Hunting midwinter magic
A very optimistic tree lives outside my studio window. Every winter, at about this time of year, I'll look up one day and find that it has suddenly burst into blossom, like a shower of giggling popcorn rolling about in the gusts of wind and rain.
A very optimistic tree lives outside my studio window. Every winter, at about this time of year, I'll look up one day and find that it has suddenly burst into blossom, like a shower of giggling popcorn rolling about in the gusts of wind and rain.
At the foot of the tree, snowdrops, crocus and daffodil shoots are bravely peeping out from the cold, dark, water-logged earth.
But February can catch you off-guard. Just when you think the first fresh lungfuls of spring might be creeping upon us, this last snatch of winter can throw thundering storms at us, lash us with rain and breathe biting frost across the fields.
So, yeah. It's still winter.
However, in recent years, I've come to relish the gift of introspection, the gentle nourishment of rest, and the magical dream-time that winter brings. As an artist – in fact, I'm sure for anyone – it's very important to restock the well of inspiration, and winter is the perfect time to do this.
Here are some things you could try...
Burn candles and incense
Make your favourite hot drinks, add spices
Invest in a cosy throw blanket
Meet with friends to sit around a crackling fireplace and tell stories
Watch nostalgic movies
Listen to beautiful music that uplifts you
Give yourself permission to rest
Mashed potatoes
Listen to the robins who sing at night this time of year
Hot baths with essential oils
Going for walks during the brightest time of the day
Appreciate winter sunrises on sunny days
Spend more time in your PJs
Take time with your journal to record your dreams, ideas or notions of inspiration
Practice gratitude and generosity to remind you that magic is real… and let me know how you get on.
Pearl
Tree imps in the fog
Walking home last night was almost like being on a beautiful film set.
All around me, everything was twinkling with frost.
My feet crunched on the brick pavement, strangely noisy in the thick silence. A heavy fog had rolled in, like a wash of intense watercolour – china white mixed with a dab of indigo.
The street-lamps shone through the fog like gleaming beacons.
And then I looked up and saw these dancing branches – I thought they looked stunning.
And when I think of them now, I can see them morphing into leaping, giggling, gangly-limbed imps...
Pearl
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A visit from the Snow Queen
I'm not a big fan of the cold.
So when I saw a slew of excited posts about snow in my area on social media, I will admit to a grinch-like inward groan.
But after a few minutes, I went to my door and looked out. There was the snow – proper, fluffy, swirling chunks of it spinning down from the sky, dancing through pools of street lamp light, and falling soundlessly across all the land.
I was surprised to find myself feeling thrilled at the sight of – it really did feel like a magical visit from some kind of winter spirit.
I thought I'd share with you a picture of me as The Snow Queen. Beware strange women in the street offering you Turkish Delight!
Pearl
