None of the words are coming this week. I go for walks and they come in sparks and fumes out of the cars on the road. I chase them out of the house and into the trees and up the back deck where I sit everyday except when its too hot or it rained or its better to sit inside or different stories I tell myself about the perfect working conditions required for proliferation.
I forgot how much I loved fairies. As a child my mum pasted the flower fairies around the top of my bedroom, i’d stare up at them at night knowing they’d dance in protection circles around my head while I slept. Somewhere between now and then I forgot about fairies. I forgot magic exists. That it can be found when you climb into the bushes and declare magic is present simply by staying open to the possibility of your best friend becoming 4 inches tall and speaking in langues you didn’t know you knew until the spell was cast.
I’ve been saying “I am writing a book” for weeks, months now and it never gets less embarrassing. The internet likes to call it cringey but lets just call a spade a spade and say it’s extremely vulnerable to say what we are creating, or to create at all. The type of cringe that makes you want to disappear into the void and stand tall in front of the dragon at once. The polarity of energy able to power armies and suck you into the void all at once. Continued vulnerability in our creations is required to pull anything out of a draft folder but hard to sustain in action. The exhaustion that comes from fairy hunting is admirable at best and exhausting to cry under the covers (again) at worst.
But I still believe in fairies. I believe in magic.
Knowing that getting older is remembering what 8, 12, 16, year old us found extremely cool. That lime green and hot pink are objectively the best colours, you have never loved or will never love as hard or as much as the harry styles poster on your bedroom wall and that fairies are real and you can find them if you listen closer and get smaller. You go for walks and chase the thread of the idea, you keep it moving and know that writing never happens in front of a computer and painting doesn’t happen in front of a canvas and that creation is always found the closer we get to a tree.
Magic always exists if you stay open to the channel.
FINDINGS 🗺️
Natalie never misses but this mind witchery episode 🤯
My sweet loves
latest substack on drawing in fields and from lifeArtist Dorothea Rockburne in her studio talking about painting
Latest essay on Grey Gardens, Grief and my Grandma out now 🥰 this particular moment is how I feel leaving the house The Best Costume For Today
big love
Phoebe