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.

A Seasonal Threshold in Melbourne/Naarm

A garden path in Spring

Hello creative alchemists,

Welcome to this Special Edition of the Art Witch Journal for the Spring Equinox.
Here in the Southern Hemisphere, the wheel of the year turns on Tuesday, 23 September 2025 at 4:19 am AEST.

In Melbourne/Naarm, we feel this shift deeply. The air softens, blossoms spill from branches, and there’s a hum of renewal in the streets and gardens. Wattles have already had their golden blaze, magpies are swooping to protect their young, and the air carries both warmth and the occasional crispness of winter’s retreat. The days are growing longer, the mornings a little brighter, and we find ourselves naturally leaning toward balance, hope, and new beginnings.

The Spring Equinox/Ostara: Balance of Light and Dark

The Spring Equinox is one of the eight Sabbaths on the Wheel of the Year, celebrated when day and night are equal in length. In the Celtic and Northern Hemisphere traditions, this is Ostara, named after the goddess of spring and dawn, Eostre. She was honoured as the bringer of fertility, rebirth, and growth, often associated with hares, eggs, and blossoms.

This is a threshold moment, light begins to overcome the darkness, the fertile ground is ready for planting, and communities historically gathered to sow seeds, bless fields, and celebrate the earth’s renewal. Bonfires were lit, feasts were shared, and rituals often honoured both sky and soil in equal measure.

For us in the Southern Hemisphere, the dates are reversed, but the energy remains the same. Our equinox falls in September, just as the first flush of true spring makes itself known, despite the fact we mark our seasons by the calendar. Trees unfurl fresh green leaves, bees return to blossoms, and the world feels infused with possibility. It is not just a seasonal marker, but a call to balance our own inner light and shadow.

Not Just a Date, Feeling the Energy of the Equinox

The equinox is more than a calendar point; it is a feeling that resonates through body and spirit. The ground feels alive with hidden energy, as though every root, bud, and creature is stretching awake. We may feel restless or inspired, ready to shake off the inwardness of winter. Creativity often stirs here, a desire to begin, to plant new projects, to craft with fresh intention.

It is also about balance, a reminder that light cannot exist without shadow, that rest is as essential as growth, and that our inner cycles mirror the earth’s. This feeling, soft yet powerful, asks us to pause and acknowledge where balance needs tending in our own lives.

Global Equinox Celebrations and Traditions

Across the world, cultures have long marked the Spring Equinox with rituals of renewal, joy, and reverence for balance. Though traditions differ, the themes remain universal: rebirth, fertility, and harmony.

Persia & Central Asia – Nowruz

Nowruz, meaning “new day,” has been celebrated for over 3,000 years as the Persian New Year. Families prepare a Haft-Seen table with seven symbolic items, garlic for health, apples for beauty, vinegar for patience, and wheatgrass for rebirth, among others. Bonfires are lit, people leap over flames to cleanse away the old year, and communities come together for feasting and music. Nowruz embodies the essence of the equinox: leaving behind darkness and stepping into the light of renewal.

India & Nepal – Holi

The festival of Holi often coincides with this season, painting the world in bright colour. It celebrates the triumph of light over darkness, love over division. Participants throw powders of vivid pink, yellow, and blue, drench each other in water, and dance in the streets. Holi is joyous chaos, a breaking down of barriers, reminding us that renewal comes not just in quiet planting but also in exuberant celebration.

Mexico – Ancient Solar Alignments

In Mexico, the equinox was sacred to the Maya and Aztec civilizations. At Chichén Itzá, the pyramid of Kukulcán transforms into a living serpent at sunset, the shadow forming the body of the feathered god as it appears to slither down the steps. Thousands still gather to witness this awe-inspiring moment, a breathtaking reminder of ancient astronomical knowledge and reverence for cosmic cycles.

England – Stonehenge

At Stonehenge, the rising sun aligns perfectly with the ancient stones, and modern-day Druids, Pagans, and earth-lovers gather in celebration. Some drum and dance, others meditate quietly, honouring balance in ways both personal and communal. This timeless monument links us back to ancestors who also watched the skies and marked the turning wheel.

Kulin Nation – Poorneet (Tadpole Season)

Here on the lands of the Kulin Nation, in southeastern Australia, the six-season calendar guides life more closely than imported European models. Around the equinox begins Poorneet, or Tadpole Season. As tadpoles appear in the waterways, life surges with fertility and transformation. This attunement to subtle shifts in Country reminds us that balance is not abstract, it is living knowledge, deeply woven into the land itself.

Across cultures, the message is the same: when light and dark stand equal, the earth is whispering an invitation to honour renewal, balance, and connection.

 A Simple Spell for Balance and Renewal

This spell is designed to be gentle, adaptable, and accessible for all levels of mobility.

• Light a candle (white or green if possible).

• Hold a small bowl of water.

• Whisper into the water what you wish to grow this season, intentions, dreams, healing.

• Pour the water into the earth or a pot plant, allowing your words to root and flourish.

Here, fire and water meet, intention and action merge. Even the smallest gesture becomes a potent act of planting balance within and around you.

Modern Ways to Celebrate the Spring Equinox

• Create a seasonal altar with blossoms, eggs, seeds, or stones representing balance.
  
  

• Take a mindful walk and notice spring’s return, new buds, birdcalls, the changing light.
  
  

• Plant seeds for herbs, flowers, or vegetables, aligning with your own intentions.
  
  

• Journal: What balance do I need? What is awakening in me?
  
  

• Share a seasonal meal with loved ones, the act of breaking bread is itself ritual.
  
  

• Clean and refresh your space, symbolically clearing winter’s heaviness.
  
  

• Bring fresh flowers or greenery indoors to honour life’s return.

Seasonal Altar

Spring Equinox Foods, Feasts, and Offerings

Equinox foods often centre around fertility and growth: fresh greens, eggs, dairy, honey, sprouts, and seeds. In ritual, offerings of mead, herbal teas, or fresh juices are common.

A Note for Australia

Here, our native flora and produce can also be woven into the feast. Wattleseed adds a nutty depth to baking. Finger limes sparkle like citrus jewels. Lemon myrtle lends brightness to desserts and teas. Using local ingredients honours both land and season, weaving old tradition into new context.

Simple Recipe – Lemon Myrtle Shortbread

• 1 cup butter (softened)

• ½ cup sugar

• 2 cups plain flour

• 1–2 tsp dried lemon myrtle leaves (ground)

Cream butter and sugar, fold in flour and lemon myrtle. Chill, cut into rounds, and bake at 160°C until golden. Fragrant and simple, these biscuits are a sweet offering for the season.

Locally Inspired Feast Ideas

A feast need not be complex. Try roasted vegetables dusted with wattleseed dukkah, fresh salads brightened with finger limes, or a platter of seasonal fruits, cheeses, and warm bread. What matters is not perfection but joyful celebration.

An Australian inspired Equinox Feast

 Art Journal Prompt for Spring Equinox Creativity

“What seeds are you planting this spring, in your art, your spirit, your life?”

Explore this visually: draw or collage seeds bursting into shoots, paint spirals of light and shadow, or layer pressed flowers and natural textures. Work with a colour palette of greens, yellows, and pastels to capture spring’s vibrancy. This page becomes a map of your own renewal.

Art Journal

Oracle Insights – 3-Card Spread for Balance and Growth

This spread invites equinox clarity:

1. Where am I finding balance?

2. What seed needs planting?

3. What energy will help me grow?

Light a candle, shuffle your deck, and draw three cards. Take notes in your journal, noticing how imagery and intuition weave with the season’s themes. Allow this reading to set the tone for the weeks ahead.

Oracle Card Reading

Spring Playlist for Ritual and Creativity

Every threshold deserves a soundtrack. This curated Spring Playlist offers songs for ritual, creativity, and daily life, weaving mood, energy, and inspiration. Whether you listen while journaling, cooking, or simply daydreaming by the window, let the music carry you deeper into spring’s unfolding.

Closing the Circle: Living the Energy of Equinox

The Spring Equinox is not just a fleeting moment; it is a season of unfolding. Balance honoured today can ripple into the weeks ahead, reminding us that growth and stillness, light and shadow, action and rest all belong to the cycle.

Wishing you balance, renewal, and creative unfolding this equinox.

Disclaimer on AI Images

Some images in this blog are AI-assisted, a tool I use to help manage energy and time due to chronic illness and disability. All written content and original art remain my own.

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.

Art Witch Journal: Virgo Season Reflections, Eclipse Energy & Creative Renewal

Art Witch’s Studio

Hello creative alchemists,

As Virgo Season unfolds, we are invited to pause, reflect, and step into the quiet, liminal spaces between what has been and what is emerging. This is a time to honour our inner lives, our creative work, and the rhythms of the body and spirit.

In this month’s journal, we’ll explore the reflective energy of Virgo, the potent shifts of eclipse season, and the grounding potential of the equinox. Together, we’ll create space for contemplation, ritual, and creative renewal. Let’s step gently into this threshold and see what wants to emerge.

Cuppa & Catch Up

Leo Season has been a deeply challenging one for me. My health has thrown me curveballs this month, including two emergency room visits, one of which involved waiting five hours for an ambulance. These experiences were distressing and came at a time when submissions were due, making the pressure feel even heavier. I was able to finish two out of four submissions, but the other two had to be set aside for now. I’ll complete the artworks and hopefully find another opportunity to submit them in the future.

I won’t lie; it’s been a blow to my confidence. I found myself questioning if the energy, time, and love I pour into my craft is truly worth it. Another exhibition opportunity passed because I had no way to transport my Element Series, and I struggled to practice the very advice I give others: honour the body you are in and trust that the work itself is important. When I wrote last month’s journal, I genuinely believed it. Then my body reminded me, again, that it sets the pace, not my mind. Half the month was spent in bed, and I was ready to throw it all in.

This month’s journal almost didn’t happen. Then, a couple days ago, I delivered my Wild Empress piece for the upcoming Art X Metro exhibition, and everything shifted. I love this piece. I remembered the joy of creating it, the thrill of bringing it into being, and why I do this work. It’s not for algorithms, likes, or views, it’s because it makes my soul sing. It’s because it brings me joy and gives me purpose. Sharing my journey, no matter how small my audience, is part of that joy.

This winter, I intentionally slowed down and turned inward. The many changes in my life are still settling, and even the positive ones take time to integrate. Life isn’t linear; it’s messy, unpredictable, and full of contrasts. Some days are wonderful, and some weeks feel soul-destroying. I have to remind myself why I create, especially when my body resists.

With the last weeks of winter and eclipse season approaching, I’m giving myself permission to be gentle. There are more changes on the horizon, and that’s okay. Birth, whether of art, life, or self, is both painful and joyful. These truths coexist, and I need to honour both.

For now, I rest. I recover. I nurture myself so I can continue creating my art, my life, and my world, with love, patience, and the fierce joy that brought me here in the first place.

Navigating the ups and downs of Leo Season, moments of frustration, exhaustion, and small triumphs, has reminded me that art is both refuge and revelation. These experiences highlighted the liminal spaces in my practice: the threshold where struggle and creation meet, where joy and doubt coexist. It’s exactly this space that Chapter Five of Art Witch Musings invites us to dwell in a space where creation becomes an invocation, a communion with the unseen, and a doorway into transformation.

Wild Empress - Mixed Media Sculpture

Art Witch Musings — Chapter Five

The act of creation is, at its core, an invocation. Each brushstroke, each word, each fragment of collage is not just an aesthetic choice but a summoning. We call into being something that did not exist before, a spark pulled from the unseen and shaped into matter. For me, this is not separate from my craft, it is the craft. The studio becomes the circle, the table becomes the altar, and the work itself becomes the spell.

Although, spells are not always grand gestures. They are stitched from the quiet repetitions of daily practice, the arranging of objects, the marking of symbols, the patience to return again and again to the work even when it feels tangled or uncertain. This is where art and witchcraft mirror each other most intimately: in their demand for devotion, trust, and surrender to process.

