Less that a year ago I was jonesin’ to be here — getting ready for the big move up north. New town. New house. New studio.

In my head, I was going to dive right in. Meet people. Make friends. Start building a creative life immediately. Host arty little dinner parties with my new found besties.

What I didn’t understand, didn’t take into account, was the reality of moving. Packing. Unpacking. Creating a temporary home for three people & two dogs in a small ADU with one bathroom—ONE BATHROOM!!! while the real house–and eventually the studio, is being built.

No studio. No problem, right? I figured I’d paint on the deck or outdoors under a canopy.

The deck was too precious to destroy with paint and, being that I’m a messy painter, that lasted maybe a week. Plan B: the canopy. WHAT WAS I THINKING??? That sucker developed a leak in no time. PNW, remember. We haz weather up here. Rain. And wind that came ripping off the strait blowing away my good intentions.

Then came the eagles. Real eagles replaced the Hotel California version. “Cool wind in my hair” turned into family squabbles from the treetops. “Junior, get over here! There’s a dead deer for dinner!”

So much for the ambiance of plein air. Outdoor painting lost its romance fast.

But something else showed up. An urge to wander. Learning the roads. The light.

How this place actually feels before trying to belong to it.

That wandering has been its own kind of practice.

The Landscape I Didn’t Expect

At first I thought I was just learning a physical landscape. Backroads. Tree lines. Where to pull over for the best shot of the mountains. Or the water.

But somewhere along the way I realized I wasn’t just learning the place.

I was learning the people. Who’s here. Who’s making things. The sense of community.

Turns out there’s more than one kind of landscape up here. And once I started seeing that, something else became obvious to me.

The Lone Artist Story

Don ‘t get me started on the myth of the solitary artist. Puh-leez! The work itself is solitary. But creative lives? Not really. Every artist I know has people in the mix somewhere. Conversations. Shared spaces. That one friend or even that crazy- ass muse who lives in your head–someone to bounce ideas off of. Someone who says, “Okay, stop. It’s done.”

Or, “Got yourself another layer, don’t ‘cha.”

It’s all about connection.

Speaking of which…I realized how much I needed some arty friends! So last week I reached out and met with an artist who’s organizing Open Studios. We met for coffee. Did some gallery hopping. Walked around town.

And talked about open Studios. A few months ago I would’ve said, “Not this year.” In fact, when I first met her, I pretty much did. My studio is still more blueprint than building.

But now? I’m not so sure.

Something has shifted.

I’m starting to realize this might not be about being ready. It might just be about connection.

This Week’s Courting the Muse Prompt

Notice connection. Then do something with it.

Send the message. Start the conversation. Introduce yourself even if it feels awkward. Tell someone you love their work. Follow the curiosity. Pull the thread.

Connection doesn’t get built by thinking about it. It gets built by showing up.