There are systems in which time is split by modern western society which feel arbitrary and disconnected (the working week, the dominance of the Gregorian calendar, the hierarchy of Christian religious holidays over others to name a few). However there is something I personally appreciate in our collective understanding of one earth’s cycle around the sun marking a year of changing seasons — a rare connection to the cosmos, climate and other-than-human beings that many may otherwise not engage with (be it out of choice or not). Living in the UK right now, space for reflection and intention is increasingly repressed, yet the end of a year (whenever that may be for you and your beliefs/culture - but particularly the end of December, when national holidays mean shops and railways shut down) offers time for quiet.
In the northern hemisphere, during the lead up to winter solstice and the Gregorian new year, we naturally go inward as the days grow colder and darker. It feels like a fitting time to reflect on this wedge of passing time, and to admire the what has been found, what has passed and what has been learned in the space of 365 days.
For the past five years, I have marked every six weeks by using the wisdom of the Celtic Wheel of the Year — the solstices, the equinoxes and their between points: Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasadh and Samhain. Whether gathering with friends, food and fire, or spending an evening alone or with my partner at home, on each of these eight Celtic festivals I usually lay out my tarot cards in a 3-card spread to consider prompts of something to leave behind, something to carry with me, and something to let in. It allows me to reflect, take stock and manifest. This year, I have also joined nearly every one of Yarrow Magdalena’s Spark sessions on Zoom: an hour of collective quiet journaling and crafting on the first Sunday of each month, to set intentions.
This winter solstice, as the so-called 2025th year AD is about to begin, I want to share some of the things I have carried with me over the last twelve months. This is not a best-of 2024 roundup, just an opportunity share the wonderful musical discoveries I have made this year, including the work of many friends.
Each month, I make myself a playlist. I’ve decided to compile all twelve playlists from this last year into one playlist, which you can listen to below:
If you enjoy any of the music you hear on it, please consider buying it. I made a Buy Music Club list here of all the releases that are available to buy on Bandcamp, with help from Hype Machine’s Merch Table app. Below is a handful of favourites that came out this year:
2024 has been a year of a lot of creativity for me: playing my first live show in four years and releasing my second album. Taking photographs throughout spring and summer for mine & my partner Orion’s photo book that we hope to self publish next year. My first proper artist residency in Finland at TUO TUO in June with my friends Shireen, Winter and Kelechi, followed by another in Santa Fe at The Parador in October with Orion.
It has also been a painful year. We collectively witness the live streaming of so much horror in the form of genocide, abuse, climate collapse and political crisis. People in power repeatedly take no action to better the lives of many, or even worse, they take action to worsen them. I’ve unexpectedly lost and grieved. Earlier this year, I applied for a residency that would have provided me with opportunities I could never access otherwise, only to be told in the final round months later that I was not chosen based on the fact that I seem to be driven enough on my own - despite living in constant financial insecurity and physical exhaustion from lack of ever receiving the institutional support that could help to make my creative practice sustainable.
Yet I still continue to find ways to create, however slow, however DIY. I am so grateful to the generosity of the folks at TUO TUO and The Parador - grassroots residencies that both gave me to time and space to dream, play and collaborate in ways I have not before, and which do not expect ‘productivity’ from me (although it was inevitable in two such inspiring places).
As we enter the new year, I want to leave behind the apathy that inevitably brews in the void left by both rejection and inaction.
I want to carry any grief I have with me into 2025 - not to be set back by it, but to be strengthened by it. To remind myself that to feel loss is to have felt a preceding abundance and beauty that is fragile and precious. To feel grief paradoxically gives us something to continue hoping for.
Next year, I want to let in the unexpected. Because much like we can never quite predict loss, we can also never predict blessings.
Until next year,
El x