december feels.

the season of more.

We blinked and it’s December. Every year that I’m alive the calendar seems to speed up. Days, weeks and months passing so quickly that it’s hard to keep up.

And December? It’s the fastest of them all.

A month primed for nostalgia and slowness, and filled with a hurried chaos. Beautiful, nonetheless, but sort of a mess. Finding your joy, calm, roots in this month can be challenging with the jam-packing of the social calendar, the merry-making, the mental load of making memories and wonder.

And still, it’s the best.

A month with a bit of slowness built in - a pause of work and school, of the daily to-do list of getting everyone where they need to be. If even just for a few days, this slowdown is something I look forward to all year.

A month where our homes are their best and brightest. Ours, filled with my bottle brush tree collection, our colorful tree and lights strewn arcross our entryway. It’s my most favorite way our home can look.

As an artist and a mom, December always feels like I’m being pulled in two completely opposite directions. My creative soul is craving hibernation - long, quiet days in the studio, the kind of deep work that requires uninterrupted time and mental space. While my family life is demanding the exact opposite - presence, participation, energy for all the magic-making that makes December special for my daughter, our three adult children and all of our people.

How do I hold space for both? How do I honor my need for creative solitude while also showing up fully for the traditions and memories we’re building? How do I protect my studio time without missing the moments that matter?

I will likely never have it figured out, but I’m learning that December doesn’t have to be either/or. It can be both/and, and there’s beauty in that.

Social media is full of the romantic version of the artist’s life. Year-round, but especially in December. We see images of cozy studios, creative projects perfectly aligned to tree-trimming and gift giving. Beautiful things being made in a peaceful and thoughtful way. While this is true for many artists, it isn’t my truth, especially this December.

My studio time is fragmented these days. My mind is split between mixing the perfect shade of blush and remembering to order that last gift. The quiet I need to create is constantly interrupted by the never-ending holiday to-do list running in my brain. I love being the planner and the magic maker of our home. I love finding the perfect gift for all of our people, planning the meals, trimming the tree, moving the elf (maybe this one less so,) wrapping, shipping, and on and on.

I genuinely do. But I also desperately need to paint. Not just for my business or my Instagram, but for my soul. Creating is how I process, how I breathe, how I stay myself. When I go too long without studio time, I start to feel untethered - and December feels like the time most likely to leave me spinning.

This year, I’m trying something different. Instead of feeling guilty about wanting both things, I’m actively planning for both things.

I’m lowering my expectations for the month. I’m not going to finish my entire new collection in December. The gallery show dreams can wait until January when my brain has space for them again. Right now, I’m in maintenance mode - showing up to the studio when I can, making what I can make, and letting that be enough.

I’m reclaiming my studio space at home. Since moving into my new studio, I’ve rarely painted or created at home. This month, I’m going to work on some smaller studies and starts of new pieces while a Christmas movie plays in the background. A win-win for my artist brain and my Christmas movie loving teen.

Building creativity into the traditions. Maybe December doesn’t have to be art OR family. What if some of our traditions become creative rituals? Making cookies together. Painting gift tags. Creating our own wrapping paper. Finding ways to weave my artistic practice into the family moments instead of separating them.

The truth is, December is asking me to be multiple versions of myself simultaneously - the artist, the mom, the host, the gift-giver, the magic-maker, the creative business owner. And some days, I’m going to fail at balancing all of it.

My December intentions this year aren’t about productivity or perfection. They’re about presence - being present in my studio when I’m there, being present with my family when I’m with them, and trusting that there’s enough time and space for both if I stop trying to do everything at once.

Maybe that’s the real gift of December’s forced slowdown. Not that everything stops, but that we finally have permission to be more intentional about what we say yes to. To choose what matters most on any given day. To let some things go so we can fully embrace others.

For me, that means some mornings lost in paint and some afternoons lost in a messy kitchen. Studio days and cookie-baking days. Solitary creating and collaborative making. The beautiful mess of holding space for all the parts of myself that make me who I am.

And somehow, in the midst of this both/and December, I’m hoping to create art that matters and memories that last. Not perfectly, not effortlessly, but intentionally.

That feels like enough.

xx,

Jill