From the Compost Heap header. A pencil style illustration of a compost heap with flowers and plants growing around it. A bee buzzes by and a white rabbit hops by.

  • One Year of Magic ✨

    Black and white diptych shows two photographs. One shows a child sitting in a shopping cart with cowboy boots fallen to the floor beneath. The other shows a mother's feet beside a pram on a walk.

    I’ve been a photographer for as long as I can remember. Even as a kid I was drawn to photographing trees and birds and cowboy boots lined up beside the swimming pool. But somehow I had never tried a long term photo-a-day project.

    That is until Claire Venus proposed a year long creative collaboration. We would exchange photos of our every day life each day for one year.

    Black and white diptych shows two photographs of children playing with toys including plastic dinosaurs and DUPLO LEGO blocks.

    We started the project without a name, but very quickly found magic in the mundanity. Little moments of synchronicity between the Northwest of Arkansas and the Northeast of England.

    I also noticed how well this form of connection suited my neurodivergence. The structured project soon became a container for friendship to grow. Life and art bled into each other.

    Soon after we started the project my family traveled out of state for my son’s autism evaluation. And it felt like Claire was right there beside me – even an ocean away. We began to chat about the beauty and the hard things of motherhood, neurodivergence, and creativity.

    Black and white diptych shows two photographs. One shows a child size teacup with spilled milk. The other shows a mother and child's hands with small pinecones.

    The project also sharpened my artist eye. To the beauty around me. The magic in the mess. In my creative ecosystem framework I call this creative oxygen.

    It’s also become a self regulation tool. Pausing to compose a photo was just what I needed when things broke or the milk spilled (again) or the room had become a complete mess.

    We talked about this a bit when I interviewed Claire on the podcast.

    Black and white diptych shows two photographs. One shows a child in a crib looking out at soft toys thrown out. The other shows a child emptying pebbles out of rainboots.

    We’re in the final days of exchanging photos now and I can’t believe this project is coming to and end. Right now I’m working out logistics for how to curate and exhibit this work. (I’ll keep you updated.)

    Black and white diptych shows two photographs. One shows an illuminated geodesic dome with father and child in silhouette. The other shows a small child standing above a kitchen sink in silhouette.

    If you want more magic you should definitely follow Claire’s Substack. She writes about creativity, slow living, and work life balance. She recently posted her reflection of this project here.

    Black and white diptych shows two photographs. One is a small child under a blanket with an AAC device illuminating their face. Another is a child in a sunbeam covering their face.

    To celebrate the completion of the Magic Mundane I’m hosting a little giveaway over on Substack chat. Enter to win a copy of my book Discover Your Creative Ecosystem and Claire’s Creativity Island for Mums. 🥰

    Creativity Island for Mums art journal shows a mum and child illustrated in yellow and pink laying on the grass surrounded by golden leaves
    Discover Your Creative Ecosystem by Sarah Shotts has the silhouette of a bird in flight with a landscape shown beyond. It sits on a wooden table with autumnal leaves around it.

    Cheers,

    Sarah signed with a swoopy S

    P.S. Keep the magic going by using the hashtag #themagicmundane on Instagram.

    Black and white diptcyh. One shows a mother's sock feet standing over a child moving a LEGO DUPLO train on a rag rug. Another shows a child reaching into a basket of LEGO DUPLO.
    Read more: One Year of Magic ✨

  • How it Feels to Be Time Blind ⏳

    Growing up I had no idea I was time blind.

    But I was already establishing coping mechanisms. Because I had no internal chronometer to distinguish between 5 minutes and 50 I would prepare for every outing far far in advance and find myself in a state of limbo unable to do anything but wait.

    This is effective, but is also a black hole for both energy and time.

    Doctor Who says "People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff."

    People with time blindness tend to be chronically early or chronically late.

    It’s funny that the same internal experience can result in two such seemingly different behaviors, but it makes sense. One approach to time is a rigid controlled white knuckling. A hyperfocus that saps both time and energy from your life. The other holds on with a looser grip and time slips away.

    You might construe the first stereotype as autism and the second as ADHD, but time blindness is an internal experience shared by both.

    White Rabbit from Disney's Alice in Wonderland hopping frantically with an oversized pocket watch

    Now that I’m a mother I simply don’t have bandwidth to white knuckle my way through the day hyperfocusing on time.

    I cannot wait in the car for an hour. I do not have an hour to spare.

    Not to mention the chaotic element of a small human who has all sorts of urgent needs that can’t always be anticipated.

    How do normal people know when to leave the house to arrive somewhere on time?

    I never realized I was working SO HARD at something most people find simple.