There is a liminality in this space, a threshold where the ordinary world dissolves. I have always felt that to make art is to step sideways, to move through a doorway into that shimmering place where imagination and spirit overlap. It is not escapism; rather, it is a way of seeing more deeply, of reaching into the marrow of things.

In this threshold space, time behaves differently. Hours pass unnoticed, the edges of self blur, and what emerges feels both familiar and strangely other. It is here that I often sense the ancestors at my shoulder, the archetypes whispering, the symbols aligning themselves with uncanny precision. To dismiss this as coincidence is to strip the work of its most vital heartbeat. To honour it, instead, is to recognise that art-making is an act of communion with the unseen, with the collective, with the deep self.

This chapter of my work is about dwelling in that liminal zone. Not rushing to explain, not forcing clarity, but allowing the mystery to breathe. The pages and canvases I create are less about answers than invitations, doorways, sigils, thresholds. They ask the viewer to step through, to linger, to listen. Just as I do.

Art Witch’s Studio

Little Witchy Things

This month’s energy invites us to slow down, ground ourselves, and step into the threshold between what has been and what is emerging. The Virgo Black Moon calls us to reflect on our habits, our spaces, and how we show up for ourselves. Eclipse season is on the horizon, making this a potent time to prepare, release, and realign before the equinox shifts the seasonal energies.

One of the simplest ways to work with this energy is through small, intentional practices woven into your daily life. Start by creating moments of pause and reflection, five slow, mindful breaths before beginning your day or your creative work can anchor you and help you tune into your intuition. Notice what arises in these quiet spaces and let it guide your next steps.

Next, consider the practice of micro-release. Let go of one expectation, habit, or thought pattern that no longer serves you. Write it down, dissolve it safely in water, or burn it as a symbolic act of release. These small gestures accumulate, creating space for new intentions and shifts to take root.

The arrangement of your creative environment is another subtle but powerful form of magic. Virgo energy thrives on order and ritual, but this is not about perfection, it’s about intuitive alignment. Rearrange your studio, your altar, or your workspace in a way that feels nourishing. Notice how small changes in your surroundings can shift your focus, energy, and flow.

Finally, bring your attention to balance as we move toward the equinox. Reflect on what you wish to cultivate in both your inner and outer life, and honour these intentions with a simple ritual, candle, or journal practice. By consciously acknowledging your needs and desires, you create a foundation for the upcoming season and the deeper work eclipse season may reveal.

These little practices, when stitched together, become a quiet form of magic, a gentle weaving of reflection, release, and renewal that nurtures both your creativity and your soul.

Art Witch Altar and Cuppa

Art Journal Prompt

This cycle, the energy invites us to step into the liminal space of creation, the threshold where the ordinary dissolves and the unseen begins to speak. With the Virgo black moon at 0°, eclipse season approaching, and the equinox on the horizon, this is a potent time to reflect, release, and plant seeds of intention.

Take a moment to settle into your studio, your journal, or your creative space. Let yourself feel the quiet tension between what is ending and what is emerging. Ask yourself:

·         What patterns, habits, or identities no longer serve me?

·         Where have I been bending to others’ expectations at the expense of my own happiness and growth?

·         What parts of myself have I been neglecting, and what needs care, attention, and integration?

·         How do I want to show up for myself in the months ahead?

Now, create a small ritual with your materials:

Draw, collage, or paint symbols of what you wish to release.

Next, add symbols, colours, or words representing the intentions you want to summon, how you wish to care for yourself, express your creativity, and live in alignment with your truth.

Allow this to be messy, imperfect, and intuitive. Let the process itself become the spell: a call to your future self, a gentle invocation of change and wholeness. Return to this work throughout the moon cycle, nurturing your intentions and observing how they shift, grow, and take shape.

Art Supplies and Journal

Artist of the Season — Issy Wood

This Virgo Season, I’m shining a light on Issy Wood (b. 1993, Durham, North Carolina), a British-American artist whose multidisciplinary practice spans painting, music, and writing. Wood’s work perfectly embodies Virgoan traits, meticulousness, introspection, and a deep attention to detail, while exploring the complexities of identity, desire, and the unseen threads of modern life.

Her paintings often feature fragmented, close-cropped images of clothing, furniture, and flesh, rendered in muted tones and dark, velvet-like textures. Through these works, she examines aspiration, alienation, glamour, and decay, capturing both the sensuality and sterility of contemporary culture. Early series depicting leather car interiors and high-end consumer goods set the stage for her signature style, precise, intimate, and quietly uncanny.

Wood’s work has been featured in numerous solo exhibitions across the globe, including Michael Werner Gallery in New York, Carlos/Ishikawa in London, X Museum in Beijing, and the Schinkel Pavillon in Berlin. Her pieces are held in prominent collections such as the Institute of Contemporary Art in Miami, the Rhode Island School of Design Museum, and the National Portrait Gallery in London.

Beyond her visual art, Issy Wood is also a musician. Her releases including, Cries Real Tears! (2020), If It's Any Constellation (2021), and My Body Your Choice (2022), explore introspection, identity, and vulnerability, reflecting the same intimate attention to nuance that informs her paintings. Issy is also a writer, with publications such as All The Rage (2019) and the SML PTNGS series (2018–2023), offering further insight into her creative process and perspective.

Wood’s practice resonates with Virgo Season’s energy: reflective, precise, and deeply aligned with self-inquiry. Her work invites us to notice the subtle patterns in our own lives, to examine our desires, and to honour the quiet, detailed work of transformation.

Cycles of Craft — Virgo Season

Virgo Season opens under the reflective, grounding influence of the sign, beginning with a rare Black Moon in Virgo on August 23 at 4:06 PM AEST. This is a seasonal black moon, a new moon occurring at 0°, inviting us to plant clear seeds of intention. Virgo’s energy encourages us to examine what no longer serves us, to call back the parts of ourselves we’ve neglected, and to set new standards for how we want to care for ourselves and show up in the world. This is a liminal moment, a threshold, asking us to slow down, reflect, and align before the energetic intensity of eclipse season fully unfolds.

The first week of Virgo Season continues with Saturn stationing retrograde on September 1. Saturn asks us to reconsider structures, boundaries, and commitments in our lives. Retrograde periods are ideal for reviewing old patterns, releasing rigidity, and discerning what discipline and responsibility truly mean for us now. The shadow of Saturn’s retrograde lingers throughout the season, reminding us to honour our limits while staying grounded in self-respect.

On September 6, Uranus stations retrograde in Gemini, amplifying the call to introspection. This period asks us to slow down in order to integrate unexpected shifts or insights, particularly around communication, curiosity, and mental patterns. Uranus urges innovation, but retrograde energy asks us to first make internal adjustments before leaping into external change.

The season’s first major lunar event, the Full Moon in Pisces and Total Lunar Eclipse, arrives on September 8 at 3:30 AM AEST, fully visible in Australia. Eclipses illuminate what has been hidden, accelerating endings and revelations. Pisces’ compassionate, intuitive energy supports deep emotional reflection, dream work, and creative visioning. This is a moment to honour your emotional truth and release anything that clouds your clarity, preparing the ground for new beginnings.

Later in Virgo Season, the New Moon in Virgo and Partial Solar Eclipse on September 22 at 5:50 AM AEST signals another opportunity to plant seeds, especially around personal routines, self-care, and creative practices. Though not visible in Australia, its energetic influence can be felt globally. This eclipse invites us to integrate lessons from earlier in the season, establishing intentions that align with our evolving sense of self and our creative path.

Finally, Ostara (Spring Equinox) on September 23 at 4:19 AM AEST marks the balance of light and dark. The equinox encourages reflection on harmony within ourselves, the cycles we’ve been working through, and how we want to move forward into the new season. It is the perfect time to align intentions set during Virgo’s black moons with concrete plans for growth, creativity, and personal renewal. Keep an eye out for the Special Sabbath Edition.

Throughout Virgo Season, these planetary stations, eclipses, and seasonal shifts call for careful attention to your inner life. They encourage slow reflection, conscious release, and the planting of intentional seeds in both your creative and personal practice. Virgo’s grounding energy, paired with the liminality of eclipse season and the renewal of the equinox, offers a fertile moment to create, reflect, and align with your deepest desires.

Partial Lunar Eclipse

Almost Spring – Studio Tunes

Step gently into the threshold between winter and spring with Almost Spring, a playlist curated for reflection, restoration, and creative alchemy. Soft, atmospheric tracks invite you to pause, breathe, and connect with your intuition, while the introspective songs of Issy Wood weave through the mix, guiding you into liminal spaces where imagination and spirit overlap. Perfect for journaling, studio work, or quiet contemplation, this playlist is your companion for grounding and inspiration as Virgo Season unfolds.

Wrapping up and looking forward:

As we move through Virgo Season, eclipse season, and toward the Spring Equinox, I encourage you to tend to your inner landscape with care, patience, and curiosity. Use the prompts, rituals, and reflections shared in this journal to anchor yourself in the present while planting seeds for growth, both creatively and personally.

Remember: creativity is not linear, and neither is life. Moments of rest, release, and reflection are as essential as bursts of inspiration and action. Honour your body, your rhythms, and the parts of yourself you are reclaiming. Stand gently in the doorway of the new season, and trust that the work you are doing, on your pages, in your studio, and within yourself, is a profound act of magic.

Little Witchy Things over on the socials every Wednesday explore these ideas more deeply. Cycles of Craft deep dives, like the Black New Moon in Virgo, are over on my Facebook page. I also share behind-the-scenes studio updates, when my body allows, on socials.

You can support my art by visiting my Redbubble store

My website shares all my work, which is available for sale. If you’re interested in any of my pieces, reach out via email or DM on socials.

Keep creating, keep reflecting, and above all, keep nurturing your soul.

On Using AI in My Practice

I also want to acknowledge something important about my creative process. Due to my health and disability, there are times when physically producing every piece I imagine isn’t possible. I’ve been exploring AI-assisted images as a tool to expand my practice, helping me visualise ideas, experiment with composition, and bring concepts to life that my body may not always allow me to create by hand.

AI doesn’t replace my craft—it becomes part of my process, a way to honour my creativity while working within my physical limits. It allows me to continue exploring, imagining, and sharing my artistic vision without compromise. Every choice, whether digital, physical, or a combination of both, is intentional and deeply rooted in my artistic voice.

Imbolc in Australia: A Seed Spell for New Beginnings

Silver Wattle

Honouring the slow return of light, hope, and new beginnings

Hello creative alchemists,

Imbolc arrives in the Southern Hemisphere around August 1st, with the exact cross-quarter moment in 2025 falling on August 7th at 10:14am AEST. It’s a gentle turning of the wheel, a quiet whisper that the light is returning, even if the chill still lingers.

Here in Melbourne/Naarm, Imbolc feels different from the snowy landscapes where its Celtic roots first took hold. Instead of snowdrops, we watch wattles bloom. Instead of frozen earth, we see the first bees stir and listen to magpies’ herald longer days. It’s a season of slow renewal, a moment to pause, breathe, and plant seeds, literal and metaphorical.

A Brief History of Imbolc

Before it was candlelight and wheel-of-the-year graphics, Imbolc was a deeply practical, seasonal moment. It’s one of the four Celtic cross-quarter festivals, traditionally celebrated around February 1st in the Northern Hemisphere, marking the midway point between Winter Solstice (Yule) and Spring Equinox (Ostara).

Imbolc is thought to derive from the Old Irish word i mbolg, meaning “in the belly”, referring to the pregnancy of ewes and the return of milk, a vital turning point in an agrarian society. After the harsh scarcity of winter, milk meant nourishment. It meant survival.

It was a festival of purification, hope, and fertility. Sacred wells were visited. The hearth was ritually cleaned. Fires were lit in honour of Brigid, goddess of healing, poetry, midwifery, fertility, and smithcraft. People would craft Brigid’s crosses from rushes or straw and place them in their homes for protection and blessing.

