Scorpio Season in the Studio: Creative Alchemy & Transformation

Abstract mixed-media: layered textures of paint, thread, and paper forming a circular mandala or spiral. One half is dark and moody (Scorpio), the other warm and luminous (Beltaine). Symbols of the moon, sun, and water subtly appear in the design.

Hello creative alchemists,

Welcome to the Libra New Moon edition of The Art Witch Journal and to a full turn of the wheel.

A year ago, I began this journey beneath the same sky, not knowing where it would lead. What began as a simple act of staying connected to my art through the cycles has become something deeper, a practice of creative alchemy, ritual, and remembering.

This edition feels like both a return and a renewal, a gentle invitation to begin again, with all the wisdom this past year has offered.

Cuppa & Catch Up: Reflections on a Year of Creative Alchemy

It’s hard to believe it’s been a full year since I began this blog. My very first post was published on the Libra New Moon and now, here we are again, circling back to where it all began.

In the early days, I shared new and full moon reflections, but as we descended into the darker half of the year, I slowed my rhythm. I began focusing on the new moon, creating deeper, more intentional editions and so, The Art Witch Journal was born. The full moon updates continued over on Facebook through my Cycles of Craft deep dives, where I explored the planetary movements and their influence on our creative and spiritual cycles.

This year also saw the birth of my Art Witch Musings, a seven-part series exploring my practice of Art Witchery: where art becomes ritual, resistance, and spiritual inquiry. Across each chapter, I journeyed through liminal spaces, symbolism, disability, alchemy, dreamwork, and the unseen currents that shape my creative process. It has become part memoir, part manifesto, and part spell for becoming.

I began this project after being discharged from hospital, as a way to continue my art practice when I could no longer pursue my studies. It became my way of staying connected, of working out what art looked like for me now, in this new body and new life. That’s still something I’m discovering.

Lately though, I’ve felt a disconnection from my art and my spirituality, a kind of creative numbness, so I’m tracing my way back to what once ignited that spark. I’m returning to the magical space where the occult, the esoteric, and creativity intertwine. I want to reconnect with the sense of wonder I felt at art school, when art and spirit spoke the same language.

I’m revisiting the artists who first inspired me: Hilma af Klint, Georgiana Houghton, Rosaleen Norton. I’m delving back into the teachings of Helena Blavatsky and Annie Besant, exploring the worlds of Occult and Symbolist Art. It feels like a return to my creative roots and, perhaps, the beginning of something new.

As this cycle around the sun comes to a close (my birthday is next month!), I’ve been reflecting on how much I’ve outgrown my old life. My body works differently now, and I’m learning how to fit into the world again, how a disabled artist, and Witch, shows up. First for myself, and then for the world. I’ve been exploring ways to infuse my everyday life with magic again, finding the small rituals that help me feel connected, grounded, and whole.

Alongside all this deep contemplation, I’ve also started venturing out more, which has been huge for me. I’ve begun using community transport for appointments, a big step toward reclaiming my independence. I’ve been learning how to navigate public transport and taxis with my electric wheelchair and adjusting to this new rhythm of movement.

I even attended an art workshop at the local community house, my first in quite a while, and it felt wonderful to spend time creating with others again. I’ve also made two trips to the NGV this month: first for the Kimono exhibition, and later to see the French Impressionists. That second trip was especially special, I took the train in, met friends, saw beautiful art, and went out for dinner before meeting my driver to come home.

I also had my first hydrotherapy session in months, I’d forgotten how much this Scorpio needs the water. In the pool, I feel free again; the water holds me, allowing movement that my body can’t manage on land.

Closer to home, our community garden is thriving. I love rolling down to pick something fresh for dinner or grabbing a handful of herbs to make a cuppa. These small moments bring so much joy and connection to my days.

I also have some exciting news, my new piece “Suspended” has been accepted into this year’s Summer Show! I can’t wait to share more about it soon. The work explores the theme of coercive control, and I’ve launched a petition calling on the Victorian Government to make it a criminal offence. I’d love your support in signing and sharing it.

It’s been a big month, and an even bigger year. I still feel like I’m in this liminal in-between space, unsure exactly what my next steps look like. But for the first time in a long while, I feel ready to start finding out.

What does that mean for The Art Witch Journal and my other offerings? I’m not quite sure yet. I can feel change is in the air and I’d love for you to come along on the journey with me.

