Accepting Impermanence . . .

I recently returned from a 10-day trip to Iceland with Viking Women’s Tours. I traveled with my partner Jude and 10 other women who arrived as strangers and left as something far more than that. Within 24 hours, we became a bonded group of fellow travelers, each with a story to tell and a reason for being on this journey. I believe we were meant to be together for this experience. Our guide, Rakel, named us the “12 Heads.” If you could have seen us, laughing and crying and standing open-armed in front of raging waterfalls, you would understand exactly why. 

The trip was not only about experiencing the magic of Iceland  - hiking on glaciers, walking in lava fields, listening to the ocean on black sand beaches, soaking in natural hot springs, hiking to and feeling the powerful majestic waterfalls and seeing reindeer, horses, puffins, whales, seals and more sheep than people. It was also about my personal and spiritual take a ways. The things I learned about myself, the fears I needed to master and the power of connection that enhanced our journey. Iceland is not a place that lets you stay closed. It cracks you wide open. 

The most significant take away for me was a deep recognition of and acceptance of impermanence in all aspects of life. Everything in Iceland is in motion. Nothing is permanent. Iceland which was formed by a volcano, still sits upon many volcanos that can and do erupt, changing the landscape of the country at any moment in time. Glaciers are receding and creating more waterways and waterfalls. Ice from the glaciers floats in the ocean and lagoons, flips, changes color, and becomes transparent as it makes it way to a “diamond” beach. Puffins come in the summer, nest and take care of their chicks until August when they migrate south. When they return the following summer they rebuild yet again. Sheep traveling in a threesome (mama and two babies) become solo once the babies grow up. Summer offers 24 hours of daylight and winter shares it’s northern lights. 

Iceland reminded me that change is not something to fear; it is what creates beauty. The volcanic eruptions, melting glaciers, migrating animals, changing light, and evolving landscapes are all part of a living, breathing process of transformation. Nothing in Iceland is trying to hold on to what it once was—it is simply becoming. 

I kept thinking about my work, about clay monoprints, about how each layer I press into the clay is a moment that cannot be repeated exactly. How each print reveals a new layer. Iceland made impermanence feel less like a limitation and more like a gift. Nothing stays the same. That is not a tragedy. That is the whole point.  

As an artist, I am learning to bring that same awareness into my creative process. Nothing stays the same from one layer to the next or one moment to another. My job is not to control the outcome, but to listen, adapt, and respond. I need to trust the process, allow the work to reveal itself, and embrace the unexpected turns that lead me somewhere new. Perhaps that is the greatest lesson Iceland offered me: impermanence is not an ending, it is an invitation. It invites us to pay attention, to appreciate what is here now, and to remain open to the beauty of what is still becoming.