As Christianity spread, Brigid was syncretised into Saint Brigid, and Imbolc became Candlemas, still a fire festival in its own way, with candles blessed and carried in procession to honour the light.

Today, many of us, witches, pagans, artists, animists, and nature lovers celebrate Imbolc as a gentle threshold. A seasonal pivot. A quiet reminder that spring is coming, even if we can’t quite see it yet.

In the Southern Hemisphere, we observe Imbolc around August 1st, or, astrologically, when the sun reaches 15° Leo (August 7th in 2025). While the traditional symbols like snowdrops and frozen earth may not apply here, the deeper themes still resonate:
✨ Renewal
✨ New life stirring
✨ Hope
✨ Light returning
✨ The spark of inspiration after a long dark

Imbolc is not just a date on the wheel, it’s a feeling.
The shift in the air. The urge to clear out the cobwebs. The sudden itch to create, clean, plan, or simply move after months of stillness. It’s the first birdsong. The blooming of wattle. The moment you realise you’re ready to begin again, softly.

Imbolc Altar with a Candle and Brigid’s Cross

Other Cultures at the Turning Point

Imbolc isn’t the only moment that honours the slow return of light. Across time and place, many cultures have marked this in-between season, when winter still lingers, but spring begins to stir beneath the surface.

Candlemas (Christian Europe – Feb 2)

Originally linked to Roman and Celtic traditions, Candlemas became a Christian festival of light. Candles were blessed and lit to symbolise the return of the sun. Rural communities would observe weather omens to predict how long winter might last, just like the old Imbolc weather lore.

Setsubun (Japan – early Feb)

Held just before the Japanese beginning of spring (Risshun), Setsubun is all about cleansing away the old season. People throw roasted soybeans while chanting, “Out with demons! In with good fortune!” A beautiful ritual of release and renewal.

Lambing Season (Celtic/agrarian traditions)

In many parts of Europe, late winter meant the return of lambs and the first milk, a literal and spiritual sign that life was returning to the land. This is the origin of the word Imbolc (“in the belly” or “milk of the ewes”).

Guling Season - Kulin Nations – Southeastern Australia, including Naarm

According to the Kulin seasonal calendar, Guling marks the pre-spring season.
Signs include:

• Silver wattles blooming

• Eels returning to the rivers

• An increase in insect and bird activity

These natural cues echo Imbolc’s message: light is returning, slowly but surely.

As someone living and working on Wurundjeri Country, I honour the wisdom of this land and its traditional custodians. Imbolc might be a Celtic word, but the cycle of renewal belongs to all places, and here, it speaks through wattles, waterways, and local birdsong.

The Seed Spell: A Simple Imbolc Ritual for Here and Now

This year, I wanted a ritual that felt real. Not aspirational, not perfect, just honest. Something small, gentle, and accessible. A spell for those of us who are time poor, chronically ill, tired, or quietly holding things together. A ritual that meets us in the mess and the mundane.

There’s a neglected communal patch in my apartment complex, dry, grey, lifeless. The kind of space that gets overlooked. I’ve ordered a little collection of beneficial bug flower and herb seeds, mostly blue-toned blooms and lavender, all low-maintenance, pollinator-friendly, and cheerful. For Imbolc I am going to take theses seeds down to this sad little courtyard and scatter the seeds. As I scatter the seeds I will softly say to myself – “For colour, for joy,
for beauty to grow,
may this little patch
of earth softly glow.”

That’s it. That’s the spell.

A Simple Imbolc Ritual: The Seed Spell

You can try this too, adapt it to your energy, your body, your space. This one’s for everyone; however you identify. Witch, Muggle, Artist….

You’ll need:

• A small packet of wildflower, herb, or native seeds

• A patch of earth (a verge, a pot, a planter box, a crack in the pavement)

• A warm drink and a quiet moment

Step 1. Ground yourself.
Take a breath. Feel the air on your skin. Sip something warm. Notice the subtle shift in season.

Step 2. Hold your seeds.
Feel the weight of them in your hand. These are small spells. Tiny sparks of possibility.

Step 3. Whisper a wish.
Something simple and true:
“For colour, for joy,
for beauty to grow,
may this little patch
of earth softly glow.”

Step 4. Scatter your seeds.
No fanfare. Just quiet magic. A gentle offering to the land.

Step 5. Let it go.
No pressure to check or track or perfect. Let nature take it from here. Trust the slow unfolding.

Modern Ways to Celebrate Imbolc

Imbolc doesn’t have to be elaborate, expensive, or historically “accurate.” In fact, the most powerful rituals are the ones that fit your life, your energy, and your space, especially if you’re time-poor, living with disability or chronic illness, or working within an urban/suburban setting.

Here are some gentle, modern ways to mark the season, whether you’re a practicing witch, a creative muggle, or simply someone feeling the stirrings of spring:

Light a candle

Symbolic and simple. Light a candle (real or battery-powered) to honour the return of light. Let it represent hope, warmth, creativity, or whatever you want to cultivate.

Plant a seed (literally or metaphorically)

Whether you scatter wildflowers in a courtyard (like I’m doing), pop herbs into a balcony pot, or jot down a creative idea in your journal, this is a beautiful time to plant something small and trust it will grow.

Clear a corner

You don’t need to deep-clean the whole house. Just choose one small area, your altar, your bedside table, your studio windowsill, and clear away what no longer serves. Imbolc is all about making space for the new.

Make a list of gentle intentions

Not goals. Not resolutions. Just a few quiet wishes for the season ahead. Think: “tend my nervous system,” “create something for joy, not outcome,” or “let myself rest without guilt.”

Make something with your hands

Paint, collage, stitch, scribble, even just for five minutes. Imbolc is ruled by Brigid, patron of the arts and inspiration. You don’t need a plan, just begin.

Work with milk (or a nourishing substitute)

In traditional Imbolc lore, milk symbolised life returning. Honour that by drinking a favourite warm beverage, cooking something creamy, or offering a splash to the earth as a quiet libation.

Honour the land you’re on

Here in Naarm/Melbourne, Imbolc aligns with Guling season in the Kulin calendar, when wattles bloom, eels return, and insects reappear. Noticing and honouring these local rhythms is a ritual in itself.

Rest — seriously

Imbolc is the start of the return, not the sprint toward spring. If all you do is light a candle and take a breath, that’s enough. You are part of the turning wheel, even in stillness.

Foods and Feasts for Imbolc

Imbolc marks the slow return of nourishment and abundance after winter’s lean months. Traditionally, it was a celebration of the first milk from ewes and the promise of new life. Food at Imbolc tends to be simple, hearty, and comforting, the kind of fare that feeds body and soul alike.

Here are some classic and contemporary ideas for your Imbolc table:

Dairy & Creaminess

Milk, butter, cream, cheese, yoghurt, these were symbols of fertility and nourishment. In colder climates, fresh dairy was a precious gift, signaling the lambing season and renewed life.

Modern idea:

• A creamy porridge with honey and cinnamon

• Warm milk infused with herbs (like chamomile or lavender)

• A cheese platter with rustic bread and seasonal fruit

Breads and Grains

Bread, oatcakes, and porridge have long been staples. Grains symbolise the cycles of planting and harvest, even before the actual sowing began.

Modern idea:

• Freshly baked bread or scones (easier if store-bought!)

• Warm oatmeal or muesli with nuts and seeds

• Buckwheat pancakes or flatbreads with herbs

Sweetness from the Earth

Honey, root vegetables, and seasonal fruits connect us to the land’s slow sweetness emerging from winter.

Modern idea:

• Roasted pumpkin or sweet potato drizzled with honey

• Carrot and beetroot salad with a lemon dressing

• Herbal teas sweetened with local honey

Fresh Herbs & Wild Greens

Brigid is associated with healing and herbal knowledge, so fresh herbs, greens, and plants are perfect additions.

Modern idea:

• A simple salad with nasturtium flowers, parsley, and lemon

• Herb-infused butter or oils

• A small bunch of fresh herbs tied with a ribbon as a table decoration or blessing

Simple, Slow-Cooked Foods

As Imbolc honours hearth and home, slow-cooked stews or soups warm the body and spirit.

Modern idea:

• A lentil or vegetable stew with root vegetables and warming spices

• A pot of golden pumpkin soup

• Lentil dal or dhal, rich with turmeric and ginger

Seasonal and Symbolic Treats

Some traditions include special cakes or pastries, sometimes shaped like Brigid’s cross or decorated with seasonal symbols.

Modern idea:

• A simple honey cake

• Herb-infused biscuits or cookies

• A small tart with seasonal fruit

Libations and Offerings

Milk or cream can also be used as a libation, a small offering to the earth or spirits to honour the cycle of giving and receiving. If you prefer non-dairy, a splash of water, herbal tea, or diluted juice works beautifully too.

A Note for Australia

 Since our seasons are flipped and local ingredients vary, feel free to honour native plants and seasonal produce, wattleseed, finger limes, lemon myrtle, bush tomatoes, or macadamias can all be part of a truly local Imbolc feast.

Simple Imbolc Damper Recipe

Traditional Australian bush bread, perfect for celebrating Imbolc with a nod to the land

Ingredients:

• 2 cups self-raising flour (or plain flour + 2 tsp baking powder)

• 1/2 tsp salt

• 1 cup milk (or plant-based alternative)

• 2 tbsp melted butter or oil

• Optional: 1 tbsp honey for a touch of sweetness

Instructions:

1. Preheat your oven to 200°C (390°F) and line a baking tray with baking paper.

2. In a bowl, mix the flour and salt.

3. Add the melted butter and honey (if using).

4. Slowly add the milk and stir until it forms a soft dough. It should be slightly sticky but manageable.

5. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and gently knead a few times—don’t overwork it!

6. Shape the dough into a round loaf and place it on the tray.

7. Score a cross on top with a knife (optional but traditional).

8. Bake for 25-30 minutes, until golden and cooked through (a skewer inserted should come out clean).

9. Let cool slightly before tearing apart and enjoying.

Locally Inspired Imbolc Feast Ideas

Celebrating the turning wheel with native ingredients and seasonal produce

• Damper fresh from the oven, served with native lemon myrtle butter or wattleseed honey

• Roasted golden pumpkin with a sprinkle of lemon myrtle and a drizzle of olive oil

• Fresh wild greens salad with peppery warrigal greens or dandelion leaves, tossed with a simple lemon and olive oil dressing

• A warming lentil and root vegetable stew with bush tomatoes or native pepper berries for a gentle kick

• Herbal tea brewed with lemon myrtle, wattleseed, or peppermint, served warm to soothe the body

• Sweet treat: Honey and macadamia nut biscuits or a simple lemon myrtle shortbread

A gentle reminder:
This feast doesn’t have to be complicated or exhausting. The spirit of Imbolc is about nourishment, renewal, and gentle beginnings. It’s perfect for small gatherings, solo rituals, or sharing with neighbours if you feel so moved.

Imbolc Art Journal Prompt: Seeds of Light

As the wheel turns and the light slowly returns, take a quiet moment to connect with the seeds stirring within you, ideas, dreams, parts of yourself waiting to grow.

Materials:
Your favourite art supplies, paints, pens, collage scraps, whatever calls to you today.

Prompt:

• Begin by drawing or painting a seed, a bulb, or a flame, something small but full of potential.

• Around it, create symbols or images that represent what you want to nurture this season. These can be feelings, intentions, relationships, or creative projects.

• Reflect on:

• What needs gentle tending right now?

• What light can you bring to your own inner winter?

• How can you hold space for slow growth and rest?

There’s no need to finish or perfect this page. Let it be a soft place you can return to throughout the season.

Oracle Insights: Imbolc 3-Card Spread

Here’s a gentle, intuitive DIY 3-card Oracle Spread called “Imbolc Insights”, perfect for connecting with Imbolc’s themes of renewal, light, and gentle beginnings.

How to Use:

Shuffle your deck with the intention of seeking guidance for this turning season, what you need to know or focus on as the light returns.

