Wintering & The Art of Letting Go

What happens when we stop trying to get it right

Some days, life sweeps us up in a whirlwind, pulling us in a dozen directions at once. We try to keep up, to hold it all together, but in the rush, we can lose ourselves, but creativity has a way of bringing us back to ourselves. It’s a soft landing, a place to rest and rediscover. And more than that, it teaches us the art of letting go.

When I was little, I used to lay out sheets of paper on the floor, dripping watercolors across them just to watch the colors blend. I loved how the pigments merged, how they moved with the water, how they dried in unexpected ways. I didn’t try to control it—I just let it happen.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about that early kind of freedom. The kind that comes when you stop trying to get it right. When you release expectations and let the process unfold on its own.

Because if I’m longing for that, maybe you are too.

What are you craving space for right now?

I’ve been using my painting practice to shift my energy—to lift my spirit, to move through the anxious bits, to release the emotions that otherwise sit too long inside me. It’s something I used to do naturally, without thinking. Every brushstroke, every layer, every new expression became a way to process whatever I was going through. A way to let something new unfold.

It’s funny, isn’t it? How certain colors, certain marks, even the music playing in the background, can completely change how we feel? Lately, I’ve been noticing that more than ever. Especially in my abstract work. If the music is slow, I move differently. If it’s upbeat, I get bolder. If there’s silence, my marks become softer, more deliberate. It’s all connected. Have you noticed this too?

The other day, I was deep in a painting when frustration crept in. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t translate the image in my head onto the canvas. (I never really can, yet I always try.) By now, I know what this means—it’s time to step away. To loosen my grip. To stop forcing and start feeling.

So I reached for my sketchbook. Played with watercolors. Splattered acrylics. Made a mess. Let the color lead the way. And just like that, the painting exhaled.

This is exactly the kind of creative freedom I want to share at my retreat in France this May—where art isn’t just about technique but about trusting the process. To everyone who has signed up already, thank you. I can’t wait to paint with you in such a beautiful place. And if you’re still thinking about it, reach out with any questions.

If I’ve learned anything since I started painting in 2009, it’s this: creativity is medicine. But it’s also an invitation—to surrender, to explore, to let go of what we think we know.

And when everything feels stuck, when my mind is racing and I long for clarity, I go outside.

It was one of those days recently. The kind where everything felt too much. The middle of winter, too many projects, my brain trying to hold it all at once. I told myself I was balancing my creative work with my business, but the truth is, I was running on empty. I needed space. Fresh air.

So I went for a walk.

We live on ten acres in rural Wisconsin, where the landscape is beautiful but isolating. I needed to get off our land, to walk somewhere new. But the first trail I chose was covered in snow and ice, and I found myself slipping, catching my balance every few steps. It wasn’t what I’d hoped for.

Still, something told me to keep going.

So I got back in the car and drove a little farther. Fifteen minutes, not much. And there it was—a stretch of road, clear and dry, winding through the trees. The sun was shining, no noise except for the sound of my own steps. I exhaled. My whole body softened. It was exactly what I needed.

It reminded me that so often, the light at the end of the tunnel is closer than we think. But we have to be willing to take the next step before we can see it.

Katherine May writes in Wintering, “We must learn to invite the winter in. We may never choose to winter, but we can choose how.”

I’ve been sitting in the in-between for a while now. Hands in too many projects, trying to keep all the pieces moving. The messy middle.

But lately, I’ve been thinking—maybe it’s not a messy middle at all. Maybe it’s just the shape of a creative life. Beginnings, middles, and ends, all at once. Maybe it’s not about getting it right, but about allowing it all to be as it is.

This week, I’m giving myself permission to focus on just one thing: writing the new novel I’ve been thinking about. Naming that here feels like such a relief.

Because the truth is, even when we’re called to follow our creative joy, we also want to be seen. To share our work. To put something out into the world and trust that it will find its way. That’s why I keep submitting my writing and paintings, even after another rejection. It’s why I keep showing up. Each time, I’m telling the universe, I want this to be seen. Where should it go?

I don’t have the answers yet, but I’m listening.

I’m learning to trust the unfolding. The wintering.

And I’m remembering that sometimes, what we need is just a little farther down the road.

So if you’re feeling stuck today, I offer this to you as a bit of hope: Keep going. Take the extra step. Let go of how you think it should be. Breathe. The clearing is closer than you think.

If you want something to help you get started, I’ve put together some Free Painting Classes and Resources:

*Join My Free Sketchbook Class

*Join My Free Mixed Media Painting Class

New Paintings Inspired By Spring and Letting Go

Lately, I’ve been immersing myself in both natural and urban landscapes, not trying to define them but simply letting them move me. I listen, absorb, and then return to the studio to interpret my experience—attempting to capture a feeling and bring it back onto the canvas.

These new paintings reflect the fresh energy of spring, with splashes and prisms of blue and green that blend into light. Layers of overlapping color and movement invite you to step into the scene, just as I do on my hikes. My creative process is all about staying loose, playing, and experimenting in the early layers, then building upon them as the painting evolves. This approach keeps me unattached to the outcome, allowing room for imperfections and happy accidents.

When I focus on having fun and enjoying the process, I keep coming back to the work—and you never know where it might lead.

All photos and artwork by Juliette Crane