— Marv Hiles, An Almanac for the Soul

*The Luminous Corridor |* Oil on wood | 12” x 12” | © Laurie Doctor

This time between Christmas and the New Year has always been a liminal time for me, a time to set down my ambition, my brushes and normal routine. I am reminded once again that awareness needs refreshing, that there is available all around us a source of wisdom and inspiration, if only we can limit the interference. How do I make myself more accessible to — what is your word — the muse, pure being, divine presence, the mystery, god? The something that is both inside us and otherness. Being a maker is my longing for this presence. I think it is what Rilke means when he says: Only in our doing can we grasp you. It is not so much about what we make as it is being an instrument that is ready for song. The instrument needs tuning. The vessel needs emptying. This is the hour of clearing and noticing signs. Yes there are the family and friend celebrations so integral and precious to this season, but the balance of time in silence is what prepares me for the new year. The openness to what wants to come leads me to a new focus for this threshold: listening, reading, walking and arranging.

As many of you know, that last thing, arranging, is also a way of refreshing — making space in the vessel that is me, and making space in my studio. These two vessels, me and my studio, are so important for sowing a sense of presence. Creating an invitation for what is waiting. Letting go of things that I no longer need. Going through old journals, (discovering dream journals going back to teenage years is only slightly alarming!), but the process of arranging is in itself a kind of metamorphosis. Some things I keep and some get thrown into the fire. I have been reading lists of tools writers want to have on their table — some things I haven’t thought of for a long time, like sealing wax…and some things I haven’t heard of, like an ebony ruler. My arranging plan is to have a new set of tools on my clear drawing board and an image of this arrangement for you in my next post.

From my pocket sketchbook | Left: (In my dream I was in a big hurry to get to the classroom; it felt so important. I dashed in and there was a woman sitting calmly at the head of the room who said: *Stop all the hurry. Someone is waiting who cares nothing about time.*) Right: *Arranging |* Arcylic, thread and graphite | © Laurie Doctor

I also have a five-year diary — which means there is only a small space, just over an inch high, for each entry on the page — and this is my “noticing book.” It sits by the window looking out on my very small meditation garden, bird house, bird feeder and chimes that sit above the creek. It is satisfying to notice and jot down any small thing, and to have a window and an observation chair to return to each day. No matter what the view out your window is, there are things to notice in every season, from every window. Just now an Eastern Towhee showed up for his winter visit.

From my pocket sketchbook: *Out my window |* Left: December 2024 | Right: July 2024 | © Laurie Doctor

It is that time of year when we get to re-vitalize and re-orient ourselves with new choices. Someone said the best way to cultivate a new habit is to tie it to an old one. It’s never too late. I have finally begun flossing my teeth not haphazardly, but each morning! This happened after my dental assistant chastised me and I realized I could tie flossing to the daily habit of waiting four minutes while my French press coffee brews.

With so few real boundaries left for uninterrupted time, and the onslaught of unlimited input, what does it mean to curate what comes in? How do we make this kind of boundary when our gadgets are so tied with safety, health, habit and relationship? There are not many places left on this planet where you cannot be reached, and I think not so many who wish to have times of being unreachable. This is the new frontier, having times when we cannot be found. This can be created by making a decision, wherever I am, to make a sacred space and time, a place where the biggest interrupter (myself) cannot be interrupted.

I have picked up Rick Rubin’s book again, The Creative Act: A Way of Being. He poses this thought: What happens if you choose to read classic literature every day for a year, instead of the news? This kind of choice is fuel for the maker, regardless of your craft. Patterns — visual, and also in the habits we make — can create such a sense of agency and imagination. This is the simplest way I know to cultivate the experience of having “lived a life and not just done this and that.”

What new habit do you want to cultivate? Who do you want to spend time with, who lifts you up? What are you tossing out? What are you reading? I’d love to hear from you.

I am delighted to introduce our Featured Artist and new studio manager, Kay Johnson! Some of you know her. See her work and writing here.