    I was obsessed with planners a few years ago. I never would have described myself as disorganized, but this was down to the fact that I relied on a series of complicated systems to keep track of the most basic things.

    Lorelai Gilmore sits at kitchen table with laptop and says "Tomorrow at 10:00 Roz darling?"

    Like what day of the week it is. (I’m not kidding.)

    When Davy was in his human goat phase I gave planners up. As a result I’ve been flying blind for 3.5 years now. During this time I have learned a few things:

    First, go gentle on people who show up late and forget things. They are doing their best.

    Second, I really thrive with structure and systems.

    It’s impossible to overstate how much having a plan helps me.

    Structure frees up my brain for other things in a way that I can only compare to breathing oxygen versus being waterboarded.

    I’ve been metaphorically drowning for actual years now.

    Alice in a bottle floating in a sea of her own tears

    At first I thought the lesson I was meant to be learning was how to “let go” and embrace fluidity.

    There is nothing less helpful you could suggest to a human whose brain needs structure.

    The last few months I have been experimenting with themed days. With one focus per day my nervous system has improved dramatically. It also seems to help Davy. (We are both the type of neurodivergent who likes to know what’s coming.)

    But we all need different things.

    If your brain needs freedom embrace that. Don’t let people shame you and push you into a rigid structure if that doesn’t work for you.

    When we’re forced to work in ways that run counter to our neurotype it’s important to recognize this is legitimately difficult for us.

    Life seems determined to deal out changed plans, external deadlines, and an ungodly amount of urgent paperwork.

    When this happens we should treat ourself like we’re doing something really hard (because we are.)

    Without a plan my brain feels like it is on high alert all the time just trying to get through the day. Imagine a tennis player bouncing with bent legs ready to sprint in any direction*. That’s how I feel without a plan. It’s exhausting. And I am far more likely to become overstimulated.

    Professional tennis players

    *I know nothing about sports. But we were told to stand this way in Improv class and I quit immediately. 😂

    When our nervous system is on high alert we can help ourselves by:

    • providing sensory support (comfortable clothes, fidgets, movement, regulating environments)
    • seeking comfort (a cozy blanket, a favorite book or tv show, a cup of tea)
    • asking for help
    • finding someone to work alongside us (sometimes this is called “body doubling”)
    • rewarding our own efforts (treat yo’self)

    I could say more, but I’ve run out of time. 😂😂😂

    Read more: How it Feels to Be Time Blind ⏳

  • Celebrating an Autism Diagnosis

    I’m an autistic adult and parent of an autistic child. I really recommend framing a diagnosis as a positive milestone and celebrating it as such.

    We celebrate the anniversary of our diagnosis’ each year and call this our “Neurotype Day.” *

    * Shout out to my friend Hayley Dunlop for coining this.

    Read more: Celebrating an Autism Diagnosis

  • What is a creative ecosystem?

    What is a creative ecosystem?

    When I talk about creative ecosystems what I mean is expanding your concept of creativity beyond the act of making. Every part of your lived experience makes up your creative ecosystem.

    I developed this metaphor to help me build a healthier creative practice. Each element of a natural ecosystem (sun, water, air, etc.) is matched with a creative counterpart (body, mind, environment, and so on.)

    Hand holding compass with mountain in the distance

    Once I began seeing creativity in this way I couldn’t unsee it.

    I also noticed a holistic view of creativity was quite counter cultural.

    It’s an alternative approach to these two common creative traps.

    1. One Size Fits All Advice

    Too many creative leaders are trying to pass on their specific creative process as if it will work for anyone.

    Even my beloved Julia Cameron is guilty of this. The seeds of this idea were sown when I reread The Artist’s Way as a new mum. I knew creativity was an important part of my life and wanted guidance in how to maintain my creative life through new motherhood.

    But suddenly, Julia’s advice no longer served me. I was exhausted. I didn’t have the capacity for daily journaling. And it wasn’t what I needed.

    What I needed was a nap.

    Reaching the end of my rope taught me that caring for my body and my mind is an essential part of the creative process.

    I still don’t write or make something every day, and that’s okay. I’ve found a new rhythm that’s working for me. It’s fluid and adaptive and continues to develop over time.

    Landscape photo of a canyon

    2. Hustle, Hustle, Burnout

    For years I’ve been working under the hustle, hustle, burnout template. I would push myself past the edge of my capacity and then crash and burn.

    I see a lot of my fellow artists doing the same thing.

    There is a growing awareness that we need rest, but it’s often treated like one more thing to squeeze into your to-do list.

    What we really need is to rebalance our entire creative process.

