“I am free” is a meditation on the thrill of freedom, painted outside (“plein air”), mostly without looking at the page (to capture the true dance of the light and movement in the trees and sky).

I used acrylic, gouache, marker, and ink on 320gsm acid free paper, 40.5cm x 29.5cm (16” x 11.5”).

Signed on the front and the back.

See it on exhibition

This painting is on show at Brunswick Street Gallery, 25 June-8 July 2022, as part of the “Fifty Squared Art Prize” show, along with 2 more paintings by me!

Please note: the gallery is not wheelchair accessible. There are 2 flights of steep stairs with no lift.

Video tour of “I am free”

How to buy

[UPDATE: SOLD] This piece is available to purchase by contacting Brunswick Street Gallery directly - during the exhibition dates (ends 8 July 2022) - or contacting me directly.

“I am light” is a celebration of light and the promise of a brighter future after spending much of the previous 2 years alone in lockdown.

I painted this work outside (“plein air”) in the summer, smiling to myself as I sat at an outside at a table at a cafe in the heart of the Melbourne CBD gazing at the trees across the road, and serenaded by the sound of relaxed, cheerful conversation and occasional tinkling laughter of the people at the tables around me.

Video: painting “I am light”

I painted all but the final layers without looking at the page, to keep my movements and rhythms as true as possible to what I was seeing shimmer through the trees that surrounded me.

I used acrylic, gouache, marker, and ink on 320gsm acid free paper, 40.5cm x 29.5cm (16” x 11.5”).

Signed on the front and the back.

See it on exhibition

This painting is on show at Brunswick Street Gallery, 25 June-8 July 2022, as part of the “Fifty Squared Art Prize” show, along with 2 more paintings by me!

Please note: the gallery is not wheelchair accessible. There are 2 flights of steep stairs with no lift.

Video tour of “I am light”

How to buy

[UPDATE: SOLD] This piece is available to purchase by contacting Brunswick Street Gallery directly - during the exhibition dates (ends 8 July 2022) - or contacting me directly.

“I will shimmer like summer breeze” is a celebration of summer freedom.

I painted this work outside (“plein air”) in the summer, on a picnic rug at a nearby park (several sessions).

I painted all but the final layers without looking at the page, to keep my movements and rhythms as true as possible to what I was seeing shimmer through the trees that surrounded me.

The painting is acrylic, gouache, marker, and ink on 320gsm acid free paper, 40.5cm x 29.5cm (16” x 11.5”).

Signed on the front and the back.

See it on exhibition

This painting is on show at Brunswick Street Gallery, 25 June-8 July 2022, as part of the “Fifty Squared Art Prize” show, along with 2 more paintings by me!

Please note: the gallery is not wheelchair accessible. There are 2 flights of steep stairs with no lift.

Video tour

Video tour of “I will shimmer like summer breeze”, vibrant abstract expressionist plein air painting on paper, by Australian artist Rose Wintergreen, 2022

How to buy

[UPDATE: SOLD] This piece is available to purchase by contacting Brunswick Street Gallery directly - during the exhibition dates (ends 8 July 2022) - or contacting me directly.

I’m curious, what’s one thing in your life lately that is helping you feel anchored (at home and solidly in your body) in the current moment?

Don’t worry if you don’t have an answer come straight away!

Most of us are not used to noticing this. If you are struggling with it, you are NOT alone!

Coming back to this question and doing 1 thing that helps me bring me back to my body each day has been one of the most powerful tools in cultivating a bright and juicy life, even with all the awfully upsetting things going on around me.*

When I’m too overwhelmed to think of anything else, I listen to this guided meditation**:

Perhaps it will bring you peace, too?

This is just one of many options in my toolkit.

I’ll be sharing more in coming weeks!

What’s 1 thing that helps you come back and anchor in your body lately?

Hit “reply” and let me know?

(There are no wrong answers! Sometimes it might be scrolling tiktok - I do that, too! I was guilty about it but learned recently it can be a legit way of regulating our nervous system when we are feeling overloaded. No wonder I’m spending so much time there lately! You can even see how I danced as I wrote this to you, here!)

Fill your home with soothing light

Available at these prices for a limited time!

I will be raising my prices in coming days!

