I’m writing this post from my breakfast nook, which overlooks my snow covered backyard. I’m drinking a hot green tea, and have decided to spend the day in a pajama set. It’s a mere 14 degrees outside here in Illinois, but it feels much colder than that. I probably won’t leave my house today, and that’s okay by me. The news channels are bustling with predictions of a major snowstorm rolling in this weekend. It’s sure to throw a wrench in our holiday plans. And I love it.

I haven’t always embraced the cold winter months here in Illinois. Just like everyone, I’ve dreamt of escaping somewhere warm for the winter. However, over the past few years, I’ve come to appreciate the calm and quiet these winter months bring. I’ve realized how great this time of year is for my art. Upon further reflection, I’ve realized each season brings a different energy to my work. I’ve made art through enough seasons now to see the cyclical nature of it all, and to identify the patterns.

Whether you live somewhere with four distinct seasons, or not, I believe living seasonally is instrumental in creating great work. We make our best art when we are present in our lives and, at the core, that’s what seasonal living is all about.

Winter

A quiet time of reflection, clarity, and rebirth.

Winter marks the end of one year and the beginning of another. It’s funny to think it’s the only season that overlaps two years. Because of that, it feels like a death and a rebirth. It’s a time of reflection for me - upon the work I made over the past year, and upon the kind of work I’d like to make next year. This reflection is key for my development as an artist. And it’s not always comfortable. What I can always count on though is that with the crisp, cool air comes clarity.

I love the traditions winter brings - warm drinks, wood fires, pajamas, hot baths, candles, and food that’s good for the soul. These indoor traditions are what keep my spirit alive through the dark, short days. To me, winter smells like cinnamon and pine, because I’m usually filling our home with those scents. And I do lots of baking in the winter, which adds another layer of delicious smells to our home.

In my mind, winter is broken up into two parts - the part leading up to Christmas (which is actually very short, but feels like a sprint), and the part from January to Spring (which is more of a slow burn). Leading up to Christmas, I’m usually buzzing with energy as the holiday season approaches. I’m busy shipping out orders and tying up loose ends from the previous year. My studio often feels like Santa’s workshop - chaotic, and oozing with Christmas spirit. When January hits, I slow down with the rest of the world and allow the quiet to set in. Because my shop slows down at this point as well, I make a huge body of work in the silence of my home until Spring hits. The work doesn’t feel particularly groundbreaking, but it’s steady. This quiet portion of winter is why I consider it my second most productive season.

The toughest part of year for me is late February/early March - the tail end of winter. Those of you who live in the Northern hemisphere know what I mean. The quiet of winter is great, until it’s not. It becomes too quiet for too long. Around this time, my body starts to feel imbalanced and restless. I crave sunshine and grass under my feet. I’m always ready for Spring long before it arrives. This last part of winter is the toughest for me personally, and as an artist. I can go dark real fast, often feeling bouts of seasonal depression. I start to feel less connected to my work too. I attribute this discomfort to the rebirth aspect of winter. That slow burn I talked about eventually fades into little embers. By the tail end of winter, my fire is almost out. As Spring approaches, I feel like a caterpillar slowly emerging from a cocoon as a butterfly. It’s not a comfortable process, but I’ve been through enough winters to know that the discomfort sparks change.

Once the trees start budding and the flowers poke through, I feel an instant release. Like everything is going to be okay.

Spring

An hopeful time of growth and experimentation.

I love the transitional seasons (aka spring and fall), where the landscape is rapidly changing around me. I’m not sure why, but this brings energy to my work. These transitional seasons are short, yet creatively powerful. As someone who has loved rain my entire life, Spring is a welcome friend. I may be the only person on the planet who likes gloomy days. As Spring sets in, and the rain thaws my body, I rapidly start to feel better. I get my energy back with the budding trees and blooming flowers. By the time everything is in full bloom, I’m on cloud nine. I feel unstoppable. I feel positive and hopeful for the year ahead.

I love going on long walks in the Spring. Between the rain and the new greenery, the air feels different. I feel renewed. In the Spring, I start using our front porch again, often curling up with a good book. I soak up all the sunshine I can get, even if the temperature isn’t quite warm enough yet. Once the weather does warm up, sometime after Easter, I love getting out my hats, sundresses, and sunglasses. I fill our home with fresh flowers from the peony and lilac bushes in our yard. The smell is intoxicating. To me, that’s the smell of Spring.

Artistically, Spring is a time of experimentation for me. In my studio, I constantly have my windows open, rain or shine. Mainly, because the smell of rain energizes me. The fresh, rain soaked air brings inspiration. And it’s rapid and flowing. This is the time of year when I feel compelled to experiment and try new techniques in my work. I don’t necessarily make my best work in Spring, but I make the kind of work that makes me a better artist. Spring is my season of growth. It’s when I take risks. I feel impervious to failure. I’m taking classes, and making updates to my brand. I’m taking huge forward leaps that will set me up for a productive rest of the year.