    Here’s where your creative ecosystem comes in.

    Consider the Big Picture

    When you stop hyperfocusing on productivity and take a step back you can see that every bit of your life is interconnected. It all serves your creative process.

    Instead of following a template created by someone else start paying attention to your own needs. Then, make little shifts that honor your own capacity.

    Discover your unique balance of structure and freedom, input and output, solitude and community, and more. Dig into your purpose and why you’re creating. Create rituals for rest and reflection.

    When I saw there was more to art than simply making my own creative ecosystem began to thrive.

    Small flock of birds fly through a golden sunset reflected on ocean below.

    I can’t make a fun quiz to determine if your ecosystem is a forest or a canyon.

    Only you can decide that.

    But I have spent two years writing a book to help you start the journey.

    Breaking down your creative ecosystem and exploring it one step at a time.

    Mockup of Discover Your Creative Ecosystem book by Sarah Shotts. A silhouette of bird in flight shows a landscape beyond.

    Discover Your Creative Ecosystem is a short read full of inspiring images and prompts to reflect on your personal creative practice. It’s available in hardcover, ebook, and audiobook. There’s also a fully illustrated companion for journaling or multimedia collage.

    Read more: What is a creative ecosystem?

  • Free Sensory Processing Workshop

    Read more: Free Sensory Processing Workshop

  • Studio Tour

    It’s finally here!

    Click below to watch a tour of my new studio.

    Read more: Studio Tour

  • My Year of Making (January Recap)

    When I started my year of making I had intentions for writing weekly updates for my blog or newsletter. Then the month unraveled, our whole family got sick, and I shifted into survival mode.

    So I’m giving myself some Brownie points for being flexible (not easy for an Autie) and picking up the pieces to write monthly check ins instead.

    The month started by easing in with baking and journaling and photos for Davy’s first (half) day of Montessori school.

    Digital collage of First Day of Preschool toddler in yellow raincoat

    Then I tried to calibrate my new Cricut. (It was a hate-hate relationship… in the end I returned it and used the money to buy electroforming supplies instead.)

    And the second week we came down sick. First Davy, then the whole family. It was his first time having a fever for anything besides teething. The first few days I kept track of making soup and tea and macaroni out of a box. Then my own fever went up and it was all I could do to just keep us going.

    It’s a tribute to what I’ve learned through motherhood that I was able to let that go and look back with empathy instead of self judgement. It was hard.

    A couple days out from February we started coming alive again and I resumed my making quest. The final day of January was my first proper day making art in my new studio. I returned to an art project I started in February 2, 2020 and had been on the shelf ever since.

    Digital collage of photographs printed on fabric and ironing set up

    My takeaways from this month?

    Sometimes you honor your inner artist by resting and healing. Sometimes making what you need for survival is enough. Other times you have the energy to pick up a long lost project and you stitch two timelines together through the metaphysical magic of time travel.

    UPDATE: September 2021

    I hid this blog post when I stopped writing monthly updates. At the time I was discouraged because we were sick every month from January – May and my year looked nothing like I had imagined. Looking back I can see how I did keep making (in small and simple ways), but I didn’t have the time or energy to document. Then in June (the first month none of us fell sick) my creative world expanded. If you’re finding it hard to create at the moment I see you. Don’t give up. Take the small moments you can. They count even if no one else is seeing them.

    Read more: My Year of Making (January Recap)

  • My Word for 2021

    Gold scissors and baby clothes on a blue blanket

    I didn’t choose a word last year. Or the year before that. I’ve been in a metaphorical hibernation since Davy was born. Snug and still even before 2020 locked us all down.

    These 18 months have been a time of dreaming and ideation. I have had more creative ideas during postpartum than any other time in my life.

    Yet, action came in waves.

    Small lapping pond waters.

    Occasional crashing whitecaps.

    Doodles and book drafts.

    It was inconsistent, but it kept me afloat. The ideas I didn’t have time or energy to complete I gathered up and squirreled away for another time.

    I’ve chosen the word MAKE for 2021 because I want to establish a daily creative practice. To put those ideas I’ve collected to use. 

    I want to make more art, but gently. I need flexibility to tend a sick babe or adjust my pace to avoid burnout. Some days I might paint or weave and others I might make beans on toast. Both are equally valid.

    It’s an invitation to create everyday and a curiosity to see how that unfolds.

    If you’d like to follow along I’ll be writing about my year of making in my newsletter. I’ll drop an opt in box here to make it easy.