Art Witch Musings: The Alchemy of Creation and the Turning of the Wheel

Chapter Seven

The artwork is not the beginning. It is the residue of a long alchemical process; the ashes left behind after something invisible has burned itself into being. By the time a piece reaches the wall, it has already lived a thousand quiet lives. It has been dreamt, dissolved, forgotten, reimagined, layered, and reborn. It carries every fragment of the journey that brought it here. In this sense, the finished work is not a product. It’s a record. A relic. A witness. The visible evidence of an unseen pilgrimage. What the viewer sees is only the surface; beneath it lies the compost of emotion, intuition, and ritual that shaped it into form.

I’ve always felt that art-making is a kind of conjuring, a process of calling something from the invisible into the material world. But what comes through is not always what I expect. The act of creation often feels like holding open a doorway, letting something ancient and wordless speak through pigment, thread, texture, and symbol. I do not control it. I collaborate with it.

Each work begins as a whisper: a colour that won’t leave me alone, a recurring dream, a line of poetry, a symbol that keeps reappearing in my periphery. These small obsessions become anchors. They draw me in. They ask to be made visible. I move through the process like ritual, slowly, deliberately, with reverence. Materials are chosen intuitively. I let them speak. Sometimes a piece demands to be rough, unpolished, unfinished. Other times it calls for precision and layering, as though each mark is sealing a spell. What matters most is that I listen. That I allow the piece to tell me when it’s ready, or when it needs more time in the dark. In truth, the artwork and I transform together. Every creation reshapes me, as surely as I shape it. We meet in the middle, me, the maker, and the work, the mirror. Between us lies the threshold where meaning is born.

When the piece finally leaves the studio, it carries with it the imprint of all that it has absorbed: my thoughts, my body, my breath, my pain, my tenderness, my resistance, my devotion. It carries the energy of the symbols, the moon cycles, the dreams, the spells, the long nights of listening. To stand before the work is to stand before the echo of all that unseen labour. I think of each piece as a kind of altar, something that holds space for what words cannot contain. They are offerings to the collective, to the invisible, to the great mystery that animates all creative life. They are portals through which others might glimpse what I have glimpsed. There is humility in this process.

Once the work is finished, it no longer belongs to me. It belongs to the world, to whoever meets it with open eyes. It continues to evolve in the gaze of others; in the energy of spaces, it inhabits. Like any living thing, it changes with time, light, and perception.

This is the strange paradox of being an artist-witch: the making is intimate, solitary, inward, but the result is an act of offering, a reaching outward. What was once private becomes public. What was once alchemy becomes artifact. To release the work is both loss and liberation, but that is the nature of cycles. Creation, transformation, release, rest. The wheel turns again. The artwork is not the end of the journey, but a threshold into the next one. Each finished piece is a seed for what comes after, a signal from the unseen that the conversation continues. So, it does.

Even now, as I sit with words instead of paint, the winter that wrapped around me like a cloak, I can feel the next work stirring beneath the surface. It waits in the silence, patient and knowing. When the time is right, it will emerge, carrying with it everything I’ve learned, everything I’ve shed, everything I’ve dreamed. When it does, I will meet it once again at the threshold, maker, medium, witness, ready to begin the ritual anew.

Epilogue:

The Turning of the Wheel, every cycle ends where it began, in the quiet. The threshold that opened months ago now begins to close, not with finality, but with a deep exhale. The words, the art, the slow revelations of this season have all been part of one long conversation with the unseen. Now, as winter loosens her hold, I can feel the faint hum of something shifting beneath the surface. This work, these chapters, this unfolding, has been an act of devotion. A listening. A mapping of the unseen landscapes that shape both art and life. Each piece of writing has been a spell of its own, a reflection of the cycles that govern not just the natural world, but the creative one too.

As I look back across this body of work, I see it for what it truly is: a record of becoming. Each chapter carried a piece of my voice, a fragment of my practice, a seed of my transformation. They form a constellation of moments that speak to the rhythm of living and creating in alignment with something larger than myself. Now, the energy begins to turn again. I can feel it in my bones, in that subtle stirring that comes before a new season, before a new chapter of life and art. I don’t yet know what form it will take, and that’s the beauty of it. Mystery is a necessary companion to creation. The unknown is fertile ground.

So, I close this cycle with gratitude, for the stillness that held me, for the magic that revealed itself through the quiet, for the way art continues to find me even in the dark. The wheel turns. The next season waits. And I, once again, stand at the threshold.

