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I closed my business Larke a couple of weeks ago now, and I had in my mind that I would be ready to 'get on' with my new business straight away, that I would 'hit the ground running', keep up my momentum and funnel my energy into a new venture. I thought 1 March would be a perfect day for a fresh start - first of the month, first day of autumn, first day of the new thing! But when I got to 1 March, I just. couldn't. work. I was tired, emotionally and physically. It was disgustingly hot and humid (I am NOT good with heat!). I have a tooth which needs root canal and it was bothering me, and the drugs I took for the pain made me kind of distant. Worst of all, I was berating myself for wasting time by not being PRODUCTIVE. But why (oh why) have I put so much pressure on myself to 'hit the ground running'? What if I didn't hit the ground at all, but took time to rest and explore and recuperate and be (gasp!) completely unproductive? What if instead I touched the ground lightly, with curiosity and playfulness? What if I danced across the ground on tiptoes, swirling in sweeping circles and taking the scenic route? Maybe I could try the irregular unrhythms of the Fremen sandwalking in Dune? I might try any or all of these things. but no longer am I going to try and hit the ground running. Too fast, too violent. And too bloody hot, methinks!

Over the weekend I pulled out the contents of my office/studio, spread them all over the floor and any other horizontal surface that dared bare itself to me, and sorted paper into piles. Lately this seems to have been happening with increasing frequency, and it makes my husband laugh (in a gentle, friendly and fond way, but still). Here she goes again. Actually he's much more understanding of what's going on than I am. He can see that the great evacuation of drawers, shelves and boxes is a physical representation of me organising my thoughts. And every time I do it, it is done slightly differently, with increasing refinement, categories emerging as the clarity around my practise coalesces. A couple of weeks ago I reorganised the furniture in the studio to give me one desk with a computer, and another desk without, separated by about a metre (it's not a big room!). It felt lovely to have a space without any technology on it. My analogue desk, without temptation to Google, scroll, or fall down an IMDb rabbit hole, as is my wont. This weekend, it was the turn of the Ikea plan drawers. My recent 'seeds' project started around the theme of new beginnings, sprouting, growth, but has really expanded around the idea of a seed already containing the information it requires to become itself. I thought I was starting from scratch, but I have ten years of art work behind me, and a fairly good record of it in these drawers. I pulled out everything and was astounded and inspired by what I found. A lot of what ends up in these drawers is the unfinished stuff - the doodles, scribbles, textures, experiments - and they're beautiful. In these organising these archives, I feel almost like I have been unknowingly prepping for this new work for the last decade. I'm inspiring myself - the information is already there. Thanks Past Me! I'm finding that the theme is working its way through to the physical too - I'm finding art materials that I didn't know I had - unused lino, block printing ink, rubber stamps, textured papers. All here when I need it. This is an important realisation for me as someone who has kept reaching outwards, outside myself for knowledge - another course, another qualification, another book. Education is of course vital, but I've done my book learning, and now is the time for me to consolidate all of that and trust my inner knowing. Anyway, the paper all got sorted, some recycled, most put into piles and back into drawers. The office is clean and my head feels deliciously clear. Onward!

To say that there's a lot going on in the world at the moment would be an understatement. There seems to be so much destruction, cruelty and straight up wrongness going on with humanity - and yet for many of us in our middle class suburban bubbles, our everyday lives are untouched. We can feel powerless to do anything. We can also start to feel that creativity is a privilege (it is) and a folly (it is not), a trivial waste of time when others are watching children die. What I think though, is that creativity is a special kind of power. When you create, you make something from nothing. From an idea in your head, though your hands or your mouth or your body, something that didn’t exist before is born. It could be a song, a dance, origami or a doodle on the message pad while you’re on hold to your internet provider, but you made something that wasn’t there before - all through the gentle force of your own will, and in dialogue with the world around you. You’ve made decisions and affected your environment. And with regular practice, the process of making something from nothing gives you this goddam powerful feeling that YOU CAN DO STUFF. This is agency. But agency is not only the power to do things in the world - it is the feeling, the belief - that you actually have that power - as Charlotte Burgess-Auburn describes it in her book ‘You Need a Manifesto’ - ...that internal permission to pursue and achieve. It carries the meaning of both “can” and “may”.’ And the things that we can create are not only the physical artefacts of creativity - we can also create psychic spaces - spaces of calm, of peace, of safety, of resistance, of conversation and community, of the opposite of destruction, for both ourselves and others. We don't need any special resources for this act of creation, just the willingness to believe that we have agency and imagine a different future. I know it might not feel like you are directly helping dying children. But in my world, in my experience - my creative practice has in no small part contributed to a belief in my own agency. And so I recommend it to you - I reckon the more of us out there who feel like they can change the world, the better.