Wishing you peace and love in this time,

Rose

x

*Hello: flood-effected peeps, people having to continue lockdown-life while the rest of the world opens up, people who have lost loved ones recently, people living with long-covid, people lost and struggling to work out what next after losing their job/having their work and livelihood turned upside down, health workers and counsellours and psychologists and social workers supporting all of us whilst you are struggling yourselves; I see you and am sending so much love. You are not forgotten and I think of you every day. I’m so sorry you’re going through such a rough time. You deserve more support. You might be feeling alone but you are not.

**Best with headphones. Make sure to turn of sound notifications before you press “play”. It’s incredible but quiet, so you’ll need to turn volume up. And remove headphones when she says “namaste” so you don’t get blasted by youtube autoplaying another clip or ad when it finishes.

Better out than in.

I’ve held off sharing this one because it’s not “pretty” and it feels pretty raw.

But maybe someone who has been feeling similarly will see it and feel less alone for witnessing it.

I started a new ritual a few months back in deep, dark, lonely lockdown, of sitting on the floor (very grounding) first thing in the morning, lighting a candle (showing my mind this was a sacred and spiritual act), and playing with making marks or colours for a minimum of 5 minutes (I’d let myself go longer if I wanted but I would stop unless I really wanted to continue), just to let my feelings out and meet myself.

The rule was: no taking photos and no sharing of the results with anyone else, no judging my feelings and no judging whatever came out onto the page, no trying to make it into a “finished” or “pretty” work, just letting myself spill it out and let it go.

Setting out a breakfast tray beside me also helps me feel more like it’s a treat rather than work. It’s like an art picnic date, a hot date with my emotions.⚡️😂

Now I’ve been doing it a while, and getting less uncomfortable with the process and (sometimes surprising) results, I might sometimes share it.

Would that be helpful?

“Let the trees whisper you their secrets

Let the breeze hold your sigh

Let the light dance through you

Let the birds sing you alight”

- A poem and a prayer for you.

Each line is also the name of a painting.

All painted outside, serenaded by nature.

All paintings are 30.5cm x 30.5cm on stretched canvas, ready to hang with hanging wire already attached on the back, signed on the front, and include a signed Certificate of Authenticity, $620 each.

See them in person

On exhibition as part of the Small Works Prize at Brunswick Street Gallery, 7-21 Jan, 2022.

Please note: the gallery is not wheelchair accessible.
(If you would like to see more detail but can’t get to the gallery, get in touch and I can send you more photos and video closeups.)

How to buy

7 - 21 January 2022: contact the gallery in person, by phone, or by email (details below).

22 January 2022 onwards: contact me directly.

The gallery accepts all card payments in person or over the phone.

Brunswick Street Gallery

Level 1 & 2, 322 Brunswick Street, Fitzroy, VIC

(03) 8596 0173

10am - 6pm Tues to Sun (closed Mon)

You can also email them here.

I would love to know, what do you feel when you look at these paintings?

Wishing you peace and love in this time,

Rose

x

Yup, it’s been another gut-wrenching year, but we got through it.

You’re fu*king incredible for still being here. What a strong soul. Thank you for sharing the journey with me.

I know things are still a lot right now (I am particularly worried for my immune compromised friends and family right now and it’s taking a LOT of work to manage anxiety)…

…but aside from doing the things all the health experts are telling us to do right now, the most powerful thing we can do is keep coming back to this moment, and paying attention to what is okay right now.

One thing that fast tracks this for me is smell.

Take a sec to close your eyes and sniff.

What is one thing you can you smell right now?

If nothing in particular came into focus, grab a fruit or vegetable from the fridge and make a tiny indent in it with your fingernail, or open up a spice from your cupboard and sniff again.

Or (if able) get yourself outside and sniff a flower or a leaf (crunch it first) or a blade of grass (squish a little).

What do you notice? Are there layers of different qualities?

Take a few long, slow, deep breaths.

This is not a time for big New Years resolutions.

This is a time to keep it simple, remind our nervous systems we are okay (by returning to the present moment again and again whenever the fear train tries to steal us away), and to be as kind to our body and mind as we would to a dear friend.

Wishing you a gentle, sweet, present 2022. May you meet yourself and all your emotions with the same acceptance, kindness, love and care you meet others. ✨🌱

—

Reading this when the shop is closed? Join my newsletter to be notified when the shop is open again!

There’s nothing more liberating than tearing a drawing in half, sticking it back together in a new way, and being forced to work with what’s already there.