Card 1: The Seed

What new potential is quietly growing beneath the surface? What is ready to be planted, even if it’s just an idea or feeling?

Card 2: The Flame

What inner light do you need to nurture right now? What will keep your spark alive through the slow unfolding?

Card 3: The Harvest

What gifts or lessons will come from this season’s tending? How can you prepare to receive what is growing?

Spend a few moments journaling or simply sitting with the cards. What whispers or images arise? How can you carry this wisdom gently with you through the turning wheel?

Late Winter Studio Sounds

As Imbolc whispers the return of light, my studio fills with a gentle hum, a soundtrack for slow creativity and quiet tending.

This playlist is my companion for those soft, still days when energy is low but inspiration lingers just beneath the surface. It’s a blend of warm acoustics, ambient textures, and subtle rhythms, perfect for mixed media, journaling, or simply breathing with the season.

Whether you’re lighting a candle, scattering seeds, or simply resting, may these sounds hold space for your creative flame to flicker and grow.

Listen here:

Thank you for joining me in this gentle turning of the wheel. May your Imbolc be full of small sparks, slow growth, and deep nourishment—inside and out.

Bright blessings,

Art Witch Musings: Embracing Rest and Visibility This Leo Season

An Art Witch’s Desk covered in Art Journals and Art Supplies

Hello, my Radiant Creative Alchemists,

This month, under the Leo New Moon, I’ll be thinking about what it means to be seen and what it means to refuse visibility on someone else’s terms. I’m sitting with the tension between being overlooked and being hyper-visible, especially as I navigate the world as a disabled artist. How can I reclaim space without performing? How can I honour slowness, rest, and deep presence as sacred acts of resistance?

As I sink further into winter, I’m letting these questions shape me, not with urgency, but with care. Letting the unseen speak. Letting new forms of magic rise from the quiet.

Cuppa & Catch-Up

This month, I’ve been steeped in change, the kind that feels both tender and expansive. I officially handed back the keys to my old flat. That little space held me through some hard seasons, and while it no longer met my needs, I’ll always be grateful for the safety it offered when I needed it most. My landlords were incredibly supportive, helping make it as comfortable as possible, but it was time to move on.

And move on I have. I’ve now settled into my new, accessible apartment and I’m slowly beginning to stretch back out into the world again. One of the biggest changes has been the arrival of my new chariot, a Quickie Q100 R electric wheelchair! I haven’t been able to go out alone in over a year, and this chair marks the beginning of a new chapter of independence. I’m already imagining all the little adventures ahead. It hasn’t been the smoothest start (is it ever?), and I’m still navigating the barriers that come with living in a world not designed for bodies like mine. But there have also been some really beautiful moments and kind humans along the way.

One of the highlights of this month was finishing the Speakers Bank Content Creation Workshop I’ve been doing over the past couple of months. We explored storytelling, filming, lighting, and editing, all through the lens of advocacy and lived experience. A huge moment for me was meeting Carly Findlay, who spoke to us about the power of telling our own stories as disabled people. We each filmed moments from our daily lives, and the final short film will be released soon, I’ll make sure to share it across my socials when it’s out.

Another exciting moment, all three of my pieces in the Incognito Art Show have sold! I’m so proud to be part of an initiative that raises money to support other disabled artists doing what they love. It’s such an honour to contribute in this way.

I also celebrated my third singleversary. Life doesn’t always unfold the way we expect it to, but there’s something wild and freeing about carving out a new path. I’m embracing the adventure, even if I don’t always know where it’s headed.

There were moments of connection too, a warm Tetula Zoom catch-up with my Collective 24 crew, and a lovely afternoon spent with neighbours through the Residents’ Community Garden Group. We planted out some new beds, and I can’t wait to watch them grow.

I also had a brilliant night out with a dear friend at the State Theatre’s Playhouse to see Julia, an incredible performance by Justine Clarke about Julia Gillard and her iconic Misogyny Speech. Highly recommend if you get the chance, it was powerful, moving, and deeply resonant.

My first big adventure with the new chair was to Lightscape at the Royal Botanical Gardens. I got a taxi with my new driver Jama to the train station, met my sister, and we made our way into the city. It was cold but magical, Melbourne knows how to do winter well.

Back in the studio, things are gently unfolding. At the start of winter, I pulled out an older painting I hadn’t touched in a while and placed her back on the easel. I let her sit quietly for a while to see what she might have to say. Slowly, she started whispering again, and the brushes have found their way back to the canvas. It’s felt like catching up with an old friend, reacquainting ourselves and seeing where the conversation wants to go next.

I’m also working on several new pieces for upcoming exhibitions, one for the Eckersley’s Art & Craft Prize 2025, and another for the No Vacancy Annual Group Show (fingers crossed!). Wild Empress, my sculptural mask piece, has been submitted for the Metro Art X 2025 exhibition, and I’m keeping an eye out for the Merri-bek Summer Show, this year’s theme is Love in Crisis. Bonus points if you can guess what I’ve got in mind for that one…

All of these shifts, the move, the new wheels, the quiet return to old works, have had me thinking more deeply about the spaces I inhabit, and the ones that are still closed to me. As I navigate this next chapter, I’ve felt a quiet pull to begin weaving together parts of myself I’ve often kept separate, the artist, the witch, the disabled woman.

This month’s Art Witch Musings is the beginning of that braid. It’s a chapter about thresholds, visibility, and the quiet magic of saying no to systems that weren’t built for us. It’s about reclaiming space, on canvas, in ritual, and in the world.

Art Witch Musings

Chapter Four: The Unseen Realms—Disability, Visibility, and the Magic of Refusal

There is a strange alchemy that takes place in the space between invisibility and hyper-visibility, a dance I know all too well as a disabled woman. When I used to walk with my cane, the world pretended not to see me or told me to get out or the way. Now I’m in my wheelchair, it stares, or worse, speaks to me as though I’m not fully there. In these moments, I become both too visible and entirely unseen.

Living with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, chronic pain, and fatigue means I exist in a liminal space of endurance. I occupy the threshold between worlds, the world of the "well" and the world of the "unwell," the seen and the unseen, the valued and the discarded. This is a haunted place, echoing with the footsteps of those who came before me and those still navigating these thresholds. It is a place of immense magic.

Art Witchery, in this context, becomes more than creative expression, it becomes resistance. My art is a reclamation of space in a world that would rather I shrink. It’s the slow stitching of stories and symbols into existence when my body won’t let me move fast. It’s a sacred NO. A refusal to be erased. A refusal to perform productivity, neatness, or linear healing.

Invisibility is not just a social experience; it is a sensory one. It wraps itself around the body like fog, muffling and distorting perception. The way people speak to you changes. The way institutions treat you changes. Even your mirror, at times, turns away.

But in the studio, whatever form it takes in that season, I become visible to myself again. I don’t have to explain or justify. I don’t have to pass. My mobility aid isn’t a symbol of failure; it’s a throne. My slowness is not laziness; it’s ritual. My body is not broken; it’s a channel. The pain becomes pigment, the fatigue becomes texture, and the tremble of my hands shapes the lines of the piece. The mess is holy.

There’s a peculiar kind of power in seeing the unseen. In spending so much of my life being overlooked, I’ve learned to notice what others miss. The way a shadow curls around a rusted nail. The way certain colours feel like grief. The way silence hums with memory.

This attention, this devotion to the overlooked, is where my Art Witchery thrives. My materials are infused with presence. Fabric, thread, clay, bones, paper, rust, they all hold stories, and I listen. I don’t just work with materials; I commune with them. I ask what they remember. I ask what they want to become. In that exchange, I am reminded that I, too, am a material. I, too, am becoming.

To be disabled in a capitalist society is to be constantly reminded of what you cannot do, what you cost, how you slow things down. But in the rhythms of the wheel of the year, in the gentle waning of the moon, slowness is sacred. Rest is necessary. Wintering is part of the cycle.

So, I choose to live seasonally, not systemically.

This chapter of my work, of my life, is rooted in winter. Not just the external season, but the internal one. The long night. The liminal pause. The tender frost of recalibration. This is not a time for bloom or performance. This is a time to tend the roots, to compost the shame, and to find magic in the dark.

From this place, new work will emerge. But for now, I am learning to stay in the unseen spaces. To honour them. To let them shape me. Because even in the dark, perhaps especially in the dark, I am still here. I am still an artist. I am still a witch.

And I am watching.

Art Journal Prompt: Seen & Sovereign

This month, reflect on the parts of you that have been overlooked, by others, by systems, or even by yourself.

• Where in your life have you felt unseen?

• What would it look like to reclaim that space with love, not performance?

• What parts of your body, story, or spirit have been told to shrink and how might they take up space in your art?

Use collage, paint, or pencil to create a portrait of your unseen self — not how others see you, but how you feel yourself in your own truth. Let it be messy. Let it be slow. Let it be sovereign.

For me, my wheelchair can be a throne. My space can be a ritual. My body, a living altar.

Start from here and see where it can take you.

Art Journal Prompt response showing a wheelchair as a throne

Artist of the Season: Maria Kozic

This Leo Season, I honour the fierce and visually electrifying work of Maria Kozic, a bold and uncompromising artist whose practice sits at the intersection of feminist critique, pop culture, and deeply personal storytelling. Born in Slovenia in 1962 and raised in Australia, Kozic emerged from the vibrant 1980s Melbourne art scene with a practice that pushed against the grain, mixing high-gloss aesthetics with low-brow references, punk sensibilities, and a fearless feminist edge.

Her iconic Kozic Kulture series fused painting, installation, and commercial-style graphics into works that confronted how women’s bodies are seen, sold, and mythologised. With a strong visual language rooted in cartoonish iconography and pop surrealism, Kozic’s work plays with sugar and spice, bright, fun, even humorous on the surface, but layered with deeper explorations of trauma, identity, violence, and defiance.

A migrant, a mother, and an outsider to traditional art world norms, Kozic has described her practice as a means of “telling the truth through fiction.” Her art becomes a space of reclamation and reinvention, a self-mythologising gesture that says: I will not be defined by you.

“I take what’s in the world, cartoons, fashion, symbols, toys, and I distort them until they speak my language. Until they tell my story.”
— Maria Kozic

Her work has been exhibited nationally and internationally, and while she has lived in both Castlemaine and New York, her practice resists easy categorisation. Maria Kozic is a perfect embodiment of Leo energy, dazzling, daring, and never afraid to take up space.

This season, she reminds us that art doesn’t need permission to be powerful and that we, too, can distort the symbols of the world until they speak our language.

Little Witchy Things

This winter, I’ve been learning what it means to truly rest, not just collapse, but consciously choose softness. To not see stillness as stagnation, but as slow repair.

The energy is subtle this season, like roots weaving beneath the surface. It’s not showy or dramatic. It’s warm socks, afternoon sun on the floor, long cups of tea. It’s the small spells that help me return to myself when I’ve wandered too far, because I do. I forget. I push. I burn out.

This cycle, Little Witchy Things is a quiet ode to the slow work of reweaving. To creating space for nourishment, not productivity. To remembering that the body is not an obstacle to magic, it is the magic.

It’s not glamorous. It’s not always inspiring. But it’s real. It’s necessary. And it’s where the healing lives.

This month let’s start with the magic of doing less. Imagine what would happen if you didn’t have to catch up, fix everything, or have all the answers right now. What if less is enough? Try lighting a candle at dusk and simply saying aloud, “I release the pressure to perform. I honour the wisdom in rest.” Let that be your only spell, a quiet surrender to softness.

Next, I invite you to see your body not as an obstacle but as the altar of your witchery, the spell itself. Our bodies carry so much: stories, strength, vulnerability. Gently run a warm cloth over your hands, heart, or feet, and whisper, “Thank you for carrying me.” This simple act is a ritual of gratitude and acceptance.

Slow movement is also a form of magic. When your body asks for gentleness, listen closely. Try shifting your pace, whether that means stretching mindfully, sitting with intention, or simply breathing deeply. These small acts reconnect you to the flow beneath the surface and nurture your inner fire.

