Lantern Lit: A Note from the Studio
Dear friends,
Whether you’ve just found your way here or you’ve been following since the beginning, thank you. Truly. It means the world to know these letters and quiet signals from my studio are landing in your hands, your minds, your hearts. If you feel so moved, I’d love if you shared Letters from the Studio with someone else who might feel at home here too.
Over these past few weeks, you may have noticed a flurry of posts—more than a typical rhythm might suggest. That was no accident. I’ve been tending this space like one tends a fire in winter. When a Substack is brand new, it can feel like an echo chamber or an abandoned room. I didn’t want the first arrival at the threshold to be met with silence or dust, but with something living—something with breath and color and form.
Part of that momentum was to introduce you to Artifex Lunaris, a creative journey aligned with lunar cycles, myth, and memory. If you’ve missed it, you can explore it here: Artifex Lunaris on Gumroad. But don’t worry—this isn’t a sales pitch. I simply wanted to open the door.
Going forward, I’ll be posting when there is something worth sharing—when a new piece is born, when I have news from the studio, when an image or thought takes form. This space won’t be filled just for the sake of filling it. I’ll be in the studio, and when the time is right, I’ll send out a missive.
And speaking of the studio…
The easel has arrived. A drop cloth, too. The garage, as it turns out, was not the right place—the temperature and humidity waver too much for the health of paint and canvas. So I’m setting up L’Officina Lunare (what I’ve named my studio) in the unfinished side of the basement, where the conditions are more stable and a brick walkout leads to sunlit painting days when the weather is kind. Today, I build the easel. That feels like something sacred in itself.
I’m still drawing my way through the Silent Objects project—100 days of small, strange, beautiful studies. I’m not worrying about the days being consecutive. Some sketches come easily; some need more space. When the series is complete (in its own good time), I’ll share a small gallery of my favorites.
And now, a starlit note for those who read the skies:
Venus has gone direct.
Her underworld journey is behind her.
What we make now will glimmer with that resurrection light.
So here’s to entering the studio again—not with urgency, but with devotion.
The season of creation has arrived.
With curiosity always,
Margaret
Letters from the studio, insights from the stars