Sometimes the only way I can break free and discover something new is to intentionally try to make something I think I won’t like but in a way that I really enjoy (drawing without looking at the page, scribbling furiously with a weird colour and my “wrong” hand) and every time I start liking it, intentionally breaking it again, and remaking it again in a new way.

It’s not a new idea, I learned this from Joseph Fonti and Nic Plowman.

It’s so easy to get caught up in trying to be “good” or make something “nice”, but doing the same thing over and over again is not living, it’s surviving.

I’m so grateful for learning about this weirdo art technique “breaking the page”, and that I had the courage to use it this time.

And it reminds me, every time, to keep stepping up and getting brave in other areas of my life.

It’s scary sh*t, but I know if I want to keep cultivating a juicy life, I need to keep doing this as an ongoing practice in all the ways: having the tricky conversations, setting and maintaining boundaries, remixing my inner narratives…

—-

🌱I’m curious, what’s something in your life that helps you break your usual patterns and remix your inner narrative? Comment below (or email, if you prefer).🌱

Reading this when the shop is closed? Join my newsletter to be notified when the shop is open again!

It’s that time of year again, where everything is too fast and too loud and it feels like everything is speeding up to the Christmas break.

Is it just me?

I’m catching myself, noticing my breath is fast and my thoughts are racing.

I’m doing my best to pause what I’m doing, even if it’s just for a minute or two, to take the time to intentionally slow my breath, and see if I can make my out breaths longer and longer.

My inner critic, Ursula, says “don’t stop! There’s no time! You’ve gotta hurry up and do all the things, NOW!”

I try to respond firmly and lovingly “thank you. I know you’re trying to help me. But I’m no use to anyone when I am a human stress ball. If I take a moment to slow down, my productivity will actually INCREASE, because I’ll have more clarity about priorities, and how to be efficient.”

Slowing down and just breathing! It sounds so silly! But it’s pure fucking magic.

I made this piece, “Breathe”, when I was having one of those bullshit frenzied, speeding up, “I can’t ever take a break, there’s no time” times.

I ordered a coffee at an outside cafe table, set up my paints, and when the coffee came, I promptly spilt it (extra hot latte) all over my lap and the table.

After I cleaned it up (miraculously somehow no coffee got onto the paper!), I made myself pause.

I slowed my breath as I gazed up at a tree and the sky behind it.

As my breath got calmer, I realised there was a gorgeous, peaceful, filigree pattern of shapes happening with leaves moving.

I painted and drew it (mostly without looking at the page, to really, truly, only paint what I was seeing, and not what my brain expected to see).

I found myself back home…

Landed…

Back in my body…

…and back with my breath.

“Breathe” is a reminder to come home to the spaciousness of our breath, even when (especially when!) it seems impossible or a waste of time.

✨ ”Breathe” fine art prints are available now for a limited time, starting at just $25, shipping worldwide.✨

⏰ Shop closes 19 Dec and I’m not sure when I’ll offer this again!

✨SHOP NOW✨ here.

—

Reading this when the shop is closed? Join my newsletter to be notified when the shop is open again!

Words are convenient containers, but sometimes they aren’t big enough.

What to say, when words are not enough?

Sometimes, deciding not to speak, but showing “I am thinking of you, you are not forgotten” is the biggest gift of all:

• Leaving a surprise block of chocolate, or some veggies from your garden on their doorstep.

• Posting some seeds from the hollyhocks you grew last spring.

• Posting that perfect white feather and the leaf curving around on itself in a perfect circle that you found on your walk.

• Leaving a surprise chalk drawing on their footpath.

• Sharing photos of a painting you made the last time you were together, of the colours you saw and felt from their smiles, whilst listening to their stories of lonely neighbours connecting after decades spent alone.

I am thinking of you.

You are not forgotten.

I made this painting thinking of you, shining.

Love,

Rose Wintergreen

x
(one of the artists in residence this season)

What can you say when you are separated by distance from your loved ones, and they are grieving? Migrant grief was the theme of our most recent service with Farah Beaini.

I made this painting, called “We can still drink tea together”, whilst listening to her story, and I wrote the poem before hand.

I brewed some tea and I used the tea in the painting.

Can you spot the tea?

What to say, when…

What to say when I can’t be there with you?

