Making space for what wants to grow . . .

There is something about the smell of spring that brings me back to my garden. Before the first seeds are planted, there is work to be done. Beds must be turned. Debris cleared. Roots untangled. What flourished last spring and summer needs to be gently, sometimes decisively, removed. It can feel like an ending, but it is really another beginning. 

I’ve been feeling this same pull in my studio. Clearing the debris I call it. I am sorting through stacks of artwork, pieces that once felt alive to me but no longer resonate. Letting them go isn’t always easy. Each one holds a moment, a version of myself, a story. But just like in the garden, holding on to everything leaves no room for what is waiting beneath the surface, ready to emerge. So I’ve been clearing. 

I'm clearing out materials I no longer use. Clearing physical space so I can move more freely. But also clearing something less visible, the quiet, persistent noise of doubt. The questions about my work, my direction, even my identity as an artist. Those thoughts get tangled up just like old roots and take space and energy that could be nourishing something new. Spring reminds me that this clearing is not loss. It is preparation. It's creating an opening. 

There is a kind of trust required to dig beneath the surface without yet knowing what will take root. In both my garden and my studio, I am practicing this trust. I am making space. I am turning over what feels unsettled. I am choosing to release what no longer feeds me so that I can discover what might. This is the real work of this season—not just planting seeds, but creating the conditions for possibility. Trusting that beneath the surface, something has already begun. 

I wonder what you might be clearing away this season?