An Art Witches Studio

Little Witchy Things: Everyday Rituals for Balance, Renewal & Transformation

The Alchemy of the In-Between

This cycle invites us to linger at the threshold, that liminal space between endings and beginnings where art, intuition, and transformation quietly converse. Creation doesn’t always arrive as a burst of inspiration; sometimes it hums beneath the surface, asking only that we listen. The following practices are ways to honour that quiet alchemy, to nurture your connection with the unseen as it moves through your daily life.

Begin by noticing what is shifting within you. Libra season asks for balance, while Scorpio teaches us to surrender. Between them lies a subtle point of transformation, a moment to breathe before the next becoming. You might mark this by creating a small altar or workspace that mirrors that balance: light and dark objects side by side, soft and textured materials sharing space. Let it be a reflection of your own in-between state, a visual echo of your unfolding.

You can also tend your creative flame through acts of gentle devotion. Before you begin any creative work, pause to acknowledge the unseen labour already woven into your art, the ideas dreamt, the emotions composted, the invisible threads that brought you here. A simple bow of the head, a hand over your heart, or the lighting of a candle is enough. These small recognitions anchor your practice in reverence.

As the Sun moves into Scorpio, allow water to become your teacher. Creativity, like emotion, needs movement to stay alive. Stir a bowl of water clockwise before beginning your work, imagining it awakening your inner current. When you’re finished, pour it out under the sky in gratitude. This act reminds you that release is as sacred as creation, that every piece, every season, must one day flow back to the source.

Around Beltaine, when the air warms and the earth hums with new life, invite pleasure back into your process. Choose materials that delight your senses, colours you love, textures that feel alive beneath your fingers. Let joy be your offering to the fire of creation. Beltaine reminds us, that art, too, is an act of desire, a way of saying yes to being here, in this body, on this earth.

Finally, as the Taurus Full Moon rounds the cycle, return to your body. Rest your hands on your lap, close your eyes, and feel the quiet pulse of your own life. This is where all creation begins, not in striving, but in remembering that you are part of the rhythm. Let this be your ritual of renewal: a moment of stillness that says, I am ready for what comes next.

Artist of the Season: Claude Cahun – Transformation, Identity & Creative Rebellion

Claude Cahun (1894 – 1954)

Born Lucy Schwob on October 25, 1894, in Nantes, France, Claude Cahun was an artist, writer, and performer whose work blurred the boundaries between identity and illusion, masculine and feminine, self and shadow. She adopted the gender-neutral name Claude Cahun in her early twenties, signalling a lifelong rejection of fixed categories. From the beginning, her life and art were acts of transformation, a quality that makes her an ideal muse for Scorpio season, a time of shedding skins and revealing deeper truths.

Cahun grew up in an intellectual Jewish family connected to the publishing world, her uncle was the Symbolist writer Marcel Schwob, and her father ran a newspaper. As a teenager she began writing essays that questioned social norms and photographed herself in theatrical guises: a boy, a saint, a doll, a dandy. These early images foreshadowed the themes that would define her life’s work, metamorphosis, defiance, and the search for an authentic self beneath imposed identities.

In 1909 she met Suzanne Malherbe, who became both her life partner and artistic collaborator. Malherbe later adopted the pseudonym Marcel Moore, and together they formed one of the most fascinating creative partnerships of the twentieth century. Their bond transcended the boundaries of romance, art, and activism, an alchemical fusion of two souls devoted to freedom of expression. The pair moved to Paris in the early 1920s, immersing themselves in avant-garde circles that included André Breton, Man Ray, and other Surrealists and Dadaists. Although never fully embraced by those male-dominated movements, Cahun shared their fascination with the unconscious and the dream world, yet her approach was distinctly personal and political.

Her photographic self-portraits, produced mainly between the 1910s and 1930s, are now considered precursors to contemporary performance and conceptual art. In them, Cahun stages herself as multiple beings, androgynous, masked, vulnerable, confrontational, challenging the viewer’s gaze and dismantling the certainty of gender. Each image is a ritual of transformation, an invocation of the inner and outer selves in dialogue. Her written works, including Aveux non Avenus (“Disavowals,” 1930), blend autobiography, manifesto, and prose-poetry, rejecting the idea of a singular, stable identity.

In the 1930s, Cahun and Moore left Paris for Jersey, one of the Channel Islands, seeking a quieter life. Then, when the Nazis occupied the island during World War II, the two women turned their creativity into resistance. Using pseudonyms, they produced and distributed anti-Nazi leaflets, surrealist collages of text and image meant to demoralise the occupiers. Arrested in 1944, they were sentenced to death, but the war ended before the sentence was carried out. Their courage and subversive imagination exemplify Scorpio’s shadow-side strength: fearless, strategic, and transformative even in the face of destruction.

