Kindling Season: Light the Lamps, Pass the Soup

Let’s be honest: the light changes, and everything else changes with it.
Dinner gets earlier. My living room is covered in wool and fleece blankets. I  find myself preheating the oven early just to take the chill out of the air.  The colors of the leaves are striking and echo that warmth.

Black lab named Dorrie asleep in a cushioned armchair, tucked under a soft blue blanket, afternoon light catching the folds of fabric.

These are the kinds of moments I keep painting toward. In between working on my edge variety, tonal values, and figuring out how to keep the gouache wet enough without accidentally turning it into watercolor (thanks, porch space heater), I’m painting toward scenes that carry the weight of return, of promise, of safety and shared space.

The scenes in my new collection, Kindling Season, aren’t grand. They are not giant, sweeping canvases. They are tiny (some are not quite 3x3 in).  They are flickers.  This collection includes pieces that feature my dear old cat on a comfy chair, surrounded by books and a fireplace.  A folded napkin next to a lone tea cup on a small table.  Lamplight warming a path. A landscape I’ve passed a hundred times until a shift in the light turns it into exactly the golden autumnal view my eyes crave.

Gouache original painting of a single pumpkin resting on a low stone wall, with a sunlit field and trees in warm autumn foliage softly blurred in the background.

I didn’t know ahead of time that this collection would be called Kindling Season. I struggled with all sorts of glowingly awkward phrases in the naming process. If I needed any confirmation that they weren’t right I only had to share my ideas with my preteen and teenager.  They were happy to mock the phrase right back at me.  I wanted to name that building tension, and then find comfort, the growing warmth in the face of approaching cold - the space between night and day.

It clicked for me one day that this was a kindling season—not just in the fire-starting sense, but in the way we gather what we need. This idea was confirmed in my mind by an essay I read last weekend, called Quality Time by Michelle Kirsch, about the time change and the French phrase l’heure entre chien et loup. It means twilight: when you can’t quite tell if the animal approaching is a friendly dog or a hungry wolf. My obsession with liminal time continues. It made me think about all we do to combat that slightly uneasy feeling. The blankets, warm meals, lamp and candle light, and cozy companionship. A flicker in a foggy window. The moment before someone walks in the door and says, “I brought fresh bread for the soup.”

A Quick Soup Detour:  Here's a link to the soup we are addicted to making - easy even on a weeknight.  It's Alexa Weibel's Easiest Chicken Noodle Soup. 

It is in this time of day, and in this season when we pile up the comforts, the rituals, and the things to keep our hands busy in anticipation of that tense moment.  We collect the crafts, the projects, and the loaves we shape by hand.  We call on the people who make us feel like ourselves. We gather light and nourishing food and warm-sounding music. We let generosity spark in the way we make room at the table, throw some items in the grocery cart for the food pantry, offer the good blanket, or check in on someone who’s been on our mind. It’s how we build our readiness for the season ahead.

Kirsch writes:
 “These moments of possibility, of serendipity, arrive in all seasons, but we have to be awake to seize them. The stillness of the colder, darker months — that license to hunker — is a time to slow down and observe." (NYT)

The pieces in this collection are small on purpose. Painted slowly. Built from light and dark, warmth and rest. They’re meant for cozy corners, twinkle lights that keep the wolves at bay, charming stories, and friends and family.

I’ll be releasing the 5 originals of this collection for sale this week, and I have plans to prints in the works.  I have a few more paintings begging to come to fruition.  We will see how they turn out.  How many? Who knows.  For now, I just want to say: if you’re reaching for glow and comfort right now, me too.  Let’s light the lamps.

Unless I have homemade stock at the ready I either a) try to stock up on Zoup's Chicken Bone Broth when they are on sale or b) just go ahead and use Better Than Bouillon.  Blitz some of the veg if you have a kid like mine.  Skip the dill if you wish and don't overcook your noodles.  My favorite noodles to use are dried spaetzle noodles by Bechtle.  Life's short: add the creme fraiche if you feel moved.