Starting the Year With Fire

This year is not starting with resolution. It is starting with fire.  

"Pretty Doesn’t Mean Passive" Mixed Media collage, Jan 1, 2026

I did not begin this year gently. I began it angry. Not the tidy, articulate kind of anger that fits neatly into conversation, but the layered kind. Macro anger at our government and the political landscape, angry at the institutional systems that grind people down and discard them . Micro anger at daily frictions, small dismissals, unfinished work, the quiet accumulation of disrespect and exhaustion. Somedays I can’t even name it, just a heat the lives inside, that for years I have worked to contain. The kind of anger that lives in the jaw, shoulders, my neck and makes rest feel elusive or worse undeserved. The kind of anger that radiates off me and singes anything that is too close. Carrying rage like this is not ideal. It is heavy. It seeps and leaks. It hardens the body if it has nowhere to go.

I am not interested in pretending it is not there. Decorating over it. Anger is information. It is energy. It arrives when something matters deeply and is being mishandled, ignored, or taken away. The problem is not the anger. The problem is letting it live inside the body without a task.

This is the work I am setting for myself now: release, create, stay grounded, stay active, and try to rest. Not as a resolution, not as a checklist, but as a rhythm.

"Release", Mixed media collage, Jan 3, 2026

Release comes first. Anger does not want to be analyzed immediately. It wants movement. Walking fast until my breath changes. Carrying something heavy. Writing exactly what I am furious about for five minutes and then closing the notebook. Saying it out loud when no one is listening. Release is not resolution. It is evacuation.

Creation follows, but not the polished kind. Not productivity. Creation as metamorphosis. Rough work. Limited choices. One color, one material, one small surface. Work that can hold what I do not want to carry. I am less interested in explaining my feelings than in relocating them. I have been "rage" knitting and "fury" sculpting to keep the hands busy, the mind from racing. The fire from scorching.

"Symmetry of Fury." Mixed media collage, silks, threads, paint, and paper, 2026, Jan 2 ,2026

To keep the fire from turning inward, I am committing to one small daily ritual. Ten to thirty minutes. No more.

Every day, I select a color that aligns with my internal temperature. It's not a mood label, just a shade. Feral magenta, Crushed raspberry. Bruised violet. Dirty gold. I instinctively gather scraps: paper, fabric, photocopies, fragments already marked by use. I tear instead of cut. I work swiftly. Layer, obscure, press down. Sometimes paint or ink joins in. Sometimes it doesn't. I've been doing this for years, but this year it feels different. The intention has changed.

Color Palette Week 1 of 2026, had a laugh naming some of these.

When the time is up, I stop, even if the piece feels unfinished. Especially if it feels unfinished. The rule is simple: the work must hold what I am feeling so my body does not have to. I do not explain it. I do not fix it. I leave it visible as proof that the anger moved, that something was made instead of carried. Then I turn the page. Literally, turn the page in my sketchbook.

Grounding is a return downward. Anger pulls upward into the head and chest. Grounding lives in the feet, the hands, the weight of the body in a chair. Pressing toes into the floor. Cold water on wrists. Warm food eaten slowly. Ordinary actions that say: you are here, now, and supported by something solid.

"Rage, Mirrored Until It Becomes Monstrous.": Mixed textiles, plastics, paint, paper, Jan 4, 2026

Staying active matters, but not in a punitive way. No pushing. Just rhythm. Walking with a destination( no matter where or what) . Repetitive tasks. Folding, sorting, cleaning. There is a quiet dignity in restoring order when the world feels careless. And then there is rest.

"Anger Refusing To Be Quiet." Textile collage, silks, threads, paint, and paper, Jan 5, 2026

Rest? What is that? What is real rest, not collapse? Predictable evenings. Fewer inputs. The same music, the same light, the same small ritual that signals it is safe to stop scanning for danger. Sleep does not have to be perfect and lord knows it has never been. But It has to be protected.

I am not trying to let go of anger. That language feels dishonest. I am trying to put it somewhere. Into motion. Into material. Into marks, layers, and colors that do not ask to be explained.

This year is started with fire. My intention is not to extinguish it, but to tend it carefully, so it can warm rather than burn.

For the moment, that is enough.

- Val

"Affect and Saturation" Textile collage; assorted silks and threads, Jan 5, 2026

Share a comment and tell me how you're feeling in 2026.