By the time May hits, I feel prepared for another burst of energy as I head into Summer. And then everything slows to a halt. This gets me every time and is always unexpected, no matter how many summers I’ve been through.

Summer

A lazy, restorative time, coursing with a slow hum of inspiration.

Summer is a conundrum. Physically, I feel best in the summer. I’m fully recovered from winter (thanks spring), and I feel balanced and energized. Since I was born in June, I associate summer with celebrations. It gives the season a happy undertone. Because of that, I enter summer expecting to make my best work, and then I’m greatly disappointed. Why wouldn’t my art be at its best when I’m feeling my best?

I think I’ve finally figured out the answer to this question. Summer is the time of year when I’m out in the world, just experiencing it all. I have the most social plans, so that means less studio time. I’m taking trips and living my best life. I’m eating at outdoor restaurants, having backyard parties, and listening to music. I love lounging outside with an iced tea or a cold glass of wine. To me, summer smells like sparklers and sunblock. Summer is the time of the year when I take the most pictures. It’s my most productive season for gathering inspiration. Instead of making fully formed pieces, I do a lot of sketchbook work. While it’s maddening not to continue full speed ahead with more serious work, I’ve come to embrace this summer ritual of gathering inspiration. It’s just what I need at this point in the year.

By the time September rolls around, my inspiration tank is full, and I’m ready to make some serious art. And that’s where Autumn comes in.

Autumn

A quiet, productive time, buzzing with steady energy and excitement.

Autumn is my most productive season of all. I’m one of the few people who’s ready for summer to end by the time Labor Day hits. In fact, this is one of my favorite weekends of the year, because it marks the change in season. By Labor Day, I’m tired and overextended. As an introverted artist, summer is great until it’s too much. I can only keep up that pace of life for so long. By September, quiet time in my studio is just what the doctor ordered. And I’m bursting with inspiration to make some serious work. That’s why, each year, I greatly anticipate the quiet productivity fall brings.

When the leaves start turning, I feel a buildup of creative energy below the surface. It’s not the same kind of wild energy spring brings. It’s more like a steady, controlled buzzing of excitement. It feels more grounded. Whatever this unique energy is, it’s amazing for my work. And that’s why fall has become my favorite season. When the first leaf changes, I’m the first one in line for the fall drinks at Starbucks. I rush home to get out my pumpkin spice candles. I open all the windows in my studio, and get a pumpkin spice candle going. It’s my perfect creative environment. To me, that’s what fall smells like. Pumpkins, pencils, and wet leaves.

During the fall, I’m taking a lot of walks (like spring), because the changing leaves energize me. The crisp, cool air gives me life. I love the way the sun is different in fall. It has a cooler undertone. The way it dances across the colorful leaves is magical. I like the clothes best in fall too. I can’t get enough coats, boots, scarves and hats. And the food is magical. I could eat it year round. The roasted squash, the sage, the soups, and the pies all blanket me in warmth. I also love a good bonfire this time of year. It’s just another excuse for me to bask in that fall energy.

When I’m making art in fall, I feel like I can do anything - like I’m creatively invincible. All the demons I had earlier in the year have taken a back seat. I’m entering a flow state on an almost daily basis. The whole time I’m making work, I feel connected and excited. Every piece that comes out of me is good. It feels revolutionary. When I look back on all my favorite art prints, I made most of them in the fall. The tough thing about fall is it’s over too quickly, as these transitional seasons are. Maybe that’s why they are so magical.

By the time the first snowflake falls, I’m never ready for it. It always feels a bit sad, like a piece of my creative process has died. And then we’re back at winter where we started.

When I think of the seasons over the course of a year, it feels like a song. The intro, winter, is quiet and emotional. The buildup, spring, crescendos in with surprising force. Summer is the interlude of the song, happy and relaxed. And fall is the climax, exciting and full of life. And then the song slows on winter again, when all goes quiet.

I’ve also been thinking of the seasons as a line chart. The two transitional seasons, spring and fall, are short and full of creativity and energy. And winter and summer are longer, and steadier. Summer has a higher energy and winter has a lower energy.

I’ve wished many times to perpetually stay in my favorite season of fall. However, I’ve realized that everything the other seasons bring is what makes fall so magical. The autumn magic is thanks to the reflective period of winter, the experimentation of spring, and the inspiration from summer. All seasons build up to the perfect creative storm.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to appreciate the magic each one of these seasons bring, whether that magic be exciting, painful, or even dull. The cyclical nature of the seasons is pretty beautiful - how I can count on them to come through for me in their own way every year. I can trust that they’ll give me exactly what I need when I need it. All four seasons contribute to my creative process in a unique way. And that’s when the magic happens, when I embrace each season for what it is. When I live in the present season, instead of wishing things were different. This presence practice has made me a better artist.

Feeling gratitude for each season is what I’m focusing on right now, as I’m wrapped up in a blanket, just waiting for the snowstorm of the century to crash land in my backyard.

I hope you all have a joyful and blessed holiday season!