After the war, Cahun’s health declined, and she died in 1954. For decades her work was largely forgotten, overshadowed by the Surrealists she had influenced but never fully joined. It wasn’t until the 1980s that her photographs were rediscovered and celebrated for their radical exploration of identity and resistance. Today, Claude Cahun stands as a visionary figure whose work bridges art and activism, ritual and rebellion, a forerunner of queer and feminist art who made her own life a spell of transformation.

Claude Cahun feels like the perfect companion for this Scorpio season, an artist who understood transformation not as metaphor, but as lived truth. Through her lens, identity became ritual; self-portraiture became an act of rebellion. Scorpio teaches us to strip away illusion and confront what lies beneath, and Cahun embodied that descent with fearless devotion.

Her work invites us to ask: Who am I beneath the masks I wear? In her shifting forms, we glimpse a kind of creative alchemy, the courage to dissolve and re-emerge, again and again, truer each time. As the wheel turns and we emerge into the light half of the year, Cahun reminds us that the process of becoming visible often begins in the shadows.

Art Journal Prompt: The Threshold Between Worlds – Exploring Change & Becoming

The Threshold Between Worlds

This cycle invites you to explore the spaces between, between endings and beginnings, shadow and light, seen and unseen.

In your art journal, create a page that reflects your own threshold moment.

• What are you shedding?

• What are you stepping toward?

Use mixed media to layer these ideas, perhaps collage two contrasting images or colours to represent what was and what is emerging.

Write a single sentence or phrase that feels like your guiding spell for this next chapter.

Art Witch Desk and open Journal

Cycles of Craft: Libra New Moon to Taurus Full Moon – Astrology for Creative Flow

As the Libra New Moon rises on October 21st, we begin a new creative cycle under the sign of balance, beauty, and renewal. This is the Moon that asks us to soften into harmony, to find equilibrium between giving and receiving, doing and being. It’s a tender reminder that artistry, like life, flourishes when we move from a place of grace and inner peace.

That same night, the Orionid meteor shower lights the sky as Mercury and Mars meet in conjunction, igniting sparks of communication and action. Words become wands, thoughts become catalysts, and ideas rush forward with clarity and urgency. This is a moment to speak your truth, to write, paint, or craft from instinct, but also to pause before reacting. The stars are alive with movement; choose yours with intention.

By October 22nd, the Sun slips into Scorpio, guiding us deeper into the realm of shadow and transformation. Here, creation becomes alchemy, a descent into the underworld of feeling, mystery, and magic. Scorpio season asks for honesty and depth: to shed old skins, to honour what’s dying away, and to create from the raw, untamed parts of ourselves.

As Beltaine approaches, here in the Southern Hemisphere, celebrated on October 31st but astronomically falling on November 8th, the earth hums with life. It is a festival of passion, pleasure, and creative fire, the dance of desire made manifest. This turning of the Wheel celebrates fertility and the blooming of ideas sown in earlier months. It is an invitation to move, to make, and to celebrate the joy of being alive in your body and your craft.

On November 4th, Mars enters Sagittarius, shifting our creative flame from introspection to exploration. After Scorpio’s depth, this transit brings expansion and vision, a wild spark that seeks adventure and truth. Follow curiosity wherever it leads; it may guide you to new mediums, fresh inspiration, or unexpected collaborations.

Finally, the Full Moon in Taurus on November 6th steadies the pulse of all this change. Grounded and sensuous, this lunar light invites us to slow down and savour what we’ve cultivated. Taurus reminds us that art, like the body, needs care and consistency. Celebrate what has bloomed, your progress, your persistence, and the quiet beauty of your becoming.

We have a busy couple of weeks in the sky coming up, make sure you’re following me over on facebook for more in-depth reports.                                                                            

A circular seasonal collage representing the journey from the Libra New Moon to the Taurus Full Moon. Half the image glows with warm Beltaine light, flowers, sunlight, and creative fire, while the other half rests in Scorpio’s mystery, dark water, moonlight, and shadow. Subtle symbols of balance, transformation, and renewal appear around the circle: the moon phases, stars, and botanical motifs. Soft, ethereal, and textured, blending earthy tones with gold, rose, and indigo.

Scorpio Season in the Studio: Witchy, Sultry, Moody Tunes for Creative Transformation

The vibe for this month’s playlist, Scorpio Season in the Studio, a potion of old and new to keep the creative cauldron simmering. Expect witchy, sultry, moody textures and a heartbeat you can work to: Fleetwood Mac’s steady spellcraft, Patti Smith’s raw incantations, Lorde’s lunar pop, Florence + The Machine’s fever-dream swell, and more shadows-and-spark in between. It’s music for thresholds and late night making, a soundtrack to slip you into deep focus, soft rebellion, and slow-burn devotion while the season does its alchemy.

