It’s 4.10 am. I’m sitting at my desk looking out in darkness since the Sun won’t rise until 7.37 am today. I’ve been wide awake since 2 am. Yes, I’m jet-lagged. Don’t ever take a 9.30 am flight from London to the West Coast of the US—it seriously screws with your body clock.
But it does give me several blissful hours of quiet writing time.
I took this photo from 40,000 ft as we were flying over a place called Uranium City, an old uranium mining town in Saskatchewan, Canada, located on the northern shores of Lake Athabasca. Spectacular, isn’t it?
I Googled Uranium City: It’s a famous Ghost Town, a relic from the Cold War that in the 1950s was a thriving uranium mining community with around 10,000 residents but now has only 50 - 80 inhabitants depending on the time of year. The settlement (it’s no longer large enough to be considered a town) is only accessible via small plane—there are no roads in—and those who are hardy enough to live there wear many hats but I bet none say “artist”.
It’s easy when I’m 100% embedded in the art world—making art, writing art, seeing art, buying art—to become blinkered and lured into thinking that art is everything. It isn’t. To the handful of folks who live in Uranium City, it’s probably nothing. Or maybe I’ve got that wrong and they pass their time creating charcoal sketches of the old, now largely defunct uranium mines, or watercolour paintings of the radioactive waste as it flows towards the Arctic Ocean. Or maybe there’s a photographer living there who documents the weirdly shaped vegetation that sprouts from the contaminated soil. I hope so.
I love art and I love the life it gives me, but I do sometimes wonder what I would be doing now if I hadn’t dedicated the last twenty years or so to a creative practice. I’m tempted sometimes to explore a different side of me. What else am I good at? If I stopped making art, what would I do? What would you do?
Despite my protestations to you to shout loud and regularly about your art, I’m tempted to take 2024 off social media, just so I can explore some alternative lives—like that film with Gwyneth Paltrow, ‘Sliding Doors’. December feels like a transition month towards that: A festive pathway to a portal that offers new energy, new opportunities, and new life.
As a pagan and part of a Druid Order (have I told you that before?), Winter Solstice—Alban Arthan as British Druids call it—is a time of transformation and re-birth. Druids celebrate the return of the Sun after the longest day by burning a Yule log on the fire for twelve days—yes, it has to be a big log! It’s a time for contemplation, burning old habits in the fire and allowing the waxing sunlight to warm new ideas and ways of being into life. It’s a slow and deeply thoughtful time of year that is the antithesis of the modern commercial Christmas with its focus on consumerism, overconsumption, and glitzy decorations.
After twelve days, the Yule log is extinguished, and the ash is collected to spread on the soil in Spring as fertiliser for seeds. In the same way, the Druid emerges from their twelve days of contemplation with the ashes of their old life as sustenance for new ventures. The New Year begins.
I can’t celebrate Yule and make art. Art is an act of energetic creation and Yule is a time of pause and inactivity—The Celts believed the Sun stood still in the sky during the twelve days of Yule. From December 1st, studio activities wane as I gather my Winter provisions around me in preparation for Alban Arthan: candles, holly, dried fruit, spiced wine, firewood, a handmade journal and a pen that feels so good in the hand you never want to tap on a keyboard again.
My art is now a childlike practice of cutting intricate snowflake shapes from salvaged papers, baking salt dough decorations, and attempting my annual challenge of folding origami fir trees. Everything else is put on hold. 2024 planning won’t happen until well after Yule despite the tsunami of “Make 2024 Your Best Year Yet” emails.
Next year can wait. My art practice can wait.
It’s now 6.11 am. Time for another cuppa.
If you’re in the Northern Hemisphere, may these final days of darkness offer you time to dig deep into your soul and nourish your spirit with rest and contemplation. For those of you in the Southern Hemisphere, may these final days of light bring energy, clarity and nourishment as you prepare to enter the darker seasons.
Deep Peace To You
Until next time
JC
PS Private View will look a little different during December. Normal service will be resumed in January.
A couple of interesting resources:
Although it was written in 1994, this travel review of Uranium City is fascinating and so beautifully written that I highly recommend reading it as an example of how to write a travel log.
https://www.outsideonline.com/outdoor-adventure/radioactive-and-here-stay/?scope=anon
This is a lovely read from The Druid’s Garden about embracing the darkness of Winter:
Embracing the Darkness at The Winter Solstice
Lovely contemplative read Jac. I'm always impressed with people who can carve out a life outside of the socials. I think I would be proud of myself if I took it out for a few days a week! Although I must say, diversifying the way I interact online has been so life-giving. I now rarely go to IG. I mostly spend time on discord, substack, marco polo and email. Yes, it's still a lot of digital interaction and I would really love to shift that. But for now, it's still a lifeline and as a mom, I need to take that into account. Peace and love as you journey into the fire. I absolutely love that tradition. I have heard that if you don't have the provisions to burn a log, one can burn an oil lamp that never burns out. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZC7dpQW7P8w
Really interesting read and I never knew about the Yule log. I thought they were pretty cakes 😂 Love the way you write and have signed up.