finding peace in winter as an artist with SAD, GAD, and the rest

It’s that time of year again when everything gets shut down from back to back snowstorms, and when the only cloudless source of sunlight I can get is from my roommate’s depression lamp.

That being said, I have found some newfound love for winter time, even as someone with a dose of seasonal depression on top of some pretty severe anxiety; oftentimes, I find that a step outside in freezing temperatures can curb impending panic attacks, and I’ve been using that energy towards shoveling like a maniac every evening this week.

There is something spiritual in the menial and repetitive action of shoveling - I cannot help but to feel connected to Mother Nature or some sort of peaceful, omnipotent companion in the cold night sky. It could be the way I am still processing grief over some tough losses around this time last year (friends who I’d like to think watch over me now), or it could be that 20 degrees kills the brain cells responsible for feeling fear. Sometimes, I really wish I was religious but this feels close enough lately.

Beyond this weird calming sensation I have been experiencing while clearing absolute buttloads of snow from the sidewalk, I have also experienced that it has inspired me to sit down and paint again. In my constant state of posting and doing business-y things, post holiday season is sort of a good time to rekindle the warmth I have for traditional mediums. The artistic inspirations I get from the brisk outdoors are not necessarily visual ones - as I am missing the typically saturated (and alive) colors of nature I incorporate - but visceral ones. It’s a reset button; the heavy snow dampens the sound of the rest of the world, who are all home anyway.

Anywho, I am excited for my current projects and my general wintery outlook in a way that I feel like is unprecedented for me during a January. Is it the new dose of SSRIs or the self-inflicted hypothermia? You tell me.

Reading this back, I realize how much it sounds like I am unhinged antivaxxer type and on shrooms or something. I’m not, I just really want to tell you to go out and shovel sometimes.

my first blog post, live from france

I feel crazed and intelligent in a mad scientist way this evening because my clock is in military time. I am dehydrated as all hell, eating a baguette DRY, and stand-typing at a kitchen counter because I was kicked out of the airbnb bedroom I am sharing with my sister. “Why are you typing so much? What time is it?” I don’t know, my clock is in military time. My friends are very much still active in the group chat right now, so it feels okay.

I have pushed off using this site to blog, as I am first and foremost a very visual person who honestly doesn’t have the patience for any super long form art - even when I paint, I generally plan to finish it on the next day; is this healthy? No! I think it has something to do with the fact that I have monetized my artwork and therefore I’m hardwired with the urge to work quickly - even if it’s something I love - under this capitalistic hellscape we call home. Also, I think my dad may have made me think I was a republican in middle school when my brain was still a little mushy. These topics are for a different time.

Because I have never been much of a journal-er or steady sketchbook keeper due to lack of focus, I’ve found my memory to be absolute garbage. I cannot tell if it is ADHD, social media making me think I have ADHD, social media causing me to have ADHD, or literally because every person has ADHD. Anyway, wouldn’t it be nice to remember the memories that form us through something more tangible and consistent? I think so.

So here we go.

I finally bit the bullet on writing this evening on the first night of our three week long excursion to visit our family in France. The rest of my family sleeps in this half-timbered apartment complex in the heart of Troyes - we’ve traveled for a day and half via planes, trains, automobiles, and foot. We are tired and they are snoring. I have passed the point of the regular amount of awake hours, and I think my brain thinks it’s morning and time to be productive. These topics are for a different time.

I will find a lot of inspiration on this trip because I always do when I visit here - and it’s been five years since we’ve been here last. I have evolved technically but I am not sure how much I have grown as an artist. This is not my way of fishing for compliments (please give me compliments, though), but a way for me to put it in writing that I need to push myself to question my art making practice. I am so lucky to be able to make a living off the things I make, but I find myself feeling nostalgic for art school, when I faced criticism because I was creating work that invited critique.

On this trip, I want to find a way to say something of value, ask myself questions, and find where the aesthetics/mediums I use meet those questions.

I am starting with this blog. I hope I develop the patience to update it regularly, because I have really enjoyed writing to no one this evening. And for now, a cup of lukewarm water before bed.

Your friend,

bisou bisou,

Akasya