It's been an emotional week, going public with the closing of my business Larke. There's a grieving process to work through - grief for the hours put in, for the energy spent (and money spent too!), but also for the emotional work put in, the hopes unrealised, the worry and what-ifs. The dismantling of dreams. The trickiest part though was perhaps admitting to myself that this particular dream wasn't actually for me - it was something I certainly could do, but not something I was certain I wanted to do. So I'm feeling all the feels, but already emerging is a deep pride in what I have done. All the lessons learned and skills developed, but also a pride in not falling for the fallacy of sunk costs, of listening to my heart, and having the courage to choose the path of my life on purpose (pats self on back). I've just been listening to the latest episode of Creative Pep Talk where Andy J. Pizza is talking to author and podcaster Todd Henry about bravery and courage. They talk about how easy it is to fall into the trap of fearing change once we have something to lose, once we have invested so much in something, or become known for 'a thing'. They argue though for the importance of asking tough questions of ourselves like - 'If I were to start this over, would I be doing it this way?'. The hardest part, says Henry, is listening to the answer, should that answer be no. One of the intriguing strategies they spoke about to avoid the 'white knuckle clutching' was to break our creative projects into shorter timeframes, more experimental in attitude, with smaller bets and lower stakes. I am a sucker for the big-piece-of-A2-paper yearly plan, making massive goals for the entire year. When circumstances change and the validity of the goals are tested though, they don't prove agile, and I abandon them altogether, leaving a trail of projects half done, desires unfulfilled, and no progress made toward anything much. Instead they suggest working in trimesters - three months on a path, then assess and pivot if the idea's not working, or develop further if it is still interesting to you. This way there's not such a feeling of heavy investment, just a three month jaunt... let's see what happens if we go this way. I love this idea and I'm going to try it. Three months seems like a lovely natural period of time too - a season, or a trimester of a pregnancy to grow a creative baby.

I'm in the process of dismantling my business Larke. I've tried over the past 18 months or so, in a couple of different iterations, to get it going - admittedly intermittently , sporadically. The truth is, I don't love it. And I've tried really hard to love it! Especially in it's latest incarnation - I stripped back the product offering to be shoes only, had a great made-on-demand production model, I revamped the website, I sent regular weekly emails for a couple of months, worked really hard on a super-cute Instagram feed - but it's always felt like a chore. Now, I know that in business there are always going to be the bits that don't bring you so much joy, but this felt like a job. Not a joy. I already have a job, I don't need another one! And so I have to sneakily try and shut it down without looking at the website, because when I do, I get all nostalgic for my little hi-tops. My funny newsletters. My vintage illustration characters who were starting to develop a bit of personality. I feel a bit sad. I feel sad for the dream I thought I had but turned out not to want. I feel a bit silly, even. But - nothing is wasted. All those web building, design and social media skills I can use for nicole-law. The practice of editing and refining product offerings. The sending out of regular - REGULAR emails! And, like Thomas Edison finding 10,000 ways the lightbulb didn't work, I have found another thing which is not for me. And I gave it a good shot. I am proud of myself. Last week on Instagram I shared a quote from Brené Brown's Rising Strong. We move what we’re learning from our heads to our hearts through our hands. We are born makers, and creativity is the ultimate act of integration. It is how we fold our experiences into our being. And now I'm taking all those things I've learned - the hard skills, but also the tenacity, the perseverence, the curiosity, and returning full circle to the root of all of this - making art. And it's really interesting because I'm thinking about the idea of SEEDS in my work, and I've been rifling through drawers to find old work - and there are so many things which are seeds there - both metaphorically, sparking new ideas, and literally - they LOOK like seeds! These are drawings I did 10 years ago, and I'm starting to understand the beauty of seeds - they already contain all the information they need to become what they need to be. And so do I. Nothing is wasted, just folded into ourselves as we keep becoming ourselves. The only waste would be to stop growing.

