Another year-end reflection
Making art in hard times
“The Greek poets saw and felt, and then wrote. They learned from suffering, and the way they learned was to make the effort to articulate their personal experience into forms that transcended it. They combined examined experience with the discipline of art to bring forth a statement forever useful to their fellow human beings. It was their solution to the problem of universal human pain that struck me: not the direction toward alleviation […] but a a way that beckoned people toward aspiration.” —Anne Truitt, Daybook
I love this quote from Daybook, which I’ve been rereading this week in Alabama, as an articulation of how art making can form a response to personal experience and human pain, of which there is too much, all the time, everywhere. In the face of it all, I can feel so small and incapable. Art is an imperfect way to deal with, metabolize, and process suffering, but it’s the best way I know. When I’m alone or down, it’s in the stories and poems and drawings of others that I have always found the most comfort and companionship. I wanted to begin with this Truitt quote, because right now making art can seem futile or superficial or like it does so little in the face of so many real, terrible problems. But even so, it’s all I have and I have to believe it’s something. It’s my small way to make sense and manage. I’m drawn, again and again, to the blank page. That empty little square where I work things out for myself.
This year, I found myself deep in addiction to my phone. I can become obsessed with the news, listening to upwards of 3 to 4 podcasts a day. Reading a deluge of articles. As if in the information, I’d find some solution, a key, an answer. Of course, I never do. All I find is more information. And information is necessary and helpful, of course, but at some point, more information stops being anything but more.
My brain can’t process it all. And inside the constant chatter of airpods, my brain can’t create space to slow down and open up, which is what it needs if I’m ever going to create anything with any meaning. As a way to process this addiction and to rip myself away from that glowy screen, I started to draw my addiction, putting wifi in my eyes, showing my hunched posture, the inescapable pull to the small altar of technology companies built for us to worship upon. It was so hard to pull myself away. So I did what I knew how to do, I moved toward it in my art.
I have an inconsistent Transcendental Meditation practice. My partner and I did a formal training in it a few years ago. I notice a total shift of spirit when I’m meditating for 20 minutes twice a day, but like many things that are good for me, I’ve found some reason to not do it.
Or put it off. “Do it tomorrow.” And here’s another 2026 resolution I find myself grasping toward––more moments of absolute stillness. This year, a promise I’m making to myself is to journey back to mindfulness. Find that sacred place of inner quiet. Try to open the channel. It’s there waiting for me. Like the blue sky is always on the other side of the clouds. It’s necessary to go there. With so much constant chatter and noise, I have to exercise my mind, like I work out my body, or I risk losing my attention to the mean screen.
I started this Substack in January of this year. The idea was to create a space to experiment, draw, and share art I made even if I wasn’t very good at making it yet. I’m a writer, of course, but I didn’t want my Substack to be a place where I wrote essays or think pieces. I love reading essays and think pieces here but I wanted to do something different for myself. I wanted to get better at drawing. I wanted to find my drawing voice. I wanted to be an imperfect beginner, and I liked the idea of doing it in public and in community. I wanted to spend time creating something tactical and associative and more image-based. At first, I was very diligent. I drew every week, because I knew I’d share at least one drawing the following Monday. It was a constraint and a motivator. I needed to draw every day so I had something I could post. Of course, this deadline was completely made up by myself, and I was free to break it whenever (which I did as my posts began to wane). But I do well with self-imposed deadlines and self-assigned homework that no one asked for and no one needs except me. This is how I’ve written every book, essay, short story, and planned every lecture. I give myself an assignment, and then get to work completing the task at hand. My guess is most writers and artists do exactly that with their own work.
Ever since I was a kid, I always thought the coolest thing in the world would be to draw comics for the local paper. I loved pouring over the funny pages. I had anthologies of Calvin and Hobbes and Zits and Peanuts. Later in life, I became such a big fan of Alison Bechdel’s graphic novels that I wrote pocket-sized book about Fun Home. I don’t plan on writing a graphic novel, but I do plan on continuing my adventures in drawing and comic-making this next year. I have some fun plans for this Substack and few new ideas for how to use it. I guess it’s another 2026 resolution, and I mean to keep it.
Drawing and painting every week has taught me a lot about materials. Which is something I never really considered before developing a drawing practice. I’ve always kept a daybook or a journal, and of course I have a favorite pen (Muji .5) and a favorite journal (Leuchtturm 1917). I’m a big stationary fan, and one of life’s greatest joys is discovering new pens and notebooks. This year’s adventures in art gave me some new preferences. I do not like charcoal. Using gouache gives me painter’s block. I feel most free using watercolor and a brush pen.
A few favorites from 2026
My favorite pen: Pentel Pocket Brush Pen
My favorite notebook: Midori MD
My favorite pencil: Low Center Gravity Mechanical Pencil .33 from Muji
My favorite watercolor set: Art Toolkit in Port Townsend. They have the coolest expedition kits.
My favorite mixed media paper: Beta Series
My favorite graphic novel: You Can Never Die by Harry Bliss. HEARTBREAKING and beautiful memoir about life with his dog Penny.
Poetry collection (not new of course but reread): Stag’s Leap by Sharon Olds
Favorite film: The Worst Person in the World and Past Lives
Favorite novel: I can’t!!! There were too many. But I already have three favorites for next year––T Kira Madden’s Whidbey, Allie Rowbottom’s Lovers XXX, and Tomas Moniz’s The King of Aloe Vera. Put these on your TBR piles ASAP and PREORDER.
My favorite thing to draw: Ozzy. Always ❤️
My precious companion, and my favorite guy in the world. The love of dogs is one of the best things in this life. The dogs in my life have given me more than I can ever give back.
Now I’m going to leave you with a few resolutions for 2026. Less noise coming in. More moments of quiet. More drawing. More painting. More poems. More stories. More walks without my phone. More making sourdough pizza with my love. More time in Alabama with my mom and dad. More hikes with Ozzy. More friends and true laughter. More being fully in this life. More of the best. Less of the rest.
This next year I’ll move into the production stage for my novel Headfirst (out in early 2027), so it’ll be a big year of movement and anticipation. You’ll be hearing a lot more from me. I also have some fun ideas for this space, and a few new posts that I hope you’ll enjoy. You can expect Ozzy cartoons. Hand drawn versions of me trying to work through life’s challenges and joys.
We’re on the other end of the solstice, and I’m grateful for this life. For the chance to make things in community with you all. Thank you for being here. Keep making whatever you make and sharing it whenever you feel called to.
Onward ✏️
Genevieve
Share a few resolutions below. I’d love to hear them. We can move forward together in solitary and inspiration.
Thank you so much for this. It gives me lots to be mindful of as I start the new year. My theme song is Returning to Myself.
loved this wife!