The Art of Being Here

I've been thinking a lot lately about layers.

Layers in a painting – the ones you can see, and the ones buried underneath that quietly shape everything above them. And how that's not so different from life with a chronic illness. Each year adds something new – new knowledge, new adaptations, new losses, new strengths. Nothing is ever quite the same as the year before, even when it looks similar from the outside.

Thank you to Alison and the wonderful team at MS Plus, to every artist who submitted work, and to everyone who showed up to be part of it. This year, over 280 pieces were submitted – sculpture, photography, crochet and weaving, digital art, painting, illustration. So many materials, so many modalities, each one a different language for the same deeply human impulse: to make, to express, to be seen. Each stitch, stroke, capture, and mark a testament to each entry.

What struck me first wasn't the colour or the technique – it was the quiet. So many pieces carry a sense of stillness. Skylines, rugged landscapes, serene scenery – peaceful places rendered in so many ways. When fatigue is part of your daily reality, finding those pockets of peace through making isn't a luxury. It's a lifeline.

Leonard Cohen wrote: "There is a crack in everything, that's where the light gets in." That line feels made for this collection. The cracks are real. The hard days are real. But so is the light finding its way through – in small things, in quiet acts of making, in the stubborn, gentle hope that runs through even the most tender pieces here.

Art offers us a shift in perspective. It doesn't change our circumstances, but it can change how we stand inside them. When so much of chronic illness involves navigating things we cannot control, there is real power in turning toward what we can hold – what we can notice, shape, and make. That reframing is not a small thing. It's profound.

I also want to acknowledge the carers here – those who sit nearby while you create, who quietly do what needs doing without being asked. Your presence is woven into this collection too, even without your name on it. You are part of this.

Acceptance isn't passive. It takes real courage to say: this is where I am, and I'm going to work with it, not against it. The pieces in this gallery are evidence of exactly that – that you showed up, that even when the body is difficult, the creative spirit keeps finding a way through.

So, keep making. Not to produce, but to process. Not to perform, but to be present. Artmaking is self-care, a way to connect, to feel grateful for what remains - your hands, your eyes, your imagination.

Because as I always say:
"It's not what you make. It's how it makes you feel."

Thank you for sharing your stories, your art, and yourselves.

Stay curious. 
Louise Weston AThR.