Finally, sometimes the most powerful magic is simply choosing to sink into the season’s quiet call. It might be a single candle’s glow, a moment of stillness, or the gentle recognition that slowing down is not a loss but a rhythm to be honoured. Each evening, notice one small thing that brought you a sense of calm or ease. Let these moments become your seasonal offering, a way to rest with the wheel of the year, not against it.

“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes… including you.”
— Anne Lamott

This season, may we all learn to unplug gently. To choose warmth. To choose ourselves.
To light a candle not for manifestation, but just to remember the light.

Cycles of Craft — Leo New Moon & August Astrological Highlights

The Leo New Moon arrives on July 25 at 5:11 am AEST, ushering in a season of bold creativity, self-expression, and the courage to shine your unique light. I’ll be sharing a full, detailed New Moon report over on my Facebook page soon, keep an eye out for insights on how to work with this potent lunar energy.

As we move deeper into Leo season, mark your calendars for a very special Imbolc edition of the blog, dropping August 1. Imbolc is a sacred threshold between seasons, a time to kindle new beginnings and honour the returning light, perfect for grounding your creative intentions for the months ahead.

But August brings even more cosmic excitement with a dazzling Six-Planet Parade around August 10, 2025. Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, Uranus, Neptune, and Saturn will align in the morning sky, a breathtaking celestial gathering. Among them, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, and Saturn may be visible to the naked eye, making this an awe-inspiring moment to connect with the wider universe and your own expansive creative spirit.

Adding to this, the Jupiter and Venus conjunction on August 11 promises an amplified energy of abundance, harmony, and artistic inspiration. The Moon will join this duo between August 19 and 21, making for a stunning triple alignment that invites deep reflection, relationship magic, and new opportunities for growth.

If you’re a night sky watcher, don’t miss the Perseid Meteor Shower peaking August 12-13. Known as one of the brightest meteor showers each year, it’s a powerful time for wishes, release rituals, and connecting with cosmic rhythms. Although the full Moon on August 9 may obscure some of the fainter meteors, the shower’s activity extends beyond its peak, offering darker nights around the August 23 New Moon to catch its magic.

Speaking of lunar events, the Full Moon in Aquarius will occur August 9 at 5:55 pm AEST. This air sign energy encourages us to embrace innovation, community, and forward-thinking ideas, perfect for charting new creative paths or breaking free from old patterns.

Between August 19 and 21, the Moon’s journey will take it close to Venus, Jupiter, and Mercury, creating a beautiful celestial dialogue that can inspire communication, connection, and creative collaborations.

Together, these planetary events invite us to harness the fierce Leo fire alongside expansive and visionary energies, a potent mix for growth, healing, and bold artistic expression as we move through late winter and into the light of spring.

 Oracle Insights: For Leo Season

This Leo Season, invite yourself to slow down and connect deeply with your inner fire, the quiet spark that holds your creative magic steady through winter’s stillness. Use this simple 3-card oracle spread as a gentle guide to explore your path in the weeks ahead.

How to Use:

Find a quiet, comfortable space. Light a candle or hold a crystal if you like. Shuffle your oracle or tarot deck while focusing on these questions. When you’re ready, draw three cards, laying them out left to right.

Card 1: The Spark Within

What is the quiet fire inside me that wants to be seen, nurtured, or expressed this season?
This card reveals the essence of your inner light—the creative force or passion that needs your attention and care right now.

Card 2: The Slow Flame

How can I honour the rhythm of rest and softness without losing my power?
This card offers guidance on embracing the winter’s slower pace while staying connected to your strength and purpose.

Card 3: The Roar to Come

What bold step or intention can I prepare for as this season unfolds?
This card points to the energy or action to cultivate as the wheel turns toward spring and new beginnings.

Reflection:
Spend a few moments journaling or meditating on your cards. How do they speak to the tension between visibility and invisibility? Between rest and creative impulse? How can you weave these insights into your Art Witch journey and daily rhythms?

Three oracle cards laying face down on a table with crystals and a cuppa

🎧 Late Winter Studio Sounds

This month’s playlist is a cosy companion for the slow, creative days of late winter. Think golden afternoon light, big mugs of tea, and quiet hours spent making, dreaming, and gently waking from seasonal slumber. These songs have been playing softly in the background of my studio as I ease through the final stretch of winter. I hope they keep you company too — whether you’re journaling, collaging, or just sinking into a much-needed moment of rest.

Until Next Time…

As we move through this Leo New Moon and into the heart of late winter, may you find power in stillness, magic in the quiet, and courage in your own creative rhythm. Whether you're dreaming at your altar, painting in the low light, or simply letting yourself rest, know that your presence matters, even (especially) when it’s unseen.

Remember to join me each Wednesday on Instagram for Little Witchy Things, small spells and soft rituals to help you stay rooted. You’ll find Cycles of Craft updates and astro insights on my Facebook page, along with behind-the-scenes peeks from the studio across my socials. And don’t miss the special Imbolc blog post dropping August 1, a gentle invitation to honour the returning light.

If you'd like to bring a little of my art magic into your space, visit my Redbubble store, every order supports my practice and means so much.

Thank you for walking this path with me.

With warmth, wonder, and wild art witchery,

A note on imagery:
Some of the visuals in this journal are created using AI tools. As a disabled artist living with chronic health conditions, I sometimes rely on these digital tools to help bring my creative vision to life, especially when energy, pain, or mobility make traditional methods difficult. I still guide every concept and style choice with care and intention, treating AI as a collaborator, not a replacement. It's one of the ways I adapt my practice to honour both my body and my creativity.

Art Witch Journal: Cancer New Moon Rituals, Retrogrades & Creative Rest

An Art Witch desk with candles, tea and open art journal on the night of the New Moon.

Hello creative alchemists,

I hope you are enjoying the new, slower pace journey we are sharing here. As we descend into the winter months of soup season and bottomless cups of tea, the Monthly journal feels right, especially for this Cancer Season. It is giving me the space to breathe and sink into this beautiful time of the year of long nights, short days, brisk mornings, sunny afternoons, fluffy blankets and slippers. Grab a cuppa and join me for some musings from my new studio.

✴︎ Cuppa & Catch Up ✴︎

Although in saying that, what an amazing, crazy, hectic, exciting cycle Gemini Season was. Where do I start? We had a hugely successful Creativa Exhibition with Collective 24. Opening Night was amazing, about a hundred people joined us at Kindred Cameras in the Docklands for wonderful night of Art, conversation, connection and celebrating the joy of Creating. On a personal note, I’m excited to let you know one of my Crow’s sold, Lunar Accent is flying to her new home where she can be loved and admired.

The other amazing news I have is that Kintsugi of the Soul, won the People’s Choice Award in the Stop it Before it Starts art completion run by Violence Prevention Australia. So, it’s with a full heart I thank everyone who voted for them. I am honoured that they have touched so many people and their message connected with so many. Thank you. There is some more exciting news that hopefully I can share with you next month about Kintsugi of the Soul.

If all of this wasn’t crazy enough, I have moved this month. I am now settling into my beautiful new apartment. I can embrace the Cancer energies begin creating my new, forever home. While I was packing, I came across some of my old New Moon Manifestations. Reading through these I realised that this is something I have been dreaming into reality for over 5 years. The safety and comfort of my own little sanctuary. It definitely hasn’t happened the way I would have planned or ever wanted but regardless, I am here. It is wheelchair accessible and I can live here, independently and grow as a disabled artist for many years to come. Next week I am having my electric wheelchair delivered. This is going to open the world up to me again. Giving me the freedom and independence to venture out into the community after over a year of isolation. So, watch this space for more art witch adventures

✴︎ Art Witch Musings ✴︎

Chapter Three: Art Witchery as Practice

Art Witchery, for me, is not a title. It’s a way of being in the world. A rhythm. A ritual. A relationship with the creative process that is intuitive, reverent, political, and deeply spiritual. It’s not something I perform. It’s something I live.

It begins with listening. Before the page, before the paint, before the idea, there is always a moment of tuning in. Not to what I should make, but to what’s already stirring below the surface. Sometimes it comes as an image in a dream. Sometimes it’s a phrase I can’t stop hearing. Sometimes it’s a texture, or a symbol, or a sense that something is waiting to come through.

I work slowly. Ritualistically. I don’t rush the magic. I let it unfold.
Tea is brewed. Music or silence is chosen with intention. A candle may be lit, or an altar cleared. I might draw a tarot card or reach for a stone I’ve been carrying in my pocket. These small gestures ground me, call me in, make space for something sacred to happen.

The studio becomes a liminal space in itself, part sanctuary, part cauldron, part dream chamber.
My materials are more than tools. They are collaborators. Paper, ink, thread, glue, bones, fabric, feathers, wax, each holds its own spirit, its own memory. I let them guide me as much as I guide them.

There are rhythms to this practice, moon phases, seasons, emotional tides. I don’t fight them. I follow them. I might sketch during a waxing moon, build altars at the full, rest and reflect as the moon wanes. I am always crafting in relationship to the world around me, the weather, the land, the cycles of my own body.

Art Witchery is not linear. There is no clear beginning or end. It spirals. It returns. It requires surrender. Some pieces take weeks; others sit unfinished for months until I understand what they were trying to say. Some never become “finished” in the traditional sense, they are offerings, spells in process, sacred scraps that don’t need to be polished to be powerful.

This practice is also deeply embodied. As someone living with chronic illness and disability, I’m always in conversation with my body, what it needs, what it’s holding, what it can or cannot do on a given day. Art becomes a place where I meet my body with gentleness. Where I honour its limitations and its wisdom. Where I can be both soft and strong.

And woven through all of this is a deep trust. Trust that what needs to be expressed will find its way. Trust that slowness is not stagnation. Trust that magic doesn’t always shout, it often whispers.

Art Witchery is not about producing. It’s about becoming. It’s about staying close to what’s real, what’s raw, what’s rising. It’s about remembering that creativity is sacred. That making is a ritual. That art, at its heart, is a spell cast in devotion to truth, transformation, and the unseen.

✴︎ Art Journal Prompt ✴︎

“What does home feel like to me now?”
Not the place, but the feeling.

This New Moon in Cancer calls us inward. It asks us to reflect on the spaces that hold us, soothe us, and witness who we are behind the scenes, without the mask, the pressure, or the performance.

In your journal this month, I invite you to explore the feeling of home. You might reflect on:

• What makes you feel emotionally safe?

• What rituals or objects bring you comfort and steadiness?

• How has your sense of home evolved?

• What does your inner sanctuary look, smell, or sound like?

Let your answers flow through image, colour, word, or texture. Paint your comfort. Collage your refuge. Stitch together the small things that bring you back to yourself.

There’s no right way to do this, just a gentle space to notice what’s rising and to honour whatever version of “home” you’re being called to create or return to.

Optional: Draw or paint a symbolic threshold, a door, a gateway, a curtain, and imagine yourself stepping through into the version of you that is most deeply held.

An open art journal with a response to what does home feel like to me now?

✴︎ Little Witchy Things ✴︎

Material Magic – Crafting the Sacred from the Everyday

This month, I’ve been thinking about the quiet rituals that hold my creative life together, the small, intentional acts that turn the ordinary into the sacred.

Cancer season has me nesting, softening, listening more closely to the whispers of my materials and the rhythm of my days. There’s something deeply magical about the way art-making becomes spellcraft, not through big dramatic moments, but through slow, repeated gestures: the brewing of tea, the strike of a match, the brushing of pigment across paper.

In Chapter Three of Art Witch Musings, I shared how I see my studio not as a workspace, but as a liminal space, part sanctuary, part cauldron, part dream chamber. It’s a place where every object holds memory. Every act is a kind of prayer.

This cycle, Witchy Little Things is a gentle celebration of material magic, how we tend our space, our tools, our bodies, and our rituals, and how these small things become the bones of our creative spellwork.