Closing the Circle & the Cycle: Reflections on Transformation & the Turning Year

As we close this Libra New Moon edition of The Art Witch Journal, the wheel continues to turn. The air carries the first whispers of Scorpio’s depth, and the earth begins to warm with Beltaine’s promise. It’s a season of balance tipping into transformation, a reminder that endings are never endings at all, only doorways to new beginnings.

This cycle invites us to move slowly, to trust the unseen process of becoming. Whether you’re resting, dreaming, or creating, know that your art and your life are always in motion, even in stillness. Honour the quiet stages of your journey. Let your rituals be gentle, your intentions soft, and your creativity guided by curiosity rather than certainty.

Over the coming weeks, I’ll share more reflections and updates over on my facbook page with Cycles of Craft, where we’ll explore Scorpio season, Mars in Sagittarius, and the grounding magic of the Taurus Full Moon. Little Witchy Things will be continuing over on the socials too. I am experimenting with Substack at the moment so I will continue to share things over there but will keep you posted on the Instagram when I do this. You can also get 25% off over at my Redbubble Store too, there’s still time to grab something in time for Halloween.

Until next time, may your art be your ritual, your rest your devotion, and your days woven with quiet magic.

 A Note on the Imagery

Some of the images in this journal are created using AI-assisted tools. As a disabled artist living with chronic health conditions, I use AI as part of my creative process, a way to visualise ideas that my body can’t always physically bring to life. It allows me to keep imagining, storytelling, and sharing my vision when traditional studio work isn’t always possible. Every image is still part of my craft, guided by my words, intuition, and artistic direction, another form of creative alchemy that helps me stay connected to my art and community.

October Art Witch Journal: Creative Symbolism

Art Witch Desk covered in Art Supplies and Journals

Hello creative alchemists,

As the new moon rises and we step into October’s shifting tides, I welcome you into this month’s Art Witch Journal. This is our gathering place, a moment to pause, breathe, and align with the unseen threads that weave through art, magic, and daily life.

This season brings both balance and intensity: eclipses, equinox energy, super moons, and the steady hum of transformation beneath it all. It feels like standing at a threshold, one foot in shadow and one in light, asked to trust the flow while holding close what truly matters.

Wherever you are reading this in your studio, curled up with a cuppa, or catching a quiet moment between the busyness of life, may these words offer reflection, nourishment, and inspiration for your own practice.

Grab a cuppa and settle in.

Cuppa & Catch Up - Personal Reflections, Community Connections, and Studio Life

This past month has been a challenging one for me personally. I’ve been navigating a flare-up of symptoms that has kept me away from the studio, making it hard to show up for my own practice and live up to the routines I share here. Some days, simply being present with my art has felt like too much, and that has been a tough space to sit with.

On the practical side, I’ve finally managed to arrange community transport to get me to and from appointments in my wheelchair. The logistics have been tricky, but I’m hopeful that this will make life a little smoother going forward.

One bright spot has been the Gardening sessions at our Community Garden. These have been nourishing in more ways than one, feeding both my soul and my diet. There’s something deeply grounding about wheeling down to pick fresh produce and bringing it back to my apartment to cook on the spot. The chance to connect with other residents has been equally precious. Living with a disability and chronic health issues can be isolating, so this sense of community has been incredibly important.

I’ve also been planning a piece for the Merri-bek Summer Show. The theme is Love in Crisis. I had hoped to submit my Kintsugi of the Soul collection, but works must have been completed in 2025, so I’m now creating something entirely new. Watch this space!

I’m hoping to attend an Art Workshop at the local community house this week as well. Like the gardening group, it’s a space where I can connect with others, share ideas, and feel that sense of creative community that is so important. It’s one of the benefits of living in Women’s Housing; they recognise the value of community and connection.

On a more personal note, I had the joy of attending my granddaughter’s school play last week. It had been a while since I’d spent time with them, and it was wonderful to share in the fun and excitement of the production. With school holidays now underway, I’m looking forward to spending a couple more days with them later this week.

