2025 Studio Reflections + Looking Ahead

Looking back on 2025:

This year came and went the way the tide does. One moment it was approaching, the next it was already behind me.

We moved into our new home early in the year. Not long after, I closed the door on my San Clemente studio for the last time. One chapter ending, and a new one just beginning.

What followed wasn’t momentum, but a serious slowing down. A long exhale. A stretch of rest and reflection as I learned how to land again in a new house, a new rhythm, a new painting practice. My nervous system, after years of constant striving and forward motion, slowly began to untangle itself.

2025 asked for refinement. Not in a way that felt sharp or disciplined, but in a way that felt necessary. I found myself clearing out old energy. Asking simple, honest questions. What do I want to keep in this next chapter? What am I ready to leave behind? What actually belongs here, now?

At times during this year, I made my business work with very little. My San Clemente studio had been expansive, a place where I could explore not only painting, but styling and photographing in new ways. It was something I needed to experience for my own growth and knowledge, but it was never meant to be something permanent. When we moved into the house, that space fell away. Between the disorder of moving and remodeling, and my body asking for more rest after a period of health challenges, I learned how to work differently.

When there was no interior space, I painted in the backyard. When the sun dried the layers too quickly, I carried the work into the shade of our oak tree. I followed the light as it shifted, adjusting as I went. Nothing about it was perfect, but it was enough. Working this way brought me back to an earlier version of my life and my practice, when High Desert Studio first began.

Back then, I lived in a one bedroom apartment. I had few painting supplies, less canvas, a website built through trial and error, and a clear vision I carried forward without much else. Returning to that simplicity this year felt familiar. A reminder that I’ve always known how to build from what’s available, and that I don’t need excess to create something meaningful.

When I look back on the work I made this year, I see the growth more clearly than ever. The paintings feel more assured. I simplified my process, how I share it, how I move through my days. I stepped away from social media for a long while. Gave myself some space to breathe, and to hear my own inner guidance. When I finally returned, it was gently and without urgency, almost as if beginning again. Engagement was slow, but the noise had thinned. And still, everything eventually found its footing.

Through the process of stepping back, simplifying, and making space, I’ve felt clearer than I have in a long time. I’m returning back to my roots. Back to the earlier intentions I had before other things stole my attention. This refinement hasn’t just shown up in my work, but in other parts of my life too, especially our home.

There was a time when I carried a long list of furniture and things I imagined owning one day. Now that I actually own a home, I find myself choosing far less. Enjoying less. It’s easier to live in. Easier to care for. I notice how much more easily I breathe. I find myself craving a simpler life. Maybe it’s just a season, but for now, it feels right.

As this new season begins, I keep coming back to simpler questions. Not about what to add or chase next, but about what I’m ready to loosen my grip on.

What can be released.

What can be simplified.

What no longer needs to come with me into the new year.

I’m learning that clarity doesn’t always arrive first. Most of the time, it comes later. After space has been made. After certain things are set down. After the need to know exactly what comes next has been released.

I don’t have a clear picture of what follows yet, but I trust the process of making room. I trust that in letting go of what no longer serves me, something else will start to take shape. And for now, that feels like enough.

Looking ahead to 2026:

If you’re feeling a little stuck, or overwhelmed by trying to name what this year holds for you, I’ve included a journal prompt below as a place to begin. Nothing to solve. Nothing to get right. Just a moment to connect to yourself.

You might dim the lights. Light a candle. Make a cup of tea. Take a few slow breaths and let things settle. See what rises when you stop reaching for answers and instead listen for that quieter inner voice that’s been there all along.

Rather than trying to make your answers perfect, write down the first sparks that come to mind. Let your pen hit the paper and move before your brain has a chance to catch up. Don't edit. Don't explain, Let it be raw and real and a little messy, the way a creative process usually is. Refinement only comes once you’ve explored, experimented, made mistakes and taken chances. Let this be your draft. You can always simplify it later.

What am I ready to let go of this year?

What am I creating space for in 2026, even if I can't fully name it yet?

Where do I need more rest? What would it look like to honor that?

Where does my energy want to go this year, naturally, without force?

What creative urges keep returning, the ones I tend to put off or postpone?

What is a dream I've been holding quietly, maybe without sharing it out loud?

What is one small step I could take toward making that dream real? Not the whole plan, just the next step.