Here’s how I’m working with this energy:

Tending the Threshold

When I enter my studio now, I pause. Not to rush in and start producing, but to acknowledge the shift. To notice how I feel, how the room feels, how the light moves across the walls.
Thresholds aren’t just about crossing from one space to another, they’re invitations to become present. To arrive fully.
Light a candle. Sweep the floor. Offer a breath to the spirit of the space.

The doorway is where the magic begins.

Rituals of Beginning

Creating is never just about what we make, it’s about how we begin.
This month, try crafting a soft ritual to open your practice. Choose a sound, a scent, a gesture that welcomes you in.
For me, it’s tea in a certain mug, a few deep breaths, a playlist that holds me. Sometimes I’ll pull a tarot card or carry a stone from my altar to my desk.

Start small. Start sacred. Start with yourself.

The Body is the Spell

As someone living with chronic illness, I’ve learned to honour what my body needs, even when it asks me to do less. Especially then.
Your art witchery lives in your body. In your breath. In your heartbeat.
So this month, treat rest as a ritual. Nourish yourself like you would a tender seedling. Wrap up in blankets. Stir soup slowly. Let your movements be spells of care.

You are not a machine. You are a spell in progress.

 Material Kinship

What if your tools were ancestors? What if your thread had memory?
This month, I’ve been listening more to my materials, letting the paper guide the image, letting the glue decide the composition. When I treat them as collaborators, the work flows more easily.
Try this: Choose one material you love. Spend time with it. Don’t force anything. Ask it what it wants to become.

Magic lives in relationship, with self, space, and the seen and unseen.

A journal, cup of tea and a candle burning.

✴︎ Artist of the Season: Tracey Emin ✴︎

Born: July 3, 1963, Croydon, London, England
Sun Sign: Cancer
Mediums: Installation, painting, drawing, sculpture, photography, neon text, sewn appliqué
Notable Works: My Bed (1998), Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963–1995 (1995), The Last Thing I Said to You is Don’t Leave Me Here (1999)

Tracey Emin, born under the sign of Cancer, embodies the deeply emotional and introspective qualities associated with this water sign. Her art is a raw, unfiltered exploration of personal experience, delving into themes of love, loss, trauma, and identity. Emin's work is a testament to the power of vulnerability and the courage it takes to lay one's soul bare for the world to see.

Growing up in Margate, Kent, Emin faced a tumultuous childhood marked by hardship and adversity. These early experiences became the bedrock of her artistic expression, fuelling a career that would challenge societal norms and redefine the boundaries of contemporary art. Her confessional style invites viewers into her most intimate moments, creating a space where personal pain becomes a collective experience.

Emin rose to prominence in the 1990s as part of the Young British Artists (YBAs), a group known for their provocative and boundary-pushing work. Her piece Everyone I Have Ever Slept With 1963–1995, a tent appliquéd with the names of everyone she had shared a bed with, garnered significant attention for its candidness and emotional depth. Similarly, My Bed, an installation featuring her own unmade bed surrounded by personal items, offered a stark portrayal of depression and vulnerability.

Despite facing criticism and controversy, Emin's work has earned her a place among the most influential contemporary artists. She was appointed Professor of Drawing at the Royal Academy of Arts in 2011 and was made a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire (DBE) in 2020 for her services to art.

In recent years, Emin has continued to evolve, both personally and artistically. After battling cancer, she has embraced a renewed sense of purpose, channelling her experiences into her art with even greater intensity. Her recent works focus on themes of love, healing, and the human condition, reflecting a journey of resilience and transformation.

Emin's art serves as a poignant reminder of the strength found in vulnerability and the healing power of creative expression. Her work resonates deeply with the Cancerian themes of home, emotional depth, and the nurturing of the self and others. Her raw, confessional style has influenced a generation of artists and continues to inspire creatives navigating their own emotional landscapes.

✴︎ Cycles of Craft ✴︎

July’s Astrological Weather for Creatives & Art Witches

This month, we’re deep in Cancer season, the most emotionally tender sign of the zodiac, and the cosmos seems to be asking us to slow down, reflect, and reassess. Retrogrades often get a bad rap, but really, they’re just cosmic invitations to pause and go within. This is especially true when multiple planets start their slow-backs during the same season.

Here’s what’s stirring in the stars this month:

Neptune Retrograde – July 4

“Let the dream reshape itself.”
Neptune, planet of dreams, illusions, and spiritual insight, begins its annual retrograde in Pisces. This is a misty, soft, intuitive energy, but in retrograde, it can also lift the veil. You might feel your illusions crumbling or realise something wasn’t quite what it seemed.

For creatives, this is a time to reconnect with why you create. What illusions about your art, your identity, or your path are ready to dissolve? What truth lies beneath the fantasy? Let your intuition be your compass and don’t be afraid to retreat inward for a while.

✧ Studio Spell: Journal or create around a dream that won’t leave you alone. What might it be trying to tell you?

Juno Direct – July 11

“Commitment doesn’t have to mean compromise.”
Juno - the asteroid of commitment, sacred partnerships, and soul contracts moves direct in Virgo after months of retrograde motion. You might feel clearer about what (or who) you’re ready to commit to, and how you want your partnerships to feel, especially the one you have with your creative self.

This is a great time to revisit your relationship with your art. Are your current rhythms truly supporting you? What boundaries or containers help you stay devoted without feeling depleted?

✧ Studio Spell: Write a love letter to your creative practice. What promises do you want to make to it, or break?

Saturn Retrograde – July 13

“Restructure with softness.”
Saturn, the cosmic architect, turns retrograde in dreamy Pisces yes, that’s a lot of Pisces energy. This retrograde helps us revise our structures, limits, and responsibilities but through a gentle, more emotional lens.

You might find yourself redefining what “success” means, questioning expectations, or feeling the need to build something more sustainable. Go slow. Saturn retrograde isn’t about pushing harder it’s about building with intention and care.

✧ Studio Spell: What creative commitments feel heavy or out of alignment? Release them with ritual, a list burned, a sketch left unfinished, a “no” whispered in candlelight.

Mercury Retrograde – July 18 to August 12

“Revisit, rewrite, reweave.”
Here we go again, Mercury retrograde returns, this time in Leo. Expect tech glitches, communication mishaps, and a general slowing of external progress. But also: a beautiful opportunity to return to unfinished work, forgotten ideas, or old journals and sketchbooks.

This retrograde can reignite your inner fire, especially if you’ve been creatively blocked. Let it be a time of revision, not rejection. Look again. The gold is there.

✧ Studio Spell: Pull out an unfinished piece and re-approach it with new eyes. What’s worth keeping? What’s ready to evolve?

Deep dives into these themes will be shared over at Ange’s Studio on facebook, so follow along if you’d like to explore each event more deeply throughout the month.

A hand drawn Lunar Calendar in a journal.

✴︎ Winter Studio Tunes ✴︎

A moody, magical mix for long nights and quiet mornings.
These are the sounds that have been swirling through my studio lately, soft, haunting, a little bit cinematic, perfect for dream journaling, slow stitching, or sipping tea while the world hushes around you.
Let it wrap around you like a blanket. Let it carry you deeper into the work.

✴︎ Closing the Circle ✴︎

As we close this month's circle, I hope something in these pages has sparked a soft kind of magic in you, the kind that starts slow and grows in the quiet.

Cancer season reminds us that we don’t always need to push forward. Sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is retreat inward, nurture what’s already stirring, and trust that the work is unfolding, even if we can’t yet see where it’s going.

Be gentle with yourself this cycle. Rest is sacred. Slowness is powerful. And your creative flame, however small, is still burning brightly.

Keep up to date with the seasons and cycles by checking in at Ange’s Studio on facebook for regular Cycles of Craft updates.

For more Little Witchy Things, behind-the-scenes musings, and studio magic, come say hi over on Instagram @angefosterart

And for all your wearable art and printed treasures, head to my Redbubble store, where my creations can journey from my studio to your world.

A note on imagery:
Some of the images in this journal were created using AI tools as part of my creative process. As an artist living with chronic illness and disability, these tools allow me to bring visual elements to life that would otherwise be physically difficult or inaccessible to create by hand. They’re not a replacement for my art practice, but a way to support and expand it — helping me tell stories, set mood, and share the magic of the seasons with more ease and consistency. Thank you for honouring the different ways creativity can flow.

Seasonal Musings - Winter Solstice Edition

An open art journal sits open on a desk with a Yule Log, eucalyptus leaves, candles, a cup of tea and other art witch items.

Hello creative alchemists,

Welcome to the longest night of the year. The Winter Solstice is here, a sacred turning point on the Wheel of the Year, a threshold between shadow and light, endings and beginnings.

There’s a stillness in the air that feels different. Ancient. This is a time when the earth whispers its old stories and invites us to rest, reflect, and root into the quiet before the slow return of the sun.

So, grab a cuppa, or perhaps a cheeky mulled wine and let’s sink into the solstice magic together.

A Brief History of Yule & the Longest Night

Before Christmas, there was Yule.

Yule is an ancient midwinter festival celebrated by Germanic and Norse peoples, falling on or near the Winter Solstice. The word Yule is thought to stem from jól, a term that predates Christianity by centuries. It marked the rebirth of the sun after the darkest, longest night of the year.

In pagan mythology, particularly within Wiccan and Celtic-inspired traditions, this moment is when the Great Mother Goddess gives birth to the Sun God, bringing light back into the world. It’s a celebration of hope, renewal, and the slow but certain return of warmth and life. The Crone phase of the Goddess makes way for the Maiden once more, the cycle begins again.

This sacred story of light reborn in darkness can be seen echoed in many cultures, including Christianity, where the birth of the Son of God is celebrated close to the solstice. Pagan Sun God—Christian Son of God. The symbolism is strikingly similar.

Yule Traditions You Might Recognise:

•              The Yule Log: Traditionally a whole tree or log burned over several nights, symbolising warmth, protection, and prosperity. Ashes were often kept for luck or used in charms throughout the year.

•              Evergreens & Holly: Trees and greenery symbolised life that persists through winter’s death. Holly was thought to house the spirits of nature and offer protection.

•              Mistletoe: A sacred plant in Druidic tradition, associated with healing, fertility, and the divine.

•              Feasting, Storytelling & Singing: Joyful acts to banish the cold and call in abundance for the season ahead.

•              Gift Giving: Originally offerings to spirits, gods, or loved ones as tokens of hope and blessings for the return of light. Over time, this evolved into the more commercial gift-giving we associate with modern Christmas.

As Christianity spread through Europe, many Yule customs were absorbed into Christmas celebrations, trees, feasts, carols, gift-giving. The deeper, cyclical rhythms of nature-based spirituality were woven into a new tapestry, but the original threads still shimmer underneath.

Other Midwinter Celebrations Around the World

While the Northern Hemisphere’s Winter Solstice is often at the centre of Western narratives, cultures across the globe have long honoured this seasonal turning.

•              Yalda Night (Iran): Originally Zoroastrian festival, celebrated throughout Central Asia celebrating the rebirth of the sun and the victory of light over darkness. Families gather to read poetry (especially Hafez), eat pomegranates, watermelon and nuts, and stay awake into the night.

•              Shab-e Chelleh (Middle East): Another name for Yalda in Iran and surrounding regions, honouring endurance, love, and the turning of the cosmic tide.

•              Dongzhi Festival (China): A time for family reunions and the making of glutinous rice balls called tangyuan, symbolising unity and balance. The solstice marks the yin phase transitioning back toward yang.

•              Soyal (Zuni and Hopi Tribes, USA): A ceremonial dance festival held to welcome the sun back from its long journey. It includes purification rituals, storytelling, and blessings for the new year.

Across time and culture, the themes remain consistent: rebirth, light returning, rest, gathering, and hope.

A traditional Yalda table set for winter solstice. The scene includes an open pomegranate, a bowl of mixed nuts and dried fruits, and slices of watermelon. A book of Hafez’s poetry lies nearby, with candles casting a warm glow over the richly patterned tablecloth. The atmosphere is cosy, festive, and filled with Persian cultural elements.