Art Witch Musings – Chapter Six

Navigating the Unseen: Symbols, Dreamwork, and Creative Alchemy

Even in months when the studio feels far away, the unseen currents of creativity are still flowing. Beneath the surface of everyday life, beneath the brushstrokes and the clay, the threads of the unseen hum steadily, insistently. They are currents older than time, older than thought, older than words. They move in cycles, in symbols, in the cadence of dreams, and in the alchemy of transformation. To step into them is to step sideways from the ordinary world and into a liminal rhythm where intuition, instinct, and insight are the only guides.

For me, these currents are both map and companion. Theosophy, the occult, and esoteric study are not dusty relics of the past, they are languages of connection, tools for navigating the invisible. They are lenses that allow me to read the patterns of the world and the symbols hidden within it. Although, I do not follow tradition blindly. I do not worship text over intuition, nor ritual over revelation. I enter these currents as a conversation: I bring my body, my energy, my attention, and I ask questions. Answers come not in lectures or words, but in images that appear in dreams, in repeated shapes, in subtle shifts of energy or light, in the pull of colour or texture.

Symbols are the language through which my work listens and speaks. A spiral scratched into clay, a streak of gold across a page, a thread twisted through fabric, they are both vessel and key. They hold memory, intention, and magic. I pay attention to how symbols appear, how they echo across media, across time, across the liminal spaces where my art breathes. In this way, my work becomes a spell of observation, a meditation, a translation of the unseen into form.

Dream work is central to this practice. Dreams do not simply inspire; they instruct. They guide the rhythm of the studio, the selection of materials, the shape of a piece yet unborn. Archetypes rise from the unconscious, bringing both comfort and challenge, and I engage with them as I would with a trusted companion. I transcribe, sketch, and mark their presence. I honour their messages by letting them shape the work without forcing clarity, without insisting on literal interpretation.

Spiritual alchemy informs every aspect of my process. Not the sort that promises gold or power in the worldly sense, but the inner alchemy of transformation, the transmutation of pain into image, fatigue into texture, isolation into communion. I work in stages of dissolution and recombination, layering and un-layering, allowing materials to speak their own truths. My studio is the alchemist’s lab; my hands, the instruments; my attention, the fire that transforms raw matter into something charged with meaning.

The sacred feminine flows through this practice as both lineage and guiding principle. I trace the unrecorded histories of women who practiced magic in secret, who wove spells into daily life, who left traces in textiles, herbals, and symbols. I do not attempt to reconstruct them; instead, I commune with their echoes, threading their presence into my work. It emerges in texture, in repetition, in rhythm. It emerges in the reverence with which I approach each material, each mark, each gesture.

Magic, in my practice, is inseparable from politics. To wield knowledge, to honour unseen forces, to embody a form of wisdom that refuses erasure, this is resistance. Every mark I make is a declaration that the unseen matters, that women’s voices matter, that disability, intuition, and devotion are not optional; they are radical. The magic of art is a reclamation of agency, a quiet revolution enacted in studio corners and liminal spaces.

Symbols, alchemy, and dreamwork converge to create pieces that are both talisman and testimony. Each work carries residue of the unseen currents, the layered conversations between self and other, visible and invisible, spirit and matter. A piece is never merely a painting or sculpture; it is a spell cast in devotion to insight, transformation, and the honouring of thresholds. It is a record of time spent listening, noticing, and translating.

Yet, even as the work takes form, the process continues. The studio is never silent. The currents keep moving. The symbols speak anew with every glance, every touch. I am always reading, always attuning, always engaged in the slow, recursive dance that is my practice.

This chapter of work, this weaving of occult, spiritual, and symbolic threads, is not an end, nor a revelation fully realised. It is a living continuum, a meditation, a conversation with forces that do not rush. It is devotion embodied, patience enshrined, and the subtle, profound acknowledgment that art, at its most potent, is not separate from life, magic, or the sacred.

To work in this way is to stand at a threshold. To be both maker and medium. To trust that the unseen will inform the seen, and that the act of creation itself is a spell that shapes not only the work but the artist, and perhaps, in some small way, the world around them.

Art Witch Desk with Oracle Cards, Journal and Cuppa

Artist of the Season – Faith Ringgold

Story Quilts, Resistance, and the Power of Visual Narrative

This season I’m honouring the extraordinary Libran artist, author, and activist Faith Ringgold (1930–2024). Born and raised in Harlem, New York, Ringgold grew up surrounded by creativity, her mother was a fashion designer, her father a storyteller and it was in this environment that her lifelong relationship with fabric, colour, and narrative first began. She went on to study art and education at City College of New York, later teaching while developing a practice that would weave together painting, quilting, sculpture, performance, and writing.

