A Quiet Start
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how quickly a season can pass. And this past season has felt like a turning point in a quiet, steady way.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how work changes—not all at once, but gradually, almost without announcing itself. The same instincts are there, but something underneath them shifts. The way I compose. The moments I’m drawn to. What I choose to leave in, and maybe more importantly, what I’m willing to leave out.
A lot of this season has been spent in the studio, sitting with that shift and trying not to rush it.
A cardinal (female) perched right outside my window one snowy morning– “not rushing it”
I keep coming back to that idea. Of how much of my work is really about waiting. About paying attention long enough for something to reveal itself. I think that’s been true beyond the work, too; learning to sit with things as they are, without trying to move them forward too quickly.
As I move further into this stage of life, there’s a quiet grounding in that—an understanding that not everything needs to resolve right away.
“The Good Days” — Kyle Goeken’s album Ruminate
At the same time, a few opportunities have come in that have gently pushed the work outward. Last year, I created a commissioned body of work for singer-songwriter, Kyle Goeken, and more recently I’ve been working on a commission for poster art for an upcoming feature documentary film called Pinball. That process has been especially meaningful—thinking about how imagery functions within a larger narrative, how it holds space alongside sound, movement, and time.
It’s made me more aware of rhythm. Of restraint. Of how much can exist just beneath the surface of an image, or what begins to lift from it.
Alongside that, some of the work has begun finding its way into spaces beyond the studio.
After Canonica, 1904 — Exhibiting through ASmith Gallery at Creek Road Homestead Studios in Dripping Springs, TX from May 1-31st
Three pieces were selected through juried exhibitions this season, with two included in upcoming gallery shows in Texas and Vermont. I also currently have work on consignment with KORE Gallery locally, which has been a meaningful step—seeing the work live outside of my own walls, in conversation with other artists and with viewers I may never meet.
For a long time, I’ve been comfortable keeping a lot of work mostly to myself; letting it stay contained, private, and still in process. A big part of that was the work itself. I’ve spent the last couple of years developing a process that felt true to what I was trying to make, and it took time, trial, adjustment, and a lot of troubleshooting to arrive somewhere that felt resolved enough to share. And even now, it still feels like I’m at the beginning.
There’s so much to learn, refine, and grow into. But this excites me.
Opening it up now, allowing it to be seen and experienced by others, feels both vulnerable and unexpectedly exciting. Like something that’s been inward-facing is starting to turn outward, slowly.
Il Cammino “The Journey” | currently on display at KORE Gallery Louisville, KY
What I keep returning to, again and again, is a desire for simplicity.
Not in the sense of making things easier, but in stripping away what isn’t essential. Letting the work breathe. Letting it remain a little unresolved.
I’ve also been spending time looking at other work, other ways of seeing. Recent visits to the Gardner Museum and the MFA in Boston, along with time spent writing and reading, shape how I’m thinking about space, composition, and what an image can hold.
Letting myself expand—
“The Blue Cup” - painting by Joseph Rodefer DeCamp at the MFA, Boston
I think I’m becoming less interested in explaining the image, and more interested in creating space for someone else to enter it; on their own terms, with their own associations.
There’s something about this shift that feels tied to seasonality, too—the way things move, often quietly, from one state into another. Not all at once, but gradually, until you find yourself somewhere new.
Looking ahead, I’m hoping to continue building in this direction.
More opportunities to show the work in physical spaces. More collaborations and commissions that stretch the way I think and make. And a deeper commitment to developing bodies of work that feel cohesive, even if they take time to fully understand.
Yarrow & Begonia Dances | Wet Cyanotype
And so I’ve been returning to this Rilke passage recently for inspiration—
“Be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given because you would not be able to live them—and the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answers.”
— Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke
If you’ve been following along, whether closely or quietly, thank you for being here. It means a great deal to have people engaging with the work as it evolves—moving into this next season.
More soon,
Rachel