Author: sbraley666

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Field Note no. 5

Back to the studio, part 2

It’s the new year, with new projects. It’s the best of times, creatively, and arguably the worst of times in the greater world. Invasions of other countries, friends without health care, there are always things to wish were different, to struggle with, to feel defeated by. BUT – I don’t have to feel defeated – ever – in my creativity. It is what keeps me going, it is where I find my truth and the place from which I stand with my friends. It is my connection to the best part of myself. 

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I’m using the cold winter months to finish a novel. Instead of being deprived of sketching in nature during the winter, I am framing it as being on retreat to do the important work of bringing this novel into the world. 

Art pieces consist of sketches and refinements, learning anatomy of insects, understanding wing structures … nourishing my passion for the ways that the natural world resonate with our unconscious. This goes back eons, when early humans did not feel separate from nature and in fact relied on the creatures of the world for support, guidance, and mutual survival. Hence my efforts to invoke the honey bee, the dragonfly, the luna moth through artistic representation.

Stay warm friends, stay safe, and nurture your inner artist. AND the outer one.

Ash

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Field Note No. 4 — The Hanged One, or: The Card That Would Not Look Upright

Specimen: Tarot Major Arcana XII
Subject: A bat suspended in inversion, not as punishment, but as native posture.

This was supposed to be a man. I had sketched a human form, obedient to twelve centuries of tarot inheritance — rope, tree, sacrifice, enlightenment-by-neck-strain.

Instead, a bat arrived.

Not a symbol of hanging, but a creature for whom insight is formed in darkness, not action.

The moment the wings closed around the body, the entire logic of the card collapsed — and reassembled.

The bat enters inversion deliberately. Not martyrdom – this is chosen estrangement from the obvious; it is alert without engagement.

What This Means for Beneath the Mind

This tarot invites you into retreat, rest, and reassessment. Maybe all you need is the perspective that can only be gained by pulling back into yourself for a while.

Meditative prompt: what if nothing is wrong – your nervous system is simply asking to rest.

Filed under:
Field Notes → Memory / Anatomy / Disobedient Artifacts

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Field Note No. 3 – Kenaz

🜂 Field Notes: Lore and Logic — Kenaz (ᚲ)

Kenaz (ᚲ) — the torch that burns away ignorance and reveals the hidden architecture of things. Its light is not the cold glare of analysis, but the living fire of understanding — the creative flame that shapes matter and meaning alike. In ancient hands, Kenaz signified the forge and the hearth: where metal was transformed, and where stories were born. Within, it is the illumination that follows inquiry, the spark that leaps when curiosity meets insight. Kenaz does not beg to be seen; it teaches you to see. To work with this rune is to tend your inner fire — not to burn brighter than others, but to bring warmth and clarity to the darkness you inhabit.

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Field Note No. 02 – Raidho, the sacred journey

Raidho (ᚱ) — the rune of the road, rhythm, and right motion. I use this rune a lot in my art, since it signifies what we all do every day: walk our path, journey through the seasons, mark life’s passages.

It speaks of movement not just through space, but through purpose — the sacred act of aligning one’s path with divine order. In ancient times, Raidho marked the rider’s journey and the turning of the wheel of life, a reminder that every step taken in rhythm with the cosmos becomes a form of prayer. In the modern sense, it invites mindful travel — to move with intention, to trust timing, to steer the inner vehicle with both discipline and grace. When Raidho appears, it asks: Are you simply moving, or are you being moved by something greater?

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Field Note No. 01 — On Returning to the Work

Every creative cycle has a quiet beginning — not a flash of inspiration, but a pause. When the noise of the day fades, I start to notice the materials again: the weight of the paper, the drag of the pen, the way graphite leaves a trace like breath on glass.

Lately I’ve been drawing without an agenda, just following lines to see where they lead. A curve becomes an antler, a mark starts to suggest motion, and soon there’s a form I didn’t intend but somehow recognize. The best work always arrives that way — when the hand is busy and the mind has stopped narrating.

The studio feels like a conversation between attention and accident. There are half-finished prints drying by the window, sketches of Vale’s instruments on the desk, a page from the Astral Cabinet pinned to the wall. Each reminds me that returning to the work isn’t about starting over — it’s about re-entering the dialogue.