Ringgold’s work is uncompromising in its honesty and deeply generous in its vision. Her early series, The American People (1963–67), painted at the height of the civil rights movement, reflects directly on racial violence, social upheaval, and the fight for equality. Perhaps the most famous piece from this series, American People #20: Die (1967), is a searing portrayal of chaos, grief, and resilience. It remains one of the most striking works of the 20th century, a raw and urgent call to witness.

From the 1980s onwards, Ringgold turned increasingly to her now-iconic story quilts. Works like Tar Beach (1988) blend painting, pieced fabric, and hand-written text to tell stories of Black family life, dreams, and freedom. Quilting, historically dismissed as “women’s work”, became a radical medium in her hands, transforming domestic craft into political and spiritual art. These quilts are visual talismans, carrying both ancestral memory and imaginative flight. Tar Beach was later adapted into a children’s book, ensuring her vision could be shared across generations.

Her creative reach didn’t stop there. Ringgold wrote children’s books such as Aunt Harriet’s Underground Railroad in the Sky and My Dream of Martin Luther King, as well as her memoir, We Flew Over the Bridge. Across every form she touched, the same threads run through resistance, storytelling, visibility, and transformation.

For me, what makes Ringgold so resonant this season is how her art stands at the threshold of the visible and invisible. She gave form to what was often silenced or unseen, the lived experiences of Black women, the resilience of communities, the power of dreams. Her quilts and paintings blur the boundaries between art and craft, personal and political, memory and imagination. They remind me that art is both a ritual of remembrance and a spell of becoming.

Faith Ringgold’s legacy is a reminder that our creativity is never separate from our politics, our healing, or our spiritual work. Her practice shows us that we can take the most ordinary of materials, fabric, thread, story and charge them with power, beauty, and resistance. This season, I’m carrying her lesson that art can hold memory, demand justice, and imagine liberation all at once.

 Art Journal Prompt - Symbols as Thresholds

Exploring Your Dreams and Symbols Through Visual Journaling

This month, I invite you to explore the symbols that appear in your own life as guides and thresholds.

Think of Faith Ringgold’s story quilts, each image, colour, and fragment of fabric becomes more than material; it becomes memory, resistance, and imagination stitched into form. In your own journal, allow symbols to emerge in the same way: not as static images, but as living companions.

Begin by reflecting on a recent dream, repeated shape, or recurring image that has caught your attention. Don’t overthink it, it might be a spiral, a bird, a doorway, a piece of fabric, or even a phrase someone spoke.

On your page, translate this symbol into visual form. You could draw it, collage it, stitch it, or layer colours and textures until it takes shape. Let it repeat, fragment, or morph. Allow the materials themselves to guide you, just as alchemy transforms one state into another.

Once the image is there, sit with it and ask:

·         What threshold does this symbol represent?

·         What am I leaving behind, and what am I stepping toward?

·         How does this image balance the visible and invisible in my life right now?

Write a few lines alongside your work, not as an explanation but as a conversation, the beginning of a dialogue with the unseen currents moving through your own creative practice.

Remember: this isn’t about creating a polished piece. It’s about listening, noticing, and honouring the subtle languages that want to speak through you.

Art Journal Prompt

Little Witchy Things

Practical Magic for Daily Life and Creative Connection

As we move into this new month, I’ve gathered a few small practices to help you attune to the subtle currents of life and creativity. These are gentle invitations to notice, reflect, and bring magic into everyday moments.

One way to connect with the unseen is by mapping your currents. Pay attention to recurring symbols, sensations in your body, or patterns in your dreams. Capture them in a journal, sketchbook, or with simple shapes and colours. By observing these threads, you strengthen your awareness of the energies guiding your creativity and life.

Another practice is embodying intention in ordinary actions. Whether you’re washing dishes, brewing tea, or watering a plant, infuse the moment with presence, gratitude, or a whispered intention. These small, mindful acts transform everyday routines into threads of magic, grounding you in the rhythm of life and creativity.

You can also explore symbolic offerings. Choose a small object, a stone, feather, leaf, or ribbon, that resonates with your current energy or aspiration. Hold it, notice its texture, colour, and weight, and place it somewhere meaningful in your home, studio, or altar. Let it serve as a reminder of the energy you wish to cultivate this month.

Finally, listen to your dreams as collaborators in your creative practice. Before sleep, set an intention or ask a question. Upon waking, note any images, symbols, or impressions. Allow these messages to inspire your art, journaling, or daily reflections. Dreams are guides that speak in a language of texture, colour, and subtle energy, pay attention, and they will inform your creative path.

