dear seeker-friends,

~this is guide.notes #13, a weekly newsletter on opening the creative deluge, and building a digital world that nourishes your worldly life~

~

rest first, work later

dear magical seashell-seeking friends,

~this is guide.notes 12, a weekly email on caring for, and channeling -- your creative spirit/essence/patronus to roam free on the wilderness of the internet-universe.~

let's begin with

an invitation to rest

dear stranger-friends,

I'm writing you this artist digest from a sticky summer night in Istanbul. since my last letter, I traveled too much, then hosted / ran around the city with a series of visitors (including my parents) -- but, after all that, I've landed in a new phase of feeling embodied, peaceful, and in creative momentum.

(the answer to stuckness is always: movement. movement is nourishing, even when it's tiring.)

here's a snapshot from a cafe I visited last weekend, on an island an hour from the city.

dear creative friends,

this is guide.notes 11; where I nerd out loud on the process of nurturing a soft and true creative life in a capitalist world.

*

I won't lie, this week my brain is mush. when summer hits me in the face, my body starts to feel like it's swimming through molasses. more significantly, my parents are visiting / living with me for two weeks -- which means I'm spending days being enthusiastic tour guide / translator / chinese daughter / defender of my sanity (and my father's wallet from snake-tongued Turkish carpet sellers at the Grand Bazaar!), and nights at my computer, in bed, working in the dark (like now).

dear kindred friends,

this is guide.notes #10 -- on the process of nourishing an embodied creative life in the digital world.

this email is about money -- as requested by your Lazy Q&A votes from last week's letter. (thank you all for voting! I will address Notion + planning my days in another letter).

first, I'll admit that I'm a total money novice at the very beginning of my studies. by that I mean: until very recently, I disliked thinking about money; let alone putting any intention into working with it as an energy force/resource -- a kind of daily cultivation that (I only recently realized) is not unlike making art, or doing wellbeing practices.

dear kindred spirits,

this is guide.notes 09 -- on the process of nurturing a creative life. I’ve committed to writing on Thursdays — so you’ll hear from me every week, henceforth <3

this week, I wanted to share reflections on a reoccurring theme/challenge in my life — solitude vs. community -- (or should I say, solitude AND community). you can read it here.

dear creative friends,

hello from guide.notes 08 ~ on the process of nurturing a creative life.

this week, I'm sharing a post I wrote specifically for a kindred internet friend (<3) of this past season's creative circle, who asked for resources on navigating a break-up. you can also read it here.

dear creative friends,

this is guide.notes 07 ~ on the process of nurturing a creative life.

this week's letter is a very meta post about feeling overwhelmed by all the things. it's about creative procrastination, paralysis, and guilt - especially if you, like me, are prone to moodiness and getting lost in the wormhole of time. you cam read it here.

let's pick a day of the week?

hello creative friends,

this is guide.notes #6, on the process of nurturing a creative life.

recently: I've been in a life blur of stomach flu, the anxiety of travel plans, and the guilt of many unanswered emails. I'm still looking for a dog sitter for Luna in Istanbul for ~2 weeks in early April. write me asap if that could be you.

this week, I want to share a piece I wrote called, "lonely work is swimming in the ocean alone." it's about the joys and perils of working for yourself, inspired by something my brother said to me, years ago:

dear stranger-friends,

hello from my first digest of 2023. these days, it's been zombie weather in istanbul -- neither dark nor light, but heavy and grey, suspended in between.

since the earthquake, there has been talk and forecasting around the next big one to hit Istanbul. I've been thinking about what art I can create about the city before I go, and how to give it my very best.

here's what's inside this email:

dear creative friends,

hello from my favorite month for building creative things: January of Capricorn season. every year around this time, I get a surge of energy to do earthy things: nest, redo my website, and nurture concrete business projects. I noticed that my annual cycles usually repeat like this:

• Scorpio season - a somewhat dramatic death & rebirth, significant and mysterious internal shifts

• Sagittarius season - breathe, rest, and digest my year. watch harry potter, read books, play games.

dear stranger-friends,

happy almost new year! in this mysterious window between christmas and new years, I've been watching harry potter, playing stardew valley, and learning about human design (more below).

