I just got home from a week of kayaking in Desolation Sound.

The first few days were exactly what I needed. Paddle. Eat. Swim. Sleep. Repeat.

Somewhere around the fourth day, I noticed something shift.

Until then, I'd been happily taking it all in—the changing colours of the water, weathered driftwood, seals surfacing beside the kayak, the rhythm of paddling. It made me wonder how much of everyday life keeps us in the role of observer. We spend so much time taking things in. Even beautiful things. Sometimes I wonder if we forget to leave room for our own response.

Maybe that's why it took four days. Not because I needed more inspiration. Because I needed enough quiet to remember I'm a creator too.

When I got home, one idea kept returning.

A handmade legacy book.

Not just a book of memories, but a place to gather stories, wisdom, traditions, recipes, reflections, and the little pieces of a life that deserve to be held onto—and one day, passed on. I've started it more times than I can count. This time, instead of trying to make it alone, I'm inviting others to make alongside me.

That realisation has quietly shaped everything I'm creating this fall.

I've found myself asking a different question.

Not, What else can I offer?

But, What kind of space helps people keep creating?

Maybe we don't just need inspiration.

Maybe we need places to return to.

Places where making becomes part of the rhythm of our lives instead of something we keep meaning to get back to.

That's what this season is becoming at the studio.

Alongside The Living Tome: A Legacy Book Project, I'm also reimagining Open Studio. Beginning this Autumn, it will evolve into a membership—a creative home base for anyone wanting a regular rhythm of making, gathering, and returning to their own creative practice.

If either of those sparks something in you, you'll find more about The Living Tome and this fall's offerings on the website. And if the Open Studio Membership feels like the kind of creative home you've been looking for, simply reply to this email. I'll be sending the first invitations later this month, and I'd love to add you to the list.

For now, I'm hoping to hold onto that feeling for August.

That quiet place where making begins.

More soon,

Lora