September 2025

Here in the Hudson Valley, the days are growing unmistakably shorter, the nights cooler, and the bountiful joy of ripe summer peaches and tomatoes at the market invite us to gulp them down greedily before their season draws inevitably to a close.  Our humanness shouts at us to shellac it all down, to preserve it behind glass, to somehow drag our weight along to force a stop to what rolls inevitably along.    

I was wandering through the one of my favorite local museums the other day.  The late summer light was streaming through the window panes, the air filled with the scent of honeyed beeswax, and the galleries were filled with the work of humans trying to connect and say slippery, unsayable things across the span of time and space.  This for me, is church.  

Art, in all its forms, asks us to pause and look beyond the loud hum of the everyday into the heart of what is timeless and alive in all of us.  We make, with pen to paper, spoon to pot, shovel to soil, as a direct tap into the joy and elation of being alive in this world in this moment in all its complications and as way to stay anchored in troubled times.  As a way to sing anyway, to try anyway, to pry open some space and whisper new possibilities into the world. In the juggled words of the late poet Andrea Gibson, creation is the only thing louder than destruction.

This fall, we invite you into our shop and into our workshops to sit and make around our tables with your fellow humans. We'll be doing weird, wonderful things because it feels really, really good and it's nice to have company when you're on a wiggly creative journey.

xx,

Grace + the illustrious SfCL crew