What January brings for me (and it’s not a resolution)

January has never felt like a clean slate to me. It feels more like a quiet threshold.

After the rush of December, I welcome the slower mornings, the softer light, the way time seems to stretch just a little. This is not the month where I announce big changes or make bold promises to myself. I’ve learned that I don’t really trust sudden declarations. I’m good at intentions, less good at rigid rules.

I’ve also noticed that the changes that actually last in my life don’t arrive with fanfare. They come quietly. Gradually. They settle in, almost unnoticed, until one day I realize they’ve become part of who I am.

A resolution feels like a line drawn in the sand. A rhythm feels like something I can return to, even if I step away for a moment. It allows for real life, for fatigue, for curiosity, for days that don’t go as planned. It feels kinder, and strangely, more honest.

So instead of resolutions, I make a few small promises to myself. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that requires a complete overhaul. Just gentle commitments that can comfortably live alongside the life I already have. Here are ten of them:

To start my mornings more slowly when I can, even if it’s just an extra few minutes of quiet before the day begins.

To leave space for rest, without needing to earn it.

To keep showing up in the studio, without demanding productivity or results every time.

To move my body in simple ways, walking, stretching, doing what feels good rather than what feels impressive.

To say no when something feels like too much, and trust that this is also a form of care.

To notice color outside my own work—in winter skies, shadows on snow, the muted tones of January.

To stay curious, especially when things feel uncertain or unresolved.

To keep my life and work porous, letting experiences, travel memories, and everyday moments filter naturally into my paintings.

To spend less time rushing toward what’s next, and more time noticing what’s already here.

To allow change to happen slowly, trusting that gradual shifts often last the longest.

None of these are rules. They’re reminders. They’re ways of orienting myself, especially at the start of the year, when everything seems to ask us to become someone new overnight.

January doesn’t ask that of me. It invites me to settle in, to listen, to let things take shape in their own time. And for now, that feels like more than enough.