenever I want, but I know I can't. That's probably why I want to draw it, to get a chance to hold onto it a little longer.
I wish you all uncontained, blissful joy this holiday season. If you don't feel that, know that blissful joy sometimes turns into wistful sadness, which is lovely too. It just means you had something special– see if you can catch it in a jar. See you in 2025.
<3
Ariel
Heartbreakingly beautiful! Thank you, Ariel, for yet another touching and meaningful posting.