So much space between us two

But I can feel you

I can feel you here in my heart

When I fill my cup

I think of you

I think of you

We are still connected

Maybe you can drink the same tea as me?

Each holding our own cups across the sea

What to say when I can’t be there with you?

Make this cup of tea

I am drinking it with you

We are drinking it together

We are drinking it together

Can you feel it?

Love,

Rose Wintergreen

x
(one of the artists in residence this season)

This piece was first published on The Weekly Service website, where Rose is an artist in residence.

Let’s have a cup of tea together. Go on, put the kettle on.

Have you got your tea now?

I’m drinking chamomile. What’s yours?

I joke with friends who know me very well that words are not my native language.

My feelings have always felt too big for words, and my mind too fast for my mouth.

I love the shapes and sounds of words, and I love playing with them written down when there is no time pressure, but I trip over them when I try to make them come out my mouth, unless I concentrate with a lot of effort.

When I am in the same room as a person, it is easier. I can read their energy. I can show them in other ways that I understand, that I hear them and feel them.

When they are distressed, and the words are stuck, I can motion to the couch for them to sit.

I can hand them my teddy bear.

I can put the kettle on, make them a soothing chamomile tea, and hold it out to them.

I can light a candle and put lavender oil in an oil burner - a soothing sight to focus on, as well as a soothing sound.

I can place a hand on their shoulder, and it says more than words ever could.

How to connect when we can’t be together

The last two years — living much of the time alone in lockdown — has been a test of determination and creativity for staying connected through physical separation and distance.

I have taken selfies of myself hugging myself, pretending I was hugging a dear friend, and sent it to them, telling them it was me hugging them.

I have recorded the sound of myself making a cup of tea, and sent it to a friend, so they could listen to it as they also made tea, and we could “have tea together”.

I’ve bought beautiful, ethically handmade soy candles lovingly made by one friend, and given the same one to several different friends and family who know each other, and let them know, “every time you light this candle, it is the same one we all have, so you are connecting with all of us at once”.

I’ve recorded myself talking to them as if they are here, and sent them the recording as a voice message, so they can hear all the background noises of my home.

Migrant grief - this week’s service

This week’s service is touching on this theme, from the perspective of connecting across even larger distances. Farah Beani will be talking about migrant grief.

What does it feel like to be separated from loved ones and grieve from a distance?

I look forward to meeting with you online, with our cups of tea, to share time together. I’ll be there, painting as we listen. Book your ticket here.

Love,

Rose Wintergreen

(One of the artists in residence this season)

This piece was first published on The Weekly Service website, where Rose is an artist in residence.

At the service on 18 September, called "Moments of Showing Up", Michelle Morgan shared how she manages to show up in moments of uncertainty in her own creative practice as an artist, studying art therapy and offering clinical pastoral care - non-religious spiritual support to people in hospital.

It was a strange experience for me.

We are in lockdown in Melbourne, so the service was online.

The hairs on my arms were standing up and my stomach was churning at the sound of angry buzzing police helicopters overhead, surveying anti-lockdown protestors.

I was connected with a group of warm-hearted friendly people on my screen. Off screen, I was physically alone, and my body was telling me I was in danger.  

I smiled (concentrating hard to make sure it didn’t come across as a grimace) and concentrated on planting my feet as flat to the ground as I could, uncurling my toes, willing my belly calm, elongating my out breaths.

I internally sighed at the irony of my struggling so much to show up in the moment, when that was the theme of the service.

I made a painting as I listened

As Michelle spoke, I was watching and noticing how my feelings in my physical body changed, immersing myself in the motion of drips and colours melting into each other, and the calming repetition of drawing circles with my non-dominant hand (a response to Michelle's sharing of her mandala practice, and the release that circles have provided her).

I focused on letting go of control, letting whatever colours and marks wanted to come out come out, letting my hand and brush follow the threads and push and pulls of the story.

Mauve for the quiet moments of asking a higher power for solidarity and strength on the hard days, flashes of yellow for the unexpected laughs shared with patients, lighter tracks of eddying grey lead pencil for the paths connecting it all, chains of little circles…

When it came time for breakout rooms (Michelle had finished her story, and there was an opportunity to join a small group for reflection and discussion), I opted out, to let it all sink in quietly.

I got my hairdryer out to dry the painting so I would be able to hold it up and show everyone when they came out. I hummed as it whirred.