I also repeated a yearly ritual: making a year-in-review film, which I started in 2020. I wanted to share it with you, here:

2022 in 4 minutes, a film

hello kindred spirits,

thank you for signing up for guide.notes, a newsletter about the "how" of growing a creative ecosystem in the digital world.

my artist digest letters share my creations, but guide.notes is all about the process: of wayfinding, nurturing, building: creative things. digital ecosystems. soulful ventures that can sustain our worldly lives.

dear stranger-friends,

hello from a rainy week in istanbul. this letter is my artistic digest & weather report from the creative life. my last letter was about luna, and loving an animal.

this week, I wanted to share recollections from an adventure I went on at the end of summer -- a three week roadtrip, spanning an old land, ancient ruins, sleepy villages, lush mountains, and three seas. here's the route:

dear stranger friends,

I write to you eating my last watermelon of the year, thrilled that Istanbul finally feels like fall -- which means that my brain is working again. summer is good for some things: fruit, cold desserts, iced drinks, thunderstorms, and swimming in bodies of water -- but each year, I'm relieved when it's over.

this September, we did an epic, summery thing: we drove 6,570 km on a roadtrip around Turkey -- from Istanbul down along the Aegean coast, to the Mediterrean sea, then along the Black Sea. it's not my first long roadtrip, nor my first tour of a foreign country by car, but it is my first time traveling with a dog.

here's a photo of me and Luna, near Izmir, at the first of many beaches on our journey. I dream of, one day, taking her to a snowy place.

dear stranger-friend,

at the beginning of summer, I returned to istanbul after two weeks in new york, and wrote you a long letter about it -- the stark contrast between the two cities, how it felt to return to an old home, to see old friends, to remember past lives -- while starting a nebulous new one ... but that letter, somehow, disappeared before I could send it.

since then, I've sweated through the sauna of Istanbul summer (my least favorite season), painted my walls, hosted a childhood friend and her husband, experienced the city like a tourist, and continued to nest in my apartment, which feels like a different place each season.

then, a few weeks ago -- I adopted a dog, and my life changed overnight. I renamed her Luna. I will tell you the story in my next letter.

dear stranger-friend,

I'm sorry it's been an entire season since my last letter from that snowy day in istanbul. spring has felt sudden, loud, and heavy. I think seasonal transitions always feel hard in new places. you walk outside in the wrong clothes, and routines you became accustomed to no longer seem to fit.

today, I'm writing you from new york city, my old home of 9 years. I paused my istanbul life to return here for a few weeks. I landed yesterday. by the time I got out of the airport, rode the airtrain, and entered the subway -- I felt the internal click that told me I was back inside the clockwork machinery of this city, pressing "resume" on my parallel life.

I think once you give a decade of your life to a place, it will always feel like home - those years were like a blood payment.

dear stranger-friends,

it's been 2 months (or 2+ years) since I've written most of you. at some point in the last 5 years, you signed up for my letters.

I'll reintroduce myself again, and of course, please feel free to unsubscribe, visit my digital house, or write me back.

dear stranger-friends,

it's been 2 months (or 2+ years) since I've written most of you. at some point in the last 5 years, you signed up for my letters.

I'll reintroduce myself again, and of course, please feel free to unsubscribe, visit my digital house, or write me back.

dear stranger-friends,

the sun arrived in istanbul today - after days of darkness and wetness - and it feels like i'm slowly emerging from an underwater cave.

i spent christmas and new years here, alone -- with chaos machine of a black cat -- working on two films: an animated love poem about sleep, and a distillation of my 2021 in 119 seconds. this last week, i've been simultaneously apartment hunting in this spiderweb of a city, concocting a new course on daily self-care rituals (art of wellbeing) - and reviving an old one (creative circle).

in case you'd like to join, this winter season of creative circle will begin in 3 days - on monday.