The Poetry of Persistence.

The Ancient Art of Patronage, Revived

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Sometimes we are given the opportunity to make a brave choice. A choice to surrender the things that have been great, in exchange for greater. It's here a soulful, lively, boom-boom, heart-out-of-chest, tears-on-cheeks,"I'm alive" kind of passion lives. It lives just around the corner from surrender’s bend.

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Good morning from this bright little arthouse!

First, I want to thank you all—each of you—for being here, for being patrons to the art and its evolving process. I’m in deep awe of the support you’ve sown into this new place of practice (particularly over the last 48 hours). I do not hold it lightly.

Without it, none of this would exist the way it does.

Potrait by Tara Samuelson, Style by Donna Stain

A dear friend wrote something beautiful when I first began “Catching Shower Flowers”, upon generously sharing my work with her own 'Patronus':

"In these modern days, Substack has become an old-world way of being a patron to the arts and the artists brave enough to share their inner worlds with us, the viewers... The word ‘patron’ comes from the Latin word ‘Patronus’—‘Patron saint, bestowed of benefice.’ To think we, the viewers, the readers, the ardent admirers, can somehow play a part in benefiting the lives of artists and creators through the realm of Substack is a blessing onto ourselves. It is by the work and gifts artists share with the world that cultures shift, differences become strengths, and we find hope in the collective."

This resonated so deeply with me. And here we are—a personal little writing goal, quietly met. Not with fanfare, but with a quiet, meaningful crossing of a threshold.

For most of my working life, I have worked with the tangible: books, prints, art, things you can hold. I’ll continue with that work, but what I really want, more than anything, is to write. To sharpen the pen. To let words be my main pursuit, not just the thing I fit around everything else.

Photo by Tara Samuelson and style by Donna Stain

And the only way to do that is to write every single day.

When I started this arthouse, I wasn’t sure how or if this space could sustain my livelihood, but I was hopeful. Growth came slowly—$9 subscriptions, the loss of subscriptions, an up-down dance—a readership built piece by piece. I’ve had moments when I wondered if it was all just dissolving into the ether. But something told me to persist.

Dear Readership, You have been so patient with my process… the fumbling, the learning, the unfolding of voice as I learn to write long-form after years of leaning into smaller lines in the potency of poetry.

Then, this week, I shared—just quietly—that I was 25 patrons away from a personal writing milestone, one that felt like it was nearing me closer to the one-day reality of being a full-time paid writer—and then, in two days—over 25 of you came forward, lifting me over that line.

This isn’t a grand announcement, just a moment to pause and say: thank you. Thank you for being here, for making this feel possible, for meeting me in the words. It’s rare and beautiful, knowing you're out there, reading.

And in honour of this, I wanted to share the very first piece I wrote here—the one that marked the quiet beginnings of slow, steady persistence. I can hear the eagerness in my voice, the tone carrying both excitement and the hesitancy of starting something new. For nostalgia’s sake, join me in revisiting it—can you see it, hear it, feel the evolution from those first tentative words to this very moment? Let me know… I’d love to hear from you.

and a re-visit of this piece… written a year ago.

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A big thank you to @V.H.Berry for being the catalyst of this publication ‘Catching Shower Flowers’—your encouragement almost two years ago, to simply give it a go, and write about French toast, has meant more than I could ever express. Thank you for your belief and for the gentle launch pad of your all-embracing conversations. I love you.

Thank you—to every single one of you. To those who pressed subscribe at the very first love-letter and never left, to those who have read quietly from the edges, to those who have just arrived. You are part of this, part of the architecture of this growing arthouse.

With all my love,

And caught flowers…

xo

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Reader, sower, patron—co-conspirator in this evolving place of practice,

Thank you for being here, for seeing value in this quiet experiment of words. Your support is not just a kindness; it is a gesture of belief, a patronage in the old sense—a recognition that art, thought, and story matter. It tells me: keep going. And so, I do. Because you are here. Because you believe in the slow turning of thoughts into language, into poem, into something that lingers. I am deeply grateful for you.

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