A melody arrived…

It unfurled out of my mouth as I moved the hairdryer across the page, drying each little pool of colour in turn.

I managed to scrawl some notes of the words and sing it for everyone when we came back together for sharing. It wasn’t recorded.

After the session ended, I sung it again and recorded it into my phone before I would forget it.

The helicopters are buzzing again today, but I have been showing up for myself by making music. I opened my music program, imported the recording I made on my phone, and have transformed it into a fully structured recorded track.

The song that arrived - “Uncertainty”

I've combined the original lead melody with the sound of a pedestrian light crossing opposite the National Gallery of Victoria I recorded on a lockdown walk a month or so ago. I was mesmerised by the calming nature of its repetition, the comfort of the familiarity of the sound, the way it kept circling back again and again.

You may notice a tram and a seagull in the background, and a single car passing by. (I have repeated them throughout.) A strange juxtaposition of familiarity and eerie dystopia; usually this spot would be full of the sounds of happy pedestrians, lots of traffic noise, the sound of music playing from the tinny coffee shop speakers out the front of the Arts Centre, and people whizzing past on bicycles and electric scooters.  

The uncertainty of this time seems never-ending, but I am eternally grateful for being a part of The Weekly Service community.

I keep coming back, and it keeps helping me circle back to myself and what really matters: showing up and connecting authentically with other humans, holding space for what is, even if it is messy sometimes.

Thank you for sharing your story about how you do this, Michelle. It was exactly what I needed.

Lyrics 

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty follows me

No matter how hard I try

I can try to live

All my days

In a straight line

But the only thing certain

Is that life will keep shifting and turning

Maybe I can throw my arms in a circle

And hold myself as I keep learning…

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty follows me

No matter how hard I try

I can try to live

All my days

In a straight line

But the only thing certain

Is that life will keep shifting and turning

Maybe I can throw my arms in a circle

Hold myself as I keep learning…

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty follows me

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty

Uncertainty follows me

Love,

Rose Wintergreen

(One of the artists in residence this season)

This piece was first published on The Weekly Service website, where Rose is an artist in residence.

Nothing is forever.

Change is the only certainty.

I know this in my bones somehow, and in a weird way, this knowledge brings me a sense of peace. Yes, there it is, my heart has unclenched with the reminder.

Yet, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always been anxious and fearful of change.

That is, unless it is change that I have instigated, can predict and control.

Fear of uncertainty led me to…

Fear of uncertainty led me to rush into decisions and actions and life directions that were totally wrong for me, because I mistakenly thought I couldn’t possibly live in the space of the in between, the not knowing, the uncertainty.

 Fear of uncertainty led me to working long hours in jobs I did not enjoy.

Fear of uncertainty led me to propose marriage to someone I knew did not love me.

Fear of uncertainty led me to live in cities I did not want to live in.

That is, until:

The pain and damage brought upon myself by my attempts to outrun the fear of uncertainty broke me.

It was only then that I learned:

There is nothing more powerful, potent and mystical than the exquisite tension between the euphoria and melancholy of change.

When I sit with the unknown…

When I sit with the unknown, and watch it with the wonder and curiosity of a small child, it dances, twists and shifts in the most entrancing kaleidoscope.

When I sit with the unknown, it pushes and pulls my heart.

When I sit with the unknown, it makes me cry and sing and dream and gasp.

When I sit with the unknown, and talk about my fears and hopes with other people, it brings connection and closeness, somehow diluting the fears and making me believe more in my ability to surf the waves of change without drowning.

When I sit with the unknown instead of running from it, I am showing up for myself, for the other people in my life, and for our future together.

I am allowing uncertainty and change to flow to and through me, even though it sometimes brings me to my knees.

I am reminding myself of the exquisite power, potency and mystery of the unknown

I am reminding myself of the exquisite power, potency and mystery of the unknown when I dance-thrash-headbang-shake-glide-shimmy-cry-laugh-sigh to music that makes me feel powerful and invincible while I wait for my morning coffee to brew.

I am reminding myself of the exquisite power, potency and mystery of the unknown when I begin each morning by sitting on the floor, lighting a candle, and making random repetitive marks across a page, exploring how different colours dance and clash when combined. 

I am reminding myself of the exquisite power, potency and mystery of the unknown when I record songs without rehearsing or writing the lyrics in advance and just let whatever needs to come out come out: songs of yearning and uncertainty, frustrated shout-sung diatribes, and smooth soothing lullabies.

