The first snowfall of the year always makes me think of my friend Devra.

Devra was an artist, and a brilliant one. Before her death in 2019, she created sculptures, prints, and videos centered around climate change, taking what she called “an ecofeminist and millennial” approach” to her work. She spent time in the Arctic, connecting with the landscapes and geology she loved to explore, and it inspired some of her most gorgeous work. She engaged with capitalism and climate grief on a physical and emotional level, including using her body in her art:

Every year, when it seems to take longer and longer for the days to turn cold and the first snowfall comes later and later, I think about Devra’s work. How she engaged with ice and snow and polar landscapes on a visceral level, finding inspiration in the Arctic’s endless winter — while fundamentally understanding that that winter is only endless if we keep it that way.

Winter, for so many of us, is not a time of inspiration. It’s a season of rest: Of quiet, of reconnection, of tending to the work that happens beneath the surface of the frosty ground. An input season, my friend and teacher Jeanna Kadlec would say, as opposed to the output seasons when we’re actively creating, making new things. And maybe that makes sense. Winter is a season for coziness, for closeness. We focus on cultivating the warmth we (at least, those of us in the northern hemisphere) don’t necessarily find outside, on making the most of our limited daylight as the days grow shorter and the nights longer. The winter solstice marks the turning point of when the days begin to lengthen again, but winter tends to keep her grip for a few months more.

But the world around us is heating up. Capitalism’s impact on climate change is only ramping up, as more and more of the efforts to curtail it have fallen apart or, more often, been deliberately undermined by right-wing politicians and high-spending tech bros. AI data centers aren’t just raising temperatures, they’re also using vital water resources while draining energy from the surrounding communities, which are disproportionately populated by low-income people of color. Overconsumption is getting worse, and while I’m as much of a sucker for the ASMR vibes of those restocking videos as anyone else, “little treat” culture is only continuing to push us towards managing our collective trauma through things rather than any kind of systemic change, even as more and more plastic ends up in landfills.

The heat increasing around us isn’t just physical. The last five years have brought an absolute avalanche of hateful rhetoric, from racism and transphobia, to antisemitism and anti-Palestinian racism, to ablism and xenophobia. Marginalized communities are under attack, and members of those communities are being constantly exposed to individual, political, systemic, and (increasingly) physical violence. The headlines are nonstop, and even though our bodies do their best to regulate the hot-and-cold flush-and-freeze of exposure to 24/7 proof of how much other people want us dead, there’s only so much we can actually handle before we — physically and metaphorically — overheat in turn.

We all know that old expression: “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” But we’re all in the kitchen, and none of us can get out. Because the kitchen, actually, is all around us.

So. As people, as humans, as creatives: What do we do?

The only thing we can: Create about it.

In situations like this, in moments like this, we have two real paths to creation.

The first is to find ways to turn the heat down. This is, in many ways, the quintessential wintering experience of creativity — we lean into the stillness of the season, the winter landscapes, the quiet snowfalls and silent darkness. We bring in the cold so that we can create our own warmth, creating gently and without pressure.

If you walk this path, let yourself settle into quiet softness. Take away the deadlines, the pressure, the work. A garden can’t grow through every season, so why should you? Give yourself space to sit with who you are and what you need. Focus on nourishing the soil of your creative energy so that when it comes time to plant again, your seeds have the best possible environment to thrive.

Your second path, of course, is to turn the heat up. Find the spots in the glaciers where the ice has melted, and dip your toes into the icy water — and use the shock to your system to fuel you into movement and magic. Channel the rising temperatures around you — of the earth, of the headlines, of your own swelling feelings — into motivation and passion. What can you make when you’re fueled by a determination to create change? How does the energy of that creation feel different?

If you turn down this path, be mindful of your own temperature. Pay attention to your internal heat gauge, and tend to it as needed to ensure that you, too, are safe from overheating. Build in space for coolness — not, perhaps, the paralyzing overwhelm of the glacier, but the gentle, temperate submersion into a warm bath. Remember that when we are burning, even warm water can help us feel cool.

These paths are morally neutral — neither one is better or worse than the other. Use this season to explore one or both, or explore an entirely different path. If you do, I hope it sparks your creation. I hope you’ll tell us about it.

I hope, in these winter months, that it keeps you warm.

what connections have you noticed between your creative work and the flow of the seasons?

what happens when you overheat — physically, emotionally, or mentally? what happens when you get too cold? how does the weather, the light, the temperature, impact what and how you create? what is your response to those changes? do you give yourself space to feel them, or fight against the current?

how have the changes in our global temperature (literal and figurative) manifested in your creative work?

what aspects of our changing climate (however you define “changing” or “climate”) have made it into your work? has your creative process changed? the content of what you make? where or how you share it? what kind of response have you received?

how do you “get out of the kitchen” when things get too hot?

when the world (the weather, the rhetoric, the headlines, the noise) gets too hot and too overwhelming, what are your sanctuaries, your safe spaces, your retreats? where do you find comfort and community, and how do you keep those spaces from overheating? what do you put into those spaces to ensure you can continue getting what you need out of them?

In case you missed it: Rock Me Like a Love Song (formerly titled “American Golem”) is now available for pre-order! I’m extremely excited to share details, excerpts, the gorgeous cover (she’s in the works and y’all are not ready), and more in the coming months before we hit shelves on August 25, 2026. Get excited!

spotlight on climate change, climate grief, and finding beauty despite it all

💜Shelly

P.S. To learn more about my friend Devra Freelander (z”l) and to explore her work, visit her website. If you see something that inspires you, share it with a friend and help keep her memory alive. 💜