Come as you are.

This spring, the word we kept returning to was momentum. At first glance, momentum seems simple. It suggests movement, progress, forward motion. But the longer we sat with it, the more we realized that momentum is rarely straightforward. People often imagine time as linear—a neat path stretching endlessly forward—but our lives rarely move that way. Growth is not linear. Healing is not linear. Social change is not linear. Momentum ebbs and flows. It gathers. It pauses. It redirects. Sometimes it rushes forward like a river after a storm, and sometimes it moves quietly beneath the surface, unseen but still carrying us somewhere new.

We see that reality reflected all around us. In movements for justice. In communities organizing for change. In people surviving difficult seasons and finding ways to keep going. In artists who continue creating even when inspiration feels distant. Momentum is not always dramatic. Sometimes momentum is simply choosing to continue. And even when it feels like we are moving backwards we are always moving towards something because step backs are not setbacks. Our path is not linear. Momentum is not just about where we are going. It is also about honoring where we have been.

As creatives, we are all storytellers helping shape what comes next. Every poem, every song, every painting, every photograph carries something and build momentum. Every act of creation leaves an imprint on the future and the past at the same time.

Art helps us recognize that movement is possible even when progress feels slow. And perhaps most importantly, it reminds us that none of us move alone.

We live in a world that constantly asks us to move—to produce, to perform, to respond, to build, to achieve. But nature does not always work that way. Sometimes growth looks like taking root. Sometimes it looks like rest. Sometimes it looks like allowing yourself to become fully alive in the place where you already are. Aestivation can also be a response to heat—a way of protecting ourselves when the conditions become too intense. There is something deeply human in that. Rest is not failure. Stillness is not stagnation. And retreat is not the same thing as giving up. Sometimes caring for ourselves is part of caring for our communities. Sometimes rest is resistance. The unseen does not mean nothing is happening. As creatives, we understand that not every idea arrives fully formed. Not every season is productive. Not every story needs to be told immediately. There are poems that take years to write. Songs that need silence before they can be heard. Paintings that begin as an vision we cannot yet explain. Ideas that sit dormant inside us until the right season arrives. Aestivation reminds us that there is value in that hidden work. The unseen does not mean nothing is happening. And perhaps…what makes it such a powerful word for this moment is because we are living through a time when so much feels urgent. There are movements for justice. Communities organizing for change. People navigating uncertainty, loss, displacement, joy, resistance, and hope. There is so much happening around us that it can feel impossible to stop. Art and its demands for rest has always been political because art tells the truth about the moment. It gives shape to experiences that might otherwise remain invisible. It creates a record of who we were, what we felt, what we survived, and what we dared to imagine. But art itself can also give us somewhere to rest. It can offer us a moment of beauty in the middle of uncertainty. A place to recognize ourselves in someone else's story and immortalize others in our own. A reminder that joy is worth protecting, that pleasure is worth experiencing, and that being alive is not something we should postpone until the world becomes easier.

Desahogar (Spanish): to unburden, vent, relieve, or ease; to give expression or an outlet. Its literal English translation is to undrown — to unsuffocate. This fall we make room: we release what has been held too long and turn it into poetry, music, art, and story — together.

Join us Saturday, October 17th at 6:00 PM ET on Zoom for the open mic and virtual art exhibit.