I am reminding myself of the exquisite power, potency and mystery of the unknown when I paint without letting myself look at the canvas/page.

I have no idea what is going to happen next. But maybe that’s a good thing. Because it means we can create it together.

Love,

Rose Wintergreen

x

 (One of the bards for this season)

PS I wrote this listening to this playlist I made of songs that help soothe me in times of unsettling change.

PPS A couple of weeks ago at the service I asked “What’s just one thing that brings you peace, and makes you feel at home in your body in the current moment, no matter what else is going on?”

I made a list of your answers, so we can all refer back to it when we are feeling overwhelmed or stuck… 

• Doing jigsaw puzzles

• Painting circles over and over again across a page

• Licking or eating a lemon or something else with a shocking flavour

• Spending time with objects stored in a precious “sensory treasure box” – squeezable stress toys, putty, objects with parts to press, spin, etc. (collected from the kids toy section at department stores, and cheap import shops)

• Journaling gratitude, lists of happy memories or things to look forward to, or negative beliefs with best-friend replies

• Jumping up and down and thrashing arms and hair about for 10-20 seconds

• Having a warm/hot shower, but turning it straight cold at the end (a reset for the central nervous system)

• Standing in a superhero power-stance for a couple of minutes whilst reliving a highlight reel of happy memories

• Drawing a hissy-fit mandala (draw a massive circle on a page, then fill it with marks, scribbles and words of any emotions or thoughts you want to let go of, and then destroying it when it’s finished, by tearing it up/screwing it up into a ball and throwing it out into the rubbish or burning it)

• Going for a walk and paying attention to nature (variation: pretending you are an ant or bird and attempting to notice new things that they would see that humans usually don’t)

Sometimes kindness is letting myself curl up on my bed and cry.

Sometimes it’s running a drawing class even though I wake up feeling it’s impossible. And coming away from it filled with a sense of love and connection.

Sometimes it’s getting myself out for a walk even though it feels too hard.

Sometimes it’s eating something at normal meal times even though I feel numb.

Sometimes it’s painting on my little balcony amongst urban jungle when all I want to do is be free and be with trees, my feet touching the earth.

Sometimes it’s letting myself cry in gratitude at the kindness of strangers and the small miracles (the last golden flash of afternoon sunlight, the bubbles of my kombucha tickling my tongue).

Some days it’s all these things.

Sending love to you today and hope you are meeting yourself with kindness and love, no matter how you are feeling. You deserve it. Always.

You will get through this time.

So will I.

We will look back on this time and be so proud of ourselves.

Keep going. Gently. One day at a time. It won’t be like this forever. 💚

What’s one kind thing you could do for yourself right now?

Want to draw with me?

I’m running one last free class this week on zoom! Friday, 7pm AEST, 19 August. Booking required.

Let's Forget The Stress For A Bit

Well, what to say.

Things have been pretty challenging recently, huh?

I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to talk about it anymore. I just want to keep myself sane, doing peaceful or joyful things, by myself and with other people. Especially with other people, to be honest.

Drawing helps. I started drawing every day when I was homeless, and everything felt overwhelming and impossible. I quickly noticed that if I drew or let myself play with colour, even just for a few minutes, my day was always a little brighter, and it gave me a mental holiday from all the stress and fear.

I’ve decided to run some free drawing classes online on zoom, so we can do this together.

No charge, but donations gratefully accepted (if you have the means).

Totally okay to join with your camera and mic off, if you wish! You can draw with me, or just soak up the feeling of having some company. Whatever works for you best is fine by me.

Bring: 

• a few pieces of paper, pencil/pen (can bring extra other stuff if you like, but fancy gear is definitely not required. Scrap cardboard from a cereal box or similar will do if you don’t have paper).

• an item of food (to draw). Ideally a piece of fruit or a vegetable, or an item from your pantry that has a smell.

Drawing classes online:

• 7pm tonight, Tuesday, 17 August 2021, AEST

• 11am Thursday, 19 August 2021, AEST

• 7pm Friday, 20 August 2021, AEST

Bookings required.

Book Rose to run a private group class

Looking for a fun activity to do with family, friends, or colleagues?

Drawing together is a fun, relaxing way to connect and strengthen relationships.

