A Small Change

a letter to readers

learning to be more me: collage

Every morning a crow sits on the balcony outside my tiny studio room and chatters to me through the window. We’ve been talking about change: how it comes to you whether you invite it or not; how sometimes it arrives as a soft wave tickling your feet, other times as a storm that knocks you for six¹. After listening to the crow’s advice, I’ve decided to make a small change: rename this publication and write under my own name, Jacqueline Calladine.

This is, in the grand scheme of changes I’ve made this year, a relatively minor one and I won’t bore you with all the reasons why, but in a nutshell, over the past year I’ve been slowly editing my life; paying closer attention to what actually matters and letting everything else dribble away like water seeping from the bottom of a just-watered pot. That process has re-shaped my art practice and my writing deserves equal attention and refinement.

When I began writing Wild Creative Notes I was primarily interested in writing about creativity in its broadest sense. These days my focus is narrower and deeper. I want to spend more of my time stitching together drawing, painting and writing in all the weird and wonderful, patchworked ways only I can do and less time worrying about whether I’m serving the ‘Wild Creative’ concept I created many years ago. I’ve outgrown the Wild Creative Studio, I suppose, and I’d like to stretch my artistic wings to see how far they reach. I’m not jettisoning the Wild Creative sensibility entirely - it’s still the URL of my newsletter - but ‘Wild Creative’ is a practice rather than a ‘brand’: a philosophy that runs through the work rather than the label on the biscuit tin.

Some of you will also notice I’ve retired the surname England and returned to Calladine. England served me well for a year as I explored questions of heritage, Druidry, and belonging. These days, it feels right to scribble notes under my own name. Besides, in the current political climate, I’d rather not spend my time reassuring people I’m interested in crows and rabbits rather than nationalism and waving flags.

What you receive as a reader won’t change. Most weeks you’ll find reflections from the tiny room that’s my studio, observations from daily life, thoughts on art, and occasional stories inspired by the people, places, birds, objects, and moments that catch my attention - which, if you’ve been reading for a while, you’ll know includes sea lions conducting land operations in the marina and folk tales about an old woman working the land.

The name has changed but the heart of the publication hasn’t. It was always about noticing the things we overlook and asking what it means to belong in the living world: How do we notice more and how can noticing become a practice of care carried out through all the mediums of art? My writing is also about resilience: how I’ve managed to survive as an artist for over twenty-five years in a world that still doesn’t greet women’s art with the same enthusiasm as men’s. I don’t teach anything but I hope my writing encourages you to share your own stories of noticing, belonging and resilience.

With this small change I’m aiming for a little less noise, a little more focus. Getting a little closer to the work that feels most essential.

Thank you, as always, for reading.

Jacqueline x

Coming later this week

For paying subscribers: an audio message with conversation around navigating change, becoming more of oneself, and how being in community is an ongoing practice.

garden sketch: charcoal on paper

1. For my American readers, this is a cricketing term that’s been adopted into everyday English and means to be shocked or overwhelmed, or become weakened by an illness. It comes from the act of a batsman hitting the ball over the pitch’s boundary without it bouncing, hence scoring the maximum 6 runs and shocking the opposition.