Winter is coming

“Artists are always working, though they may not seem as if they are. They are like plants growing in winter. You can’t see the fruit, but it is taking root below the earth.”

—director André Gregory

It’s winter here in the UK, a season we do particularly badly. 

We go crazy at Christmas, then go into shock when January arrives, and we realise that winter has only just begun. 

It’s like we’re in denial. Every year it seems to be a surprise when leaves fall on train tracks, when rain and snow arrive, when the nights grow longer and the days greyer. 

My postman is still in shorts, an outfit he clings to stubbornly even after the frosts come. “I like the tingle,” he told me this week, though his legs already look goose-pimpled and raw.

Norway and Denmark offer us hygge.

This is the concept of cosy comfort, a season warm socks and snuggly blankets, thick jumpers and brisk walks, fairy lights and convivial evenings with friends.

I love how the restaurants in Copenhagen and Oslo cover chairs and benches with sheepskins, and add blankets to make it comfortable to sit outside even on the coldest days.

A few years ago, I did a few winter trips to Stockholm, to coach a celebrity client. London airports grind to a halt at the first flurry of snow; in Sweden, they plough thick drifts off the runways, and planes take off and land without delay.

It’s all about preparation, about knowing winter is coming.

Last November we went to Krakow for a few days, and loved how the Polish do winter, too: welcoming candlelit cafes and bars, comfort food and proper hot chocolate with brandy.

The year before, we spent a pleasant winter weekend swimming outdoors in hot springs in Budapest. And we’ve had magical trips to Iceland where we ran through snow and ice to plunge into steaming pools, both natural and heated.

It’s possible to do winter well. But you need to prepare for it.

Winter is also a metaphor.

Creativity also has its seasons, and we all have our winters to endure. Even when the sun is shining.

We all have fallow periods, times when the work isn’t coming in as it was. Or when the inspiration isn’t there, and everything suddenly feels grey and lifeless, and the work feels like pushing a heavy rock uphill. 

Lean into this rather than resisting it, and everything becomes easier. 

You get through a creative winter the same way you do any other.

You rest in this cold, dark season. You read, you feed your soul with films, music, art, ideas, interesting events, stimulating conversations. 

You keep your friends close, and perhaps make some new ones. You find the others, the people like you. Because winters are harder if you try to do them alone. 

You get curious, and take notice. You go for walks and move your body. And you trust that if you do this patiently without pushing, soon buds will appear, the green shoots of new ideas. And it will be spring again.

If work is slow, put out feelers to your network. 

Double down on whatever marketing usually works for you.

Be willing to write something on spec, do a test shoot, read for a part you wouldn’t normally audition read for, to try new things. Be willing too to be vulnerable, and admit to people that you’re looking for opportunities. 

But if the slowdown is industry-wide – as it seems to be in TV and film at the moment – use the time for personal projects, for developing your skills. And perhaps new income streams.

(Stuck for ideas? You can always book an introductory session with me!) 

Katherine May is my inspiration for these liminal periods.

Her book Wintering is about surviving slow seasons, about resting without guilt or shame. Because we all sometimes need to restore and replenish our health, our energy, our focus, our inspiration. 

The follow-up, Enchantment, offers an antidote to creative winters. She urges us to seek out the magical, the numinious, to pay attention to the world around us and cultivate awe and wonder.

Just reading these books is soothing to the soul. They never fail to offer me comfort, ideas, helpful things to do. (Even if that’s going to bed for a day or two.)

Winter is coming.

You don’t have to be a Game of Thrones character to know this, deep in your bones.

The political climate is also chilling. So draw your community closer. Stay safe, and warm. But keep being gloriously, unapologetically you – whatever form that takes.

Because you are beautiful. And because you can’t be anyone else. Not really, no matter how hard you try.

Rest, replenish. Be strategic, choose your battles carefully. And keep making your work, no matter what. 

All darkness ends, eventually. And the light returns.

A final few words from the poet May Sarton:

“I think of the trees and how simply they let go, let fall the riches of a season, how without grief (it seems) they can let go and go deep into their roots for renewal and sleep…

“Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go.”