I have some limited availability to provide private classes. Contact me for rates.

I’m super excited to announce a new body of work "Everything Will Be All Light" (a vibrant collection of abstract expressionist paintings). I’m exhibiting these at a solo exhibition in Melbourne’s CBD!

Painting this collection has been my lifeline in getting through rough times, including three lockdowns spent alone. I ask myself “what is perfect in my life right now, today, exactly as it is?” I look for it. Sometimes it is an internal feeling; sometimes it is the way the light is playing in a tree. I sit with it, focus on the details, and paint it.

It’s been a super tough time for a long time but there is colour and hope in every day, even the most gruelling days. Learning how to make ourselves look for it and notice it, even when we are having a rough time, is a practice. It’s not easy, but it’s a powerful way to reclaim a sense of power.

We can’t control what happens to us, but we can control how we respond, how we interact with the world, and train our brains to pay attention to things that make us feel more connected to the present moment!

My hope is that these artworks make you feel light and hopeful about a bright future, and also remind you of the magic that already exists in this current moment.

Exhibition catalogue

Email rosewintergreen@gmail.com to receive a catalogue of works and prices.

Exhibition details:

“Everything Will Be All Light”
Solo art exhibition by Rose Wintergreen
18 March – 1 April 2021
Journal Café, 253 Flinders Ln, Melbourne VIC 3000

RSVP on Facebook: https://fb.me/e/1aOsF6Run

Drink and Draw: Learn How to Draw Like an Artist

I'm running 2 drink and draw nights to celebrate (free entry, materials provided), where I'll be sharing some of my drawing techniques for cultivating calm and hope in times of intense stress. I would be honoured to have you there. (It’s also totally fine to come along just to sticky beak and not draw.) I will also be singing one of my new songs on these nights.

Drink and Draw Nights:

- Thursday 18 March, 6-8pm: https://fb.me/e/23aqbICd9
- Thursday 25th March, 6-8pm: https://fb.me/e/49CDJdupG

1. Loading up the You Feel Like Shit website, answering the questions, and following the prompts. (Note: seems to only work on desktop and not mobile.)

2. Listening to and following this breathwork meditation, with headphones (sometimes alone, and sometimes with friends).

3. Loading up a silly dance workout video, “Grumble Boogie” (see the videos tab). Always makes me smile and laugh, even when I’m crying!

4. Laying down and listening to “yoga nidra for sleep” by Jennifer Piercy (also available free on the “Insight Timer” app).

5. Loading up the sounds of rain in a forest or rain on a tent, or a cat purring, or a combination of these, using the free “Rain Rain” app.

6. Listening to a podcast. My favourites include:

   • “Uncommon Sense” by Amy Mullins (juicy Long-form conversations about politics and current events, international affairs, history, art, books, and the natural world);

   • “Song Baker” with Sam Buckingham (real talk with female creators);

   • “This American Life” with Ira Glass

7. Browsing art! You can see my available paintings on my website or scroll through my Instagram (includes timelapse videos of my painting process). People tell me this makes them feel brighter and more hopeful about the future. I also enjoy following Sarah Firth, Gorkie, Nadia Dusselberg, Nikki Frankel, and L M Martin.

What about you? Do you have other free tools that you’d like to share? Comment below!

There’s always light. Keep looking, it is there, every day, somewhere. I made this in the depths of despair, in the middle of winter in lockdown that ended up lasting 14 weeks.

A friend posted a black and white photo of a walk by the creek. Everything had been looking grey to me. But something about his black and white photo tickled my brain. I had an impression of the golden light play, even though it was grey scale. It occurred to me I should probably try and draw it. It felt too hard and pointless, like most things at that time. I made myself start anyway, just in case it helped. It did.

If you’re having a rough time, and it’s all feeling too hard, keep doing the things you know might help. Eat that meal, drink that water, have that nap, move your body, let yourself follow any instinct about what might light your spirit - listen to that old favourite song, pick up that pencil, headbang-roar-dance-run to that Rammstein or Death Grips album.

It is a challenging time. But you are not alone. Keep looking for the light and let it move through you. And we will continue to move through this time together.

Available to buy, contact me for info. “The Merri Creek Glows Even in the Dark”, gold ink (shines in the light), pastel and pencil on paper. Original artwork by Rose Wintergreen, inspired by a photograph by Brendan Bonsack.