    P.S. After drafting this post I did a search for “year of making” and rediscovered Kim Werker who I followed what feels like a lifetime ago. I must have been riding some subconscious inspiration. Kim’s year of making was in turn inspired by Miriam Felton so it’s one big beautiful swirl of inspiration. 🌀 

    If you want to join in just use their hashtag #yearofmaking.

    Read more: My Word for 2021

  • Embracing My Inner Renaissance Soul

    I’ve always been envious of Emily Starr’s singular focus on her Alpine Path. Her one true passion was writing, and she always knew what she wanted to achieve. My creative endeavors are more… varied.

    I’ll gather up a handful to paint a picture for you.

    I’ve drafted novels, thrown pots, directed plays, painted landscapes, photographed weddings, cross stitched samplers, planted gardens, made mosaics, designed websites, produced short films, dipped candles, made flower crowns, designed logos, stage managed, blogged, vlogged, danced en pointe, painted posters, designed gravestones, baked cakes, bound books, sewn pockets, developed my own photographs, scrapbooked, acted, silk screened, written for a magazine, learned Irish step dancing, embroidered hoops, written plays & performed puppetry…

    The list goes on.

    I still want to learn to play the ukulele, crochet & needlefelt.

    University was a beautiful time of reckless curiosity for me. I studied anything that sparked my interest, even taking classes that didn’t count toward my degrees.

    But when I started a photography business I told myself that any other creative projects were a waste of time.

    I continually make the mistake of trying to “specialize.”

    Telling myself that I have to choose one art form and practice it exclusively. Even so, my focus shifted from photography to cinematography to blogging to vlogging to sticker making…

    I clearly lack the ability to stick to one specific thing.

    Each time I told myself that my new passion would be “it.”

    Portrait of myself wearing an autumnal crown with long flowing brown hair and pale skin, with autumnal reflections in the lake beyond

    Then, about a year ago,  I made the tough decision to close down my photography business. It was incredibly freeing. I made discoveries about my creative process, improved my mental health, and realized I had developed a chronic illness that was draining a lot of my energy. I was able to slow down and take care of me.

    I’ve had a bit of a rebirth this year. I’m feeling more myself than I have since my years in college.

    I chose “create” as my word for 2017, which quickly transformed into “dabble”. Instead of creating and marketing products I began to kindle my curiosity.

    After a year of creating just to create I’ve realized that I’m never going to find a single art form that defines my identity as an artist.

    So I’ve stopped searching for it.

    I’m embracing my identity as a Renaissance Soul and am chasing curiosity with wild abandon.

    Portrait of myself wearing an autumnal crown with long flowing brown hair, pale skin, and brown glasses
    Read more: Embracing My Inner Renaissance Soul

  • Made with Love… and Buttermilk

    We each have our own memories tied to food… The healing properties of Mamaw’s chicken and rice. Standing on the kitchen stool to help make cranberry relish for Thanksgiving. Licking the beaters at Nonnie’s house after making cake.  

    Revisiting a cherished family recipe can be as powerful as stepping into a time machine.

    Your recipe may be a curry or a gumbo or a tortilla depending on where you are in the world, but there is a universal language of love in the family kitchen.

    I never knew my own grandmother, but I grew up eating Mamaw’s chicken dumplins every February at our home gymnastics meet. (She was our gymnastics coach’s mother.) It was the highlight of my year. When I started learning to cook I asked for the recipe, but was told it’s not a recipe that can be written down. It’s done by sight and feel as much as measurements so I went off to college without learning the secrets.

    In fact no one in Mamaw’s family knew the recipe… not her daughters, not her granddaughters, absolutely no one else knew how to make them.

    When I was planning our wedding I knew that I wanted Mamaw to make her chicken dumplins and she graciously brought two giant crockpots to our Mississippi reception. Moving to Northwest Arkansas I realized my chance to learn this recipe was getting smaller. So, somewhat selfishly, I asked Mamaw’s granddaughter Rachel if she’d like to make a video where she learned firsthand how to make from scratch chicken dumplins. She loved the idea and we set a date.

    My heart grew three sizes editing the video. As my Papa would say, “it warmed the cockles of my heart.” I had never been so connected with a project before. Video turned out to be a perfect way to document a family recipe… it caught nuances and texture that recipe cards miss. Rachel caught Mamaw doing things she didn’t even realize she was doing. The recipe had become such second nature to her she didn’t even realize all of the steps she was taking herself.

    But what really made me glow with happiness was the heartwarming connection. Mamaw wasn’t performing the recipe for camera. She was teaching Rachel and the moments happening between them were magic. I felt so blessed to document it.

    What’s your favorite family recipe? Let’s chat in comments.

    Cheers,

    Sarah

    Read more: Made with Love… and Buttermilk