After the Unveiling
There’s a deep quiet that comes after sharing new work. It’s an exhale I can feel all the way down to my bones.
For months, The Sanctuary Collection lived entirely within my studio and my imagination. I knew its intention, its rhythm, the calm it carried. And then, in a single moment, it became something seen, held, and interpreted by others. That shift, for me, has been both beautiful and tender.
The days right after a launch always surprise me. There's a rawness to it - the vulnerability of putting work into the world when only a handful of people will see it, many of them friends.
And yet, alongside that tender exposure, there's real pride. I made this. I finished it. I shared it despite how much it asked of me. It's like crossing a finish line - spent, a little numb, settling back into a body that carried me farther than I knew it could.
The work is done, but I'm not quite ready to move forward. So I wait in this sometimes-uncomfortable stillness: watching, taking it in, letting curiosity about what comes next slowly wake up again.
A Peaceful Memory, Captured in Ink
One piece from the collection holds a memory I've been carrying for over thirty years.
My family has visited Acadia National Park every few years since I was young. We'd always stop at Jordan Pond House for popovers - that ritual of butter and tea on the lawn became woven into those peaceful trips, quiet pauses in our noisy lives. But this past summer, for the first time, I took a kayak out onto the water itself.
The pond was still that afternoon. Mountains rose on every side, their reflections sometimes getting so clear it felt like paddling through the sky.
That feeling - the calm, the presence, the way peace can fill you up when you stop rushing - that's what I captured in my linocut, “Still in the Middle.” The gentle ripples, the embrace of the mountains, the sense of being held by something larger than yourself.
(You can read more about this piece and shop the full Sanctuary Collection here.)
The Quiet that Follows
Now that the work is out in the world, there's peace in this recalibration. It's a reminder that creativity doesn't end when the work leaves your hands; it simply changes form. The stillness that follows is part of the process too - the space that lets gratitude rise to the surface and roots take hold again.
I've spent the past week in that quiet. Not planning, not pushing - just letting myself feel the fullness of what's been made and shared. Looking around at the pieces, at the responses, at the community that gathered around this work, I can only think:
This work is nothing more or less than exactly what it is meant to be.
The making will begin again soon, but for now, I'm resting in the stillness that follows the offering.
Until then,
May you pause to savor what you’ve created.
May you rest in the quiet after the work has been done.
And may gratitude root you where you are,
spurring you onward in its own tender way.
With love,
Sarah K
If we haven’t met, I’m Sarah K., an artist and writer based in Richmond, VA. From my sunroom studio, I create hand-built ceramics, linocut prints, and written blessings, all shaped by quiet mornings and the rhythm of daily practice.