Ways to Celebrate – Witchy & Otherwise

Whether you identify as an art witch or simply love the invitation of a slower season, here are some gentle and magical ways to mark the Solstice in your own rhythm:

For the Art Witches

•              Create a Winter Solstice altar using natural materials: pinecones, quartz, candles, cinnamon, evergreen sprigs, and dried orange slices.

•              Make a symbolic Yule Log from a small branch. Decorate it with ribbon, runes, or sigils for protection and creativity. Burn it (safely) or display it on your altar.

•              Paint your own Sun God/Goddess—as they rise from the dark. Use golds, deep indigos, and symbolic elements like antlers, spirals, or flame.

•              Craft a wheel of the year for your art journal, or collage seasonal imagery to track your inner and outer cycles.

A cosy armchair draped with a soft throw rug sits beside a small altar table. A grey cat is curled up peacefully on the arm of the chair. On the table, a steaming glass of mulled wine, candles, eucalyptus leaves, and a few crystals create a warm, witchy solstice setting. The lighting is soft and golden, evoking a calm winter evening.

For the Muggles (and low-spoons witches)

•              Brew a warm cider or spiced tea. Add cinnamon or clove and stir in an intention.

•              Watch the sunrise the morning after solstice to welcome the light back.

•              Light a single candle and sit in darkness for a few moments—notice what emerges in the quiet.

•              Bake traditional winter treats (shortbread, gingerbread, or anything warm and buttery).

•   Call a friend or loved one. Connection is a spell too.

Winter Studio Tunes

If you’re looking to set the perfect vibe while you slow down and honour the Solstice, I’ve put together a Winter Studio Tunes playlist—full of warm, gentle, and soulful tracks to accompany your ritual, journaling, or simply resting. You can find it linked in the blog to help create your own sacred soundtrack for this quiet turning of the year.

Art Journal Prompt – "A Light in the Dark"

In the deep dark of winter, what light do you tend within?

Reflect on the parts of yourself that are ready to emerge or be reborn. What quiet truth is beginning to glow again after a long dormancy?

Use imagery of spirals, candles, seeds, or fire. Consider journaling or illustrating the inner flame that guides you through your own winter.

Optional: Try a before-and-after page, one side for what you’re releasing in the darkness, the other for what you’re gently calling back into the light.

An open art journal rests on a cream-coloured desk, showing a creative response to the prompt “A Light in the Dark.” The pages feature painted spiral shapes, soft brushstrokes in gold and indigo, and handwritten reflections. Surrounding the journal are a lit candle, a cup of tea, and a few crystals, creating a peaceful and introspective solstice atmosphere.

Oracle Insights – Solstice Reading

Take a pause and shuffle your favourite oracle or tarot deck. Ask the solstice to speak through your cards. Then pull:

1.           The Darkness: What is being invited to fall away or be composted?

2.           The Stillness: What wisdom or rest is here in the pause?

3.           The Light's Return: What is beginning to rise again in me?

Write down your impressions or sketch the card imagery into your journal. If you don’t have a deck, pull symbols from nature, use your intuition to draw three abstract shapes or colours, or flip to three random pages in a book and let those be your guidance.

Three oracle cards are laid out in a horizontal row on a cream-coloured desk, each turned face-up as part of a Winter Solstice spread. Around the cards are crystals, a lit candle, dried herbs, and an open art journal with handwritten notes and symbols. A warm mug of tea sits nearby. The scene feels quiet, intuitive, and ritualistic—an art witch’s sacred moment of reflection.

Closing the Circle

As the wheel turns and the light slowly returns, may you find rest in the stillness and inspiration in the dark. Winter invites us to honour the quiet, tend our inner flame, and listen deeply to what’s ready to emerge.

The next instalment of the Monthly Musings – Art Witch Journal will be out next week, where I’ll be sharing more reflections from the studio, an art journal prompt for the new moon, and the next chapter of my long-form artist essay.

In the meantime, don’t forget to check my Facebook page for the upcoming Cycles of Craft update as we move through the Solstice portal and into Cancer Season—a time of deep feeling, nourishment, and inner sanctuary.

You can also visit my Redbubble shop to explore my art prints and designs, or follow along on Instagram @angefosterart for more updates from the studio.

Wishing you a gentle and magical Solstice,

A note on images:

As a disabled artist, I sometimes use AI-generated images to help illustrate my blog and social media content. Creating and photographing styled scenes myself isn’t always physically possible, especially on low-spoon days. These images are a supportive tool that helps me share my vision and storytelling when my body needs rest. Wherever I can, I bring my own art and handmade magic into the mix too. Thank you for understanding and holding space for access in creative practice.

Crossing the Threshold: Art, Magic & the New Moon in Gemini

Witch in a Wheelchair - Monthly Musings from Ange’s Studio

✴︎ Cuppa & Catch Up ✴︎

Greetings Creative Alchemist,

Welcome to the very first edition of Monthly Musings from Ange’s Studio! This new journal-style format will land with each new moon, weaving together studio updates, witchy wisdom, seasonal shifts, creative reflections, and artist inspiration, all brewed up with a little magic and a lot of heart.

After months of planning, the gallery doors are officially open for the Creativa Exhibition by Collective 24, "an eclectic group of emerging artists here in Melbourne/Naarm! Opening Night is Friday, May 30 and I’d love to see you there. I’m beyond excited to share that alongside my newest work, The Crow Cycle has taken flight once again and landed at Kindred Cameras, Docklands, for the exhibition. The crows will be watching from the walls, and this time they’ve brought friends. Limited edition crow-themed journals and postcards will be available at the gallery, along with creations from other artists in the show. (You can also find my crow-themed creations online via my Redbubble shop.)

Keep your eyes on my socials in the lead-up to the event, we’ll be sharing sneak peeks, behind-the-scenes moments, and maybe a crow or two.

In other news… I’m moving! Over the next few weeks, I’ll be packing up both home and studio to settle into my new forever home, a beautiful brand-new wheelchair accessible apartment that I can’t wait to make my own. There’ll be boxes, chaos, and copious amounts of tea, but I’m so looking forward to sharing more as things unfold.

With the studio in flux, I’ve embraced a slower rhythm and turned my creative focus inward. This winter, I’m stepping into a long form writing project, something I’ve been dreaming of for a while. It’s a way to keep the creative fire burning while my art supplies are packed away, and it’s also a gentle offering to my body, which is calling for rest.

I’ll be diving deeper into this new seasonal writing practice, what it means, why now, and how it’s all unfolding, in this month’s Art Witch Musings. So, grab a warm cuppa and keep reading...

Creativa by Collective 24 exhibition flyer

✴︎ Cycles of Craft — Seasonal & Celestial Shifts in the Studio ✴︎

As we settle into the last weeks of autumn and tiptoe toward the winter solstice, the energies around us shift dramatically. What was outward now draws inward. And the skies above? They’ve got plenty to say about our creative rhythms, emotional landscapes, and inner growth this month.

Gemini Twins

♊ Gemini Season (from May 21)

The Sun breezed into Gemini, and were invited to lighten things up, get curious, and explore new ideas. This season encourages us to ask questions, write, speak, and connect in unexpected ways. It’s a great time to journal, brainstorm, or dive into something new and mentally stimulating, perfect energy for the start of a fresh creative chapter.

🌑 New Moon in Gemini – Tuesday, May 27 at 1:05pm AEST

This is your cosmic permission slip to reset your mindset. A great time to set intentions around learning, sharing your truth, or trying out a new practice (like a different medium or creative tool). Gemini New Moons favour flexible thinking and starting things that involve writing, teaching, or speaking your truth.

♃ Jupiter in Cancer – from June 9 to June 30

Jupiter, the planet of growth and abundance, moves into the deeply emotional sign of Cancer. This transit draws us back to our roots, our families, our ancestry, and our need for safety and belonging. It’s also a powerful time for inner expansion through care, tradition, and gut wisdom. You might feel called to rework your physical space (hello, nesting vibes) or tap into the stories held in your lineage.

🌕 Full Moon in Sagittarius – Wednesday, June 11 at 5:43pm AEST

This full moon brings a burst of fire into the cooler days. Sagittarius energy asks: What do you believe in? Where are you being called to stretch beyond your current limits? This is a beautiful lunation for releasing old dogmas or fears around following your own path. Rituals around fire, freedom, or setting bold intentions are well supported.

❄️ Winter Solstice – Saturday, June 21 at 12:41pm AEST

The turning of the Wheel. The longest night. The sacred pause. Solstice invites us into a moment of stillness and deep inner knowing. This is a time to honour what you’ve let go of and gently begin to dream the next cycle into being. Consider lighting a candle, writing a list of things you’re grateful for, or simply resting. You’ve earned it.

✨ Deep dives into these themes will be shared over at Ange’s Studio on Facebook, so keep an eye out there if you’d like to go further into the energies of each event.

🌌 And don’t forget, there’ll be a Special Edition Post for the Winter Solstice with reflective rituals, journaling prompts, and seasonal musings.

✴︎  Gemini Season Art Journal Prompt ✴︎

An Art Witch’s desk with a journal and art supplies

✨ “How can I embrace curiosity and duality in my creative practice this month? What stories am I ready to tell, and which voices within me need to be heard?”

Use this prompt to explore contrasts, conversation, and playful experimentation in your art. Try layering text, symbols, or fragments of writing to capture Gemini’s lively, restless energy. Let your pages become a dialogue between your many creative selves.

✴︎ Art Witch Musings – Embracing the in-between ✴︎

An Art Witch’s desk with Grimoire and laptop

Chapter One: The Threshold is the Work

As the nights draw longer and the wind hums her secrets through the trees, I find myself slipping gently into the space between. The season invites stillness, reflection, and retreat, so I’m heeding her call. This winter, my studio will be a cauldron of words, warmed by endless cups of tea, witchy tunes on repeat, and bowls of soup stirred with intention. The paintbrushes are resting. The clay sleeps. But something deeper is waking in the pages.

This new section of my Journal, Art Witch Musings, will be home to a different kind of creative work, a long form unfolding. Think of it as the beginning of a book that hasn’t yet decided what shape it wants to take. A zine? A grimoire? A manifesto? All I know is that the first sentence has arrived, and I’m following her down into the dark.

This chapter marks the beginning of a larger body of work that will evolve slowly over the next few moon cycles. It’s part essay, part invocation, part love letter to the liminal. A deeper dive into who I am as an artist and a witch, beyond the social media snippets, beyond the finished artwork.

Because the truth is, what you see, the art, is only the echo. The real work begins in the unseen places. The threshold. The fog. The marrow. Art witchery, for me, isn’t just about aesthetic or vibe. It’s not all herbs and candles (though there are plenty of both). It’s a way of being. A way of listening. A sacred creative practice that weaves together magic, feminism, disability, intuition, spirituality, and the radical act of slowing down.

I work in the liminal spaces that are neither here nor there, moments between moments. This is where my best work brews. As someone living with disability, I already inhabit a different kind of rhythm. Time bends. Energy moves like a tide. My creative process is never linear. It spirals. It rests. It returns.

To live and create in this way is both political and spiritual. It’s a reclaiming of body and voice. A refusal to conform to capitalist productivity or ableist ideals of what a “working artist” should look like. It’s also deeply mystical, a communion with unseen forces, ancestral memory, and archetypal wisdom. I draw as much from the occult, dreamwork, and spiritual alchemy as I do from my physical materials. My art isn’t just inspired by these things; it’s made through them.

The studio becomes a sacred container. The page is an altar. My materials are spell ingredients. Symbols emerge like whispers. Archetypes show up in my dreams and then appear in my work. I marinate in every corner of these liminal spaces, emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, until the art reveals itself.

This slow, chaptered unfolding is an offering, a way to honour the parts of my practice that often go unseen. The compost. The spellwork. The quiet why behind the what.
This winter, I’m letting the words do the heavy lifting and I’d love for you to walk this path with me.