After last week's 'Begin (again)' I tried all week to start the art. I could feel myself actively avoiding it though, walking around the edges of it, poking it with my foot - and then being extremely creative with my procrastination. Cleaning is my go-to. At least it's productive, and honestly a lovely clean space really can get me in the mood to work, but I had my own number - I knew what I was doing. So Friday, a public holiday, nothing to do except potter around the house - and no more excuses. I cleared the dining table, filled it with art materials - and began. I started gently, and feeling like doing some printing, a pulled out the shoebox labelled 'Stamps and Lino'. I filled a couple of pages with prints from existing stamps - it was good to be making marks, but it felt kind of hollow. I knew I needed a theme, or a story to bring some juice to it, something behind the marks. To the bookshelf! Opening Julie Paterson's gorgeous 'ClothBound' book, the pages fell open to the record of her first fabric collection as Cloth - it was called Seeds. That was it. I've listened through twice to the audiobook version of Rick Rubin's 'The Creative Act' (and I recommend the audio, his voice is so soothing and the chapters read like meditations, with a bell toned at the end of each) and he calls the first ideas or inklings of ideas, things that spark your attention and may be worthy of investigation - seeds. The beautiful things about seeds - firstly, they already contain all the information needed to become what they need to become, and secondly they won't germinate until the environmental conditions for their spouting are met - they need to be given a signal to sleepily unfurl from their dormancy. When the word 'seeds' lit a little spark in me, I started looking through some old work - so much of it could be described as seeds. Literal drawings of seedpods, round wonky organic shapes but also - ideas not fully explored, not fully expressed - ready to grow into what they need to bcome. All the information is already there...I'm creating the sunshine and rain, and I'm ready to unfurl.

Today I am beginning - again. My song of the summer has been Jessie Ware's fabulous disco anthem 'Begin Again', so today I sit down at the desk to write. I'm a passionate believer in the power of creative practice but often forget - or ignore - the lessons I've learned over the past ten years. I've long been drawn to sharing my insights - I've started this blog at least three times! - but I've always let the inner critic get in my way. I'm bored of her though and ready for new adventures, so once again I've asked her to leave the room so I can get on with things. Smell ya later, dummy! So here we are, beginning again, as a way to talk to you, dear reader, to remind myself (creative life is HARD!), and to clarify my thoughts. I spent so long (as in …years, literally years, I was 39 years old when I finally started a regular creative practice) NOT beginning. Whining that I wanted to do something ‘really good’ with my life, but never taking any action. I think I believed that I was a good person and something ‘really good’ should just happen, or happen to me. Now, after years of bloody hard work (and it IS hard work, but the most rewarding work there is - the work of shaping your own self) I look back at my younger self with gentle amusement (or slack-jawed disbelief, but I’m trying to be kind). These are some of the stories I told myself to avoid beginning… I don’t know what to do. What if I don’t have anything to say? What if I don’t have any talent? What if I don’t have a style? I’ve started too late - I’m too old. I’m scared that I’ll be rubbish. Why bother anyway? I'm bothering because I have to. There is music in me which wants to get out. Begin. Come to the page (screen, canvas, dance floor) and you will find something to say, something buried deep or scattered throughout your being. The work feeds itself - it’s a dialogue between you and the world and the work. You say something, the work will say something back, you respond. Begin. Habit and skill are more useful than talent, and both can be developed. Tenacity and an openness to everything will do more for becoming who you are than talent. Come to the page every day and form the habit. Begin. Style emerges from the habit and practice of doing. Art is a verb. Begin. And you think you're too old? One of my very favourite quotes from my bible (Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way) - paraphrased here... Q “Do you know how old I’ll be by the time I’m any good at this?” A “Yes. Exactly the same age you’ll be if you don’t do it.” Soooo. I can either be a 49 year old person who creates, or a 49 year old person who doesn’t. The time will pass regardless, and the choice is mine. And finally - yes, you will be rubbish at first. Let yourself be. Begin. Begin today.