Art Witch Desk

Cycles of Craft - Libra Season, Eclipses, and Astrological Guidance for October

We enter Libra Season with a bang! The month begins under the Solar Eclipse and Spring Equinox on September 21 and 22, a powerful alignment that invites both reflection and renewal. The eclipse asks us to trust ourselves and our inner guidance, while the equinox brings the balance of light and dark, marking a perfect moment to plant seeds for what we wish to grow over the coming months. Together, these energies set the stage for intentional creation, grounding, and alignment.

On September 24, Mars enters Scorpio, bringing a deep, focused intensity to our actions and desires. Mars in Scorpio encourages us to move with determination, dive beneath the surface of situations, and confront what we’ve been avoiding. This energy can fuel transformation, but it asks for patience and trust in the process, rather than forcing outcomes.

Looking ahead, October 7 brings a Super Full Moon in Aries, illuminating our passions, courage, and personal drives. This is a moment of heightened energy and clarity, a chance to release what no longer serves and step more fully into your authentic power. Around the same time, Mercury enters Scorpio, sharpening intuition, deepening conversations, and encouraging us to communicate with honesty, insight, and emotional depth.

On October 13, Venus moves into Libra, softening our relationships and interactions with harmony, beauty, and grace. This energy highlights diplomacy, self-care in partnership, and the art of finding balance within connection. It’s a gentle reminder that nurturing others begins with nurturing ourselves.

Finally, the New Moon in Libra on October 21 offers a fresh start in alignment with balance, fairness, and creative partnership. This lunar cycle invites reflection on where harmony is needed in our lives and what intentions we wish to cultivate as we move toward the light half of the year. It is a time to plant seeds, both in art and life, trusting that what we sow now will grow into meaningful, radiant expression.

New Moon, Eclipse, Equinox

Oracle Insights - Tuning Into Your Own Balance and Intuition This Month

This month’s energies invite us to pause, listen, and find balance within shifting ground. For October, I suggest a three-card spread that mirrors the themes of Libra season.

The Spread

·         What do I need to surrender to right now?

·         What is seeking to be nourished or birthed within me?

·         Where am I being called back into balance?

When you lay your cards, sit with them as symbols and companions rather than rushing for answers. Note how they speak to one another, how they echo patterns in your dreams, your body, or your studio practice.

Keep this spread nearby throughout the month. You may find that the cards reveal new layers as the moon shifts, as planets move, as your own perspective changes. It is not a one-time reading but a map to walk with, a living dialogue between you, your intuition, and the unseen currents of October.

Oracle Card Reading

Seasonal Vibes & Studio Soundtrack

Music to Inspire Your Creative Practice and Inner Flow

This playlist is a kind of sonic altar, a collection of tracks that are guiding my heart, igniting inspiration, and holding space for the liminal, the slow, and the magical moments in my studio this season.

You’ll hear songs that echo both light and shadow, grounding rhythms and ethereal voices, songs that feel like dusk meeting dawn. They move with ritual, dream, longing, everything I need right now to lean into the unseen currents of creativity, trust, and transformation.

If you’re creating, walking, resting, or simply breathing, may these tracks feel like companions. Let them hold you steady, open space inside, and carry you forward.

Closing the Circle & Wrap-Up

Spring Equinox, Special Edition Blog, and October Studio Highlights

As we close this circle and step into the fresh rhythms of this new moon cycle, may you carry with you the balance, clarity, and courage to shape what’s next. October asks us to trust the unseen currents, tend to the seeds we’ve planted, and honour both the endings and beginnings that mark this turning of the wheel.

The Spring Equinox brings its own magic, a moment of perfect balance between day and night, reminding us that growth and stillness are equally necessary in our creative lives. If you’d like to explore the energies of Ostara more deeply, be sure to check out my Special Edition Blog Post dedicated to this seasonal celebration.

For more in-depth insights, you’ll find weekly Little Witchy Things and Cycles of Craft posts on Substack and over on the socials, guiding you step by step through the unfolding month.

And before I go, a little note from the studio, there’s currently a sale in my Redbubble store. If you’ve had your eye on my crow artworks, now’s the perfect time to bring one home, especially with Halloween just around the corner.

Until next moon, may your path be creative, your practice nourishing, and your days threaded with magic.

AI Image Disclaimer:

Some images in this post were generated with the assistance of AI. I use these tools to support my creative practice, particularly in ways that accommodate my chronic health and disability, helping me explore ideas and visual concepts when physical limitations make traditional methods challenging. These images are part of my process, not a replacement for handmade art.