Print it. Colour it however feels right—watercolor, markers, coloured pencils, anything. No rules. Consider it a warm-up for Finding Your Way Back—starting September 1st. You can download it here or in the Classroom.

There's a particular quality to August evenings. The light stays shorter than you expect. Something in the air has shifted—a hint of what's coming, so subtle you almost miss it. This is when I find myself asking a quiet question: What do I actually want more of and what a little less? Not a plan. Not a resolution. Just a gentle look at where things have drifted, and a small intention to adjust. 🔹This Week's Ritual 🌱An evening walk: Leave your phone at home. Walk slowly. No destination. Hold one question as you walk: What do I want to carry into autumn—and what am I ready to leave in summer? Let the walking do the thinking. When you return, write down whatever arrived. 🌱Or a silent morning: Before your phone, before the day's demands—make something warm. Sit quietly. Ask the same question. Write whatever comes. Even just a few words. Choose whichever calls you today. I'd love to hear: What's one thing you want more of as summer closes? Beáta 😀

Welcome to the Tea House, If you've just joined, welcome—I'm so glad you're here. To help us get to know each other and make this space feel more like home, here are 3 simple ways to settle in: 1. Introduce yourself Create a short post sharing: - Your name and where you're from - What kind of creative practice calls to you (writing, painting, collage, quiet reflection...) - What you're hoping to find here A few sentences are enough. We're informal here. 2. Join a conversation Read through a post and leave a comment—even just a few words. Sometimes one honest sentence creates more connection than a long response. Your presence matters. 3. Share what's alive for you right now What's one thing you're noticing, exploring, or needing these days? You can share it in a post, or simply hold it as you explore the space. This space grows through presence and sharing, not performance. Take your time. There's tea waiting.

In a few days it's the Feast of the Assumption—August 15th. For me, it's one of the quietest, most tender celebrations of the year. Earlier this year, after my mother passed away, I found myself at the Virgin Mary pilgrimage path at St. Mary's Church in Lanckorona almost without planning it. I walked in and something shifted. It felt like finding someone who already knows you. Who listens without judgment. Who holds you without asking you to explain yourself first. I've returned since. Not because I had to. Because it helped. There are moments in life when we can't see through the difficulty. When we don't even know how something will come out. When we need reassurance that doesn't come from logic or planning, but from somewhere deeper. In those moments, many of us instinctively seek a place. A church. A forest. A favourite bench. A particular stretch of coastline. A room where someone we loved used to sit. Somewhere that holds us when we can't hold ourselves. 🌱This Week's Ritual: Finding Your Place of Being Held On August 15th—or any day this week—I invite you to visit your place. It might be: - A sacred space (church, temple, shrine, pilgrimage path) - A place in nature that always returns you to yourself - A quiet corner of your home that feels like sanctuary - Even a place that only exists in memory When you arrive (or when you close your eyes and imagine it): Breathe. Let your shoulders drop. Ask yourself, gently: What am I carrying right now that I need to set down, just for a moment? You don't have to solve it. You don't have to understand it. Just let yourself be held. Even briefly. ✍️ Creative Invitation Afterward, open your journal or pick up whatever art material calls to you. Write or paint: - The place that holds me looks like... - When I'm there, I feel... - What I brought there and what I left behind... Or simply: draw or paint the feeling of being held. Not the place itself, but what it feels like inside your body when you're there.

I've been listening to Psycho-Cybernetics, and one thought has stayed with me. We don't simply paint with our hands. We paint from the image we hold of ourselves. If, deep down, we believe we have to prove something, every brushstroke carries that weight. If we believe we must make a "good painting," we stop seeing what's actually happening on the canvas. Before you begin today, pause for a moment and ask yourself: Who am I being as I paint today? (Which hat do I choose to wear?) A critic? A student? A perfectionist? Or simply someone curious enough to discover what wants to appear? Sometimes changing the painter changes the painting long before changing the paint does. ☕ I'd love to know: which version of yourself arrived at the easel today?