I heard a loon call the other morning.
That haunting, echoing kind of sound that feels like it belongs to another world—or at least a quieter, more thoughtful version of this one.
It stopped me in my tracks.
Which, to be fair, isn’t hard. I was mid-coffee and staring into space, but still—there’s something about that sound that goes straight to your bones.
Which brings me to Patrice. And loons. And painting.
Because I’ve got this class coming up at The Creative Jam where you can paint a loon, and it’s not just about painting a pretty bird—it’s about slowing down enough to actually notice it.
Patrice is the kind of teacher who makes you feel like you can paint a loon, even if you haven’t held a brush since middle school. She’s calm, clear, and just the right kind of encouraging. The kind where you suddenly find yourself layering colors and thinking, “Huh… maybe I am artistic.”
(Spoiler: you are.)
This class is more than step-by-step instructions—it’s an invitation to spend a little time in your own quiet, creative zone. To hear that imaginary loon call in your head, and just… be still for a bit. Paint. Breathe. Maybe sip something. Maybe laugh at your beak placement.
It’s not about perfection. It’s about presence.
And to be honest, I need more of that these days.
Life feels loud sometimes. Busy. Scrambled. But there’s something about painting a loon—this sleek, wild, elusive creature—that makes me feel like I’m participating in stillness on purpose.
I think part of me was afraid.
Like if I wasn’t good at it, it would somehow undo all the other creative things I am good at. Which is nonsense, of course, but the kind of nonsense my brain sometimes whispers when I try something outside my usual lane.
But holding the brush, watching the colors build up slowly, feeling that soft satisfaction of just making something—that was the reset I didn’t know I needed.
And the loon? Mine looked… vaguely concerned.
Possibly startled.
Definitely opinionated.
But I kind of loved it.
Maybe because it reminded me that creativity isn’t about getting it “right”—it’s about showing up. With your glue-encrusted fingers, or your slightly crooked beak, or your big old pile of “I’m not sure how this will turn out.”
Stillness looks different for everyone.
For me that day, it looked like black and white feathers and a tiny red eye on watercolor paper.
And it was enough.
Join us at The Creative Jam on May 6th at 6pm to partake in these relaxing and creative event.
Love, feathers, and focus,
Darcy