So, light a candle. Pour yourself a cuppa. And join me each moon cycle as I write my way deeper into this practice.
Because sometimes, the most powerful creation happens when we are still.
When we let the fog settle.
When we honour the threshold as sacred.

✴︎ Witchy Little Things ✴︎

An Art Witch’s desk with a journal, candles, crystals and herbs

Resting at the Threshold

This season, I’ve been thinking a lot about thresholds, those in-between spaces that don’t quite belong to one thing or another. The doorway. The dusk. The inhale before the exhale. The moment when you're no longer who you were, but not yet who you're becoming.

Winter, in all her quiet wisdom, is a threshold. She invites us to step away from the noise, to sink into stillness, to listen. Not to fix or push or produce, but simply to be. That is not lazy. That is ritual.

When we choose to rest with intention, we reclaim something that capitalism has tried to steal from us, our rhythms, our softness, our right to pause. For those of us living with disability or chronic illness, this sacred pause is already embedded in our bones. We move with the tide. We honour the fog. But rest, when approached as a ritual, becomes something even more powerful: a spell of resistance, a threshold into deeper creativity, a homecoming to ourselves.

So, this month’s Witchy Little Things is all about resting at the threshold, finding magic in the stillness, the in-between, the quiet moments that hold everything.

Here’s how I’m working with this energy:

1. Thresholds Are Sacred
A threshold isn’t just a place, it’s a moment. When I moved from painting into writing this winter, I realised I wasn’t just changing mediums, I was crossing a threshold. These liminal spaces hold potent creative energy if we allow ourselves to pause and listen. You might be in one now. What are you crossing into? What are you leaving behind?

2. Rest as Ritual, Rest as Resistance
Build small, sensory rituals around your rest: a blanket you only use when reading tarot, a mug of herbal tea with a sprinkle of cinnamon, a playlist that signals “rest time” to your nervous system. These moments are sacred. Honour them as you would a spell.

3. The Dreaming Threshold
Dreams are threshold places too, where the conscious and subconscious meet. If you’re feeling disconnected from your creative flow, try resting with intention. Sleep with a crystal or herb bundle beside your bed, journal what arrives in the morning, or use a sigil to invite insight. The wisdom you’re seeking might be waiting in the quiet.

4. Crafting a Threshold Altar
Create a small altar or corner that holds your intentions as you rest. A candle for light, a feather for softness, a key for what you’re unlocking. This isn’t about aesthetics, it’s about energy. A place to hold what’s unfolding, gently, quietly, in its own time.

This winter, let rest be the ritual. Let the threshold be your teacher. Because sometimes the deepest magic happens when we stop trying to shape the world… and allow it to shape us.

✴︎ Artist of the Season: Johanna Warren ✴︎

Born: June 1, 1990 | Gemini Sun
Based in: Portland, Oregon
Mediums: Music, herbalism, ritual performance, healing arts

This season I’m honouring the deeply magical work of Johanna Warren, musician, witch, herbalist, and healer, as our Artist of the Season. Born under the sign of Gemini, Johanna’s music dances across realms: grief and joy, shadow and light, sacred and mundane. Her work feels like a whispered conversation at the edge of sleep, part lullaby, part invocation.

Johanna moves between worlds with ease, weaving music, plant medicine, energy work and ritual into one coherent offering. Her albums Gemini I and Gemini II embody the dual nature of the twins, not just as a concept but as an ongoing, lived experience, one of complexity, contradiction, and transformation. She describes these works as “emotional siblings,” made in response to deep inner reckoning and radical self-inquiry.

As an artist, she doesn’t shy away from pain. Instead, she crafts beauty from it, songs that feel like spells, lyrics that linger like the scent of burning herbs. She has also spoken openly about her path as a healer and witch, using creativity as both a cathartic release and an act of resistance. There’s something powerfully liminal about her work, like a doorway left ajar between worlds.

Her presence in the playlist this month is no accident, I’ve included a few of her songs that speak directly to this month's themes: rest, ritual, the sacred threshold, and the magic of in-between spaces. I hope they wrap around you like a blanket of moss and moonlight.

I hope you enjoy this month’s Winter Playlist, a little sonic spell to accompany your journal practice, your quiet afternoons, your moments of pause.

That’s a Wrap…

Thanks for curling up with this first edition of Monthly Musings, I’m so glad you’re here for the journey.

If you’re local, don’t forget: the Opening Night for the Creativa Exhibition is happening Friday May 30 at Kindred Cameras in Docklands. I’d love to see you there, come say hi, soak up the art, and maybe even take a crow (or two) home with you. There’ll be exclusive merch available from myself and other talented artists.

You can keep up with my studio life, witchy updates, and creative musings over on Instagram @angefosterart and Facebook at Ange’s Studio.

The New Moon astrology report is now live in this month’s Cycles of Craft update, you’ll find that over on Facebook, too.

And if you’re feeling the call to bring a little magic into your everyday, check out my Redbubble shop, browse prints, journals, and other enchanted goodies from the studio.

Until next moon, stay warm, stay inspired, and may your winter be filled with soft blankets, quiet magic, and creative sparks.

Some of the images in this post were created using AI. As a disabled artist living with chronic pain, I use AI tools to support my creative process when physical limitations make traditional methods difficult. It's one of the ways I continue to tell my stories, craft my magic, and share my world, accessibly, sustainably, and on my own terms.

Art Witch Musings: Sigil Magic, Scorpio Full Moon and a Creative Descent

A cream-colored desk with an open art journal featuring a white sigil, surrounded by art tools, crystals, and candlelight, evoking the energy of the Scorpio Full Moon.

Hello creative alchemists, and welcome to my 20th blog post!

The Scorpio Full Moon 2025 is upon us, and as always, my full moon report is up over on Facebook under Cycles of Craft if you're craving a deeper dive into the energies. This post, however, is more personal, part studio letter, part ritual space. As we move through this season of descent, the pull to slow down is strong. Samhain marks the beginning of the dark half of the year, and with Pluto now retrograde and Black Moon Lilith both present in Scorpio, it’s no wonder we’re being asked to pause and reflect.

Cuppa and Catch Up

This fortnight I’ve been busy finishing off my pieces for Creativa, my upcoming exhibition with Collective 24. As predicted in the last blog, there were some late-night painting sessions to get everything finished in time, but I’m happy to report they are now ready to be delivered to the gallery this week!

We’ve started promoting the show too, so keep an eye out for it on platforms like What’s On Melbourne. Collective 24 members have also been dropping flyers off to art stores and cafes around town. If you’re not already, please follow Collective 24 on the socials to stay in the loop.

Now that the work is done, I’m taking a moment to breathe. I have some important medical appointments coming up over the next couple of months, and I know I’ll need to pace myself and rest where I can. My body is asking for stillness, and for once, I’m listening.

This Full Moon blog will be the last of the fortnightly updates for now. I’ll be moving to monthly Studio Letters in alignment with the New Moon. It’s not a step back, it’s a deepening. A chance to go slower, but richer. To honour the rhythm of the darker months. To follow my own energy instead of trying to keep up with the pace of the world. It’s part of evolving my intuitive art practice and making room for more authentic, sustainable creativity.

I’ve pulled out an unfinished canvas that’s been tucked away behind my desk for months. No pressure to do anything with it just yet, but I’m enjoying seeing it again. I’m also feeling the pull to journal more, privately, intuitively. A quieter form of artmaking, and one that feels very needed.

Art Witch Musings: Sigils in Art Practice

I often include sigils in my art.

They’re usually subtle, drawn with white watercolour pencil or layered into the underpainting, but they become part of the energy of the piece. A way of weaving intention into the process. This week I made one for the Full Moon using the phrase:
“I release creative fear and express my truth with power.”

Once the letters were condensed and rearranged into a glyph, I sketched it onto the canvas I’m working on. It’s hidden beneath layers of glaze now, but I know it’s there.

Historically, sigils were used in ceremonial magic by mystics and magicians who would encode spiritual or magical intentions into a single visual symbol. These weren't meant to be read literally, but felt or intuited symbols of desire, transformation, or divine protection. Today, they’re often used in chaos magic and intuitive witchcraft as a way of personalising your spellwork. I love that they’re both ancient and adaptable, there's something powerful about crafting a symbol that feels uniquely yours.

If you’ve never worked with sigil magic in art, they’re a beautiful way to combine ritual and creativity. You can write your intention, reduce it down by removing the vowels and repeated letters, and shape what’s left into a symbol. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to feel right.

You can add it to your sketchbook, your canvas, your journal, wherever you create. Let it be a quiet spell, working behind the scenes.

A gold sigil drawn from the intention 'I release creative fear and express my truth with power,' set against a textured, moody background.

Art Journal Prompt

What creative fear are you ready to release this Scorpio Full Moon?

And what truth are you ready to speak with power?

If it resonates, try creating a sigil from your answers and including it somewhere in your art or journal this week. It can be hidden, abstract, messy, or precise. There’s no wrong way to do it, only what feels honest.

This is a deep and personal one. There’s no pressure to share it. Let it be something just for you, if that’s what feels right. This type of art journaling for healing is something I return to again and again.

An open art journal surrounded by paints, tea, and candlelight—capturing a quiet moment of creative magic.

Artist of the Season: Suzy Frelinghuysen

Born May 7, 1911, Suzy Frelinghuysen was one of the first American women to work in the abstract cubist style and one of the few to be taken seriously by the movement during her time.

Suzy studied art in New York and later joined the American Abstract Artists group, working alongside artists like Josef Albers and Piet Mondrian. She brought a distinctly lyrical edge to geometric abstraction, her compositions are bold and architectural, yet there’s a kind of flow to them that draws you in.

She was also an opera singer, performing with the New York City Opera in the 1940s and 50s. For long stretches, she stepped away from painting completely to focus on music. That rhythm feels real to me, the way we move in and out of creative phases. Suzy reminds me that it’s okay to take breaks, to return, to reinvent. That your artistry is never limited to just one form.

I love discovering women artists like Suzy who shaped art history in quiet, powerful ways. They’re part of the lineage I work within as a mixed media artist in Melbourne, exploring themes of identity, voice, and reclamation.

Cycles of Craft Update

Since the last blog, I’ve shared updates on Facebook about Samhain ritual ideas, Pluto retrograde in Aquarius, and Dark Moon Lilith in Scorpio. There’s also a Scorpio Full Moon report going live the same day as this blog.

With so much intense astrology happening in the fixed signs, I’ve been feeling it in my bones. The Scorpio-Aquarius tension is strong in my chart, and it’s asking me to dig deep, to slow down, reflect, and be honest about what needs to be composted in order for new growth to take root.

Even though the blog will shift to a monthly rhythm, there will still be plenty of updates on Instagram and Facebook, especially around moon phases, seasonal changes, and behind-the-scenes moments from the studio. Think of the monthly blog as a deeper exhale. A gathering of threads. A letter from the heart. A continuation of the Cycles of Craft journey we’ve been on for the last 6 months.

Soundtrack for the Descent

If you're like me, certain songs just belong to this time of year.

Soundtrack your descent into winter with these witchy studio tunes. A mix of moody instrumentals, dreamy folk, and atmospheric soundscapes to hold you through the quiet season. Perfect for painting, journaling, or simply brewing a strong cup of tea and sinking into the stillness.

🎧 Listen to the playlist on Spotify

Where to Find Me

I’ll be back with the new Studio Letter for the Gemini New Moon at the end of May. These monthly letters will continue to blend studio updates, seasonal energy, and a little bit of magic, just at a more sustainable rhythm for the dark half of the year.

Until then, you can:

• Catch the full Scorpio Full Moon astrology update on Facebook

• Follow Collective 24 on instagram and facebook for exhibition updates

• And don’t miss: 25% off everything in my Redbubble store from May 15–19

May this Full Moon help you release what’s no longer serving you and remind you of your power to begin again.

A quick note: Some of the images in this post were created using AI tools. As a disabled artist, managing my energy and chronic pain means I sometimes need to find alternative ways to bring my vision to life. These tools support me in staying connected to my creative practice, even when my body needs to rest.