Endings and Beginnings: Capturing the Magic of Seasonal Change

This weekend, the group exhibition DAS GANZE IM DETAIL (Everything in Detail) came to a close, marking the end of my latest creative chapter. As visitors lingered for their final looks, I felt that familiar tug—satisfaction tangled with nostalgia, paired with the quiet thrill of what’s next. It’s a feeling that mirrors the season’s shift as summer’s bold energy yields to autumn’s reflective calm.

There’s something quietly magical about transitions. In art, in nature, and in life, endings carry the seeds of beginnings, reminding us that change isn’t a final destination—it’s a constant rhythm.

The Cycles of Creativity

As artists, we move through our own seasons of growth. There’s the “spring” of fresh ideas, where inspiration flows and experiments bloom. Then “summer,” when our work takes shape through focus and intensity. “Autumn” brings reflection—a chance to step back, share our creations, and find meaning in what we’ve made. And then comes “winter,” a time for rest, introspection, and preparation for the next cycle.

Early in my journey, I used to resist these phases. I’d try to skip over the slower seasons, rushing to the next project or pushing through creative blocks. But I’ve learned that each phase matters; each one adds richness to the work. Autumn, in particular, has taught me the importance of pausing—sitting with the bittersweet beauty of endings and allowing the lessons of the creative process to take root.

Reading the Language of Change

Seasons have their own visual language. Summer’s energy is bold and expansive—vivid colors, sharp contrasts, outward movement. Autumn speaks in softer tones—muted palettes, diffused light, textures that invite introspection. Recognizing these shifts in nature has transformed how I approach my art.

Recently, I’ve been captivated by the subtle changes in the fog that lingers over the treetops outside our balcony. Each morning, it hangs a little heavier, thickening as the days grow cooler. It’s a reminder that transformation doesn’t always announce itself with grand gestures. Often, it’s in the quiet, layered moments—the light shifting week by week, the leaves slowly deepening into golds and reds. These are the details that inspire me the most.

When we train ourselves to notice these incremental changes, we open up new creative possibilities. Some of my favorite pieces come from documenting these fleeting transitions—the in-between colors, the spaces where one season softens into the next. It’s a reminder that art, like nature, thrives in the liminal spaces.

Patterns of Growth

Thinking about cycles of change takes me back to one of my most personal projects—the Patterns Series. It was a trio of large-format fineliner drawings I created early in my artistic journey, and each piece became its own chapter in a story about growth, imperfection, and transformation.

The first piece, Fighting Patterns, was a lesson in letting go. A bold geometric design packed with vibrant colors, it became a battleground between perfectionism and process. My only rule? No erasing, no “fixing.” Each line had to stay, mistakes and all. It was a challenge to silence my inner critic, but finishing it felt like cracking open a door I didn’t know existed.

The second, Breaking Patterns, took the concept further. Here, the geometric grids began to fracture, interrupted by delicate orchid blooms pushing through the cracks. The flowers break through the geometric pattern via a tear in the lower corner of the drawing, symbolizing how life finds its way even through the toughest barriers. This serves as a powerful visual metaphor, reminding us that growth often requires dismantling what no longer serves us.

The final piece, Transformations, brought everything full circle. Larger and more intricate than its predecessors, it featured a mandala-like centerpiece blooming from the fractured patterns. Orchids climbed through the broken edges, reaching upwards, symbolizing resilience and renewal. Looking back, I see these drawings not just as a series of lines but as a record of my own evolution—proof that growth is rarely linear. It’s layered, unfolding one challenge, one lesson, one season at a time.

Embracing the Transition

Endings aren’t just about closure—they’re about making space for what’s next. The end of an exhibition, a series, or even a season is part of a larger cycle of creation, reflection, and renewal. The ideas sparked, the connections made, and the lessons learned continue to shape us long after the final chapter closes.

As autumn settles in, I’ve been asking myself: What cycles am I moving through? What endings am I holding? What beginnings are quietly taking root? These questions don’t demand instant answers—they’re like the shifting leaves, revealing their meaning slowly, layer by layer.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that these transitions hold their own kind of magic. They remind us to pause, to notice, and to honor the process of becoming. As artists, we have the privilege of turning these moments into something shareable—something that helps others see the beauty in their own cycles of change.

And so, the rhythm continues. Seasons turn, ideas evolve, and we keep creating, one transition at a time.

Until next week,

Leia