Light is a right : a guide to wintering well

light is a right a guide to wintering well

alec finlay hayden lorimer hester parr shawn bodden

light is a right a guide to wintering well

alec finlay hayden lorimer hester parr shawn bodden morning star | 2023

acknowledgements Our thanks to everyone who participated in the Wintering Well workshop programme 2022–23, for your words, your ideas and your undimmed commitment. Thanks are also extended to Dr Gavin Francis, Chris Williams and Theresa Kelly of Living Life to the Full, Woodlands Community Garden, Glasgow Tramway and Glasgow Hidden Gardens. www.gla.ac.uk/research/az/livingwithsad all photography by the Wintering Well collective

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list of contents wintering well: an introduction Hester Parr, Hayden Lorimer, Shawn Bodden wintering well: some proposals, some practices Alec Finlay, Hayden Lorimer, with Ruth Carrozza, and the wintering well collective light is a right: manifesto Alec Finlay, with the wintering well collective

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wintering well: an introduction Changes in the weather and the turning of the seasons affect us all – our moods, our habits, our sense of self, and how we relate to the wider world. For some of us, feelings associated with wintertime, when hours of daylight are shorter and the skies overhead often gloomier, have an intensity that can produce negative thoughts. People who experience Seasonal Affective Disorder (or ‘SAD’) have a distinctive emotional and psychological relationship with sunlight. When it’s in short supply, those who are impacted will often talk about a deep lowering of mood, reduced energy levels, being less sociable, and generally finding everyday life difficult.

Popularly referred to as ‘winter depression’ or ‘winter blues’, SAD is said to be nationally significant in the UK, with some regional differentiation. Overall, around 3 in every 100 people in the UK are affected according to the Royal College of Psychiatrists. SAD is considered a complex condition with a mixed history of clinical recognition, treatment methods (such as therapeutic light lamps) and informal efforts at annual selfmanagement by individuals.

So just what is it like to live with SAD? This is the question at the heart of a research project led by human geographers from the University of Glasgow and University of Edinburgh.

One way to find answers and to think about ways to help is by learning from lived experience.

Across the winter of 2022–23, the project team, working in collaboration with poet and artist Alec Finlay, hosted Wintering Well, a programme of afternoon workshops, where people who experience SAD could meet, talk, share, and connect. The group was mixed in age, background, and personal histories of SAD. Each Wintering Well workshop had a particular creative dimension. Participants were invited to write, photograph, draw, make, imagine, and devise, sometimes doing things

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together, sometimes reflecting on their own experience. Time spent together transformed our group into a collective. They continue to meet independently and have made plans to support one another in the winter of 2023–24.

This book’s content is sourced from the voices, words, experiences and inventiveness of the Wintering Well collective.

It gives expression to living with low light, to winter worries and shared vulnerabilities, to stresses and sensitivities felt deeply before spring’s welcome arrival, and to the SAD lore and impetus to change that is possible when support is available. Readers will find different creative prompts and resources designed to help the ongoing process of coping and caring. Each can be adopted and adapted for use, by individuals and self-starting groups.

Our hope is that Light is a Right: A Guide to Wintering Well will increase awareness of Seasonal Affective Disorder and our complex human relationships with light, both among the public at large and the clinical community, as well as offering some suggestions of simple, creative and social ways to care for health and well-being during the winter months.

Hester Parr, Hayden Lorimer, Shawn Bodden

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wintering well: some proposals, some practices Alec Finlay & Hayden Lorimer my patch of winter sky my sort of winter place my sense of myself in winter my winter room of my own making my kind of winter neighbourhood my winter self socialising my kind of landscape my midwinter colour wheel my letter to winter Alec Finlay & Hayden Lorimer letter to winter Ruth Carrozza glossary gríanán, Gaelic: sunny place, sun-bower, from grían, sun. howff, Scots: to dwell, to lodge, a haunt, also tavern. soller, solar: sun-room, private upper room in a manor house. sun-bower: bender on sunny slope, associated with shielings. wintering well journal: notebook, diary, or journal used as an aid to healing SAD.

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my patch of winter sky make your own portable sky-frame, stiff cardboard is good (cereal boxes, card), or shape with index fingers and thumbs then whatever the weather, step out-of-doors, and, standing on one spot, tilt up your chin hold the frame above your head find a patch of sky that calls you now wait for whatever thoughts happen, watch the movements and the changes, see the winter sky’s colours and tones write a few words to describe the light in your patch of sky, and what you feel using your wintering well journal. revisit your sky-patch when you need, become familiar with it, tend to it, heal with it, share it with friends remember things beyond grey, feelings more than gloom

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my sort of winter place take out your frame of sky, find the light, think about earlier times, when more of life was lived out in the open, let some words come, write them down picture a world of hideaways and howffs, sun-bowers and shelters, of dens, gang-huts, treehouses, playhouses, follies and sitooteries pocket a pair of toy people (lego, playmobile etc.), bits of string, perhaps some elastic bands, clothes-pegs, pins, and head outside play by building a sun-shelter in miniature, a hang-out for little people in the garden or park use: the things in your pockets, and whatever else comes to hand, twigs, line it with fallen leaves, discarded things, bits of litter, foil, crisp pokes, notes to self, lists, labels think location, orientation, aspect, elevation, cover overhead, a coorie-doon chamber of dreams, degrees of comfort, designs for sitting, standing, or lying down resting photograph your work when it seems done, give it a name that seems to fit then ask what if I was to scale this dwelling up, and make a winter place of my very own?

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my sense of myself in winter time again take out your sky frame, reflect on how you’ve you been faring, with lower light and the nights drawing in, allow the clouds to suggest words pick out something warm and comforting, a familiar blanket, big coat or fancy fleece, find yourself a quiet spot, indoors or out, the kind of nook where you won’t be disturbed then put on your extra layer, spend some time noting down the unhelpful thoughts you harbour about the darker parts of the year prompt yourself with thorny or awkward questions… what do I find especially hard when I’m SAD? what do I stop myself from doing? what do I lose or sacrifice when I’m struggling? is there stuff I step back from during my blue spells? respond write out your feelings in your journal (strong language is allowed) afterwards share your words and feelings, talk to someone who will understand, a friend, or family member, maybe someone at work, tell them what you’ll try, or what they can do, next time you feel down or under the weather: something helpful, to cope, to ease the pressure and shift the barometer

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my winter room of my own making settle yourself frame a patch of sky that calls you, notice the light, reflect on your sad sense of self and how it relates to feeling at-home, make some notes imagine a soller, a medieval room of light, big windows, stained glass, mirrors, bedspreads now transform your chosen room into a light room, or comforting solarium, a weather dwelling, whatever these terms mean to you think surfaces, shiny things, mirrors, silver paper, glitter, neon lamp, candles, aquarium, flowers, papercuts on windows, etc wish more of the outside world-in, happier habits, cosy joys, enjoyable hobbies do the achievable and available, as opposed to the ideal and impossible

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my kind of winter neighbourhood start with some time spent looking through your sky frame, jotting make yourself mayor-for-a-day and wander the streets of your neighbourhood, bring an imaginative pal if you like, skip the puddles, see things differently, remake all that’s familiar and ordinary ask what could be improved, to flood light colour corners, make everything shine– allow yourself (and others) to dream afford yourself expert status, superpowers, as a light-sensitive soul, who knows what kinds of place are good to hang-out in when your batteries need recharging get creative, practical, and cheeky, think street-lights, street-furniture, brighter-spaces, light-as-art, colour as antidote to drabness, glass, firepits, things that blossom or bloom, in boxes, along paths, over heads, across bridges unleash your imagination, draw a map, or write a guide, for a SAD-friendly town, or create an entire city of light! what if light was a right, a source of change, what if our futures switched from grey to green?

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my winter self socialising start another slice of sky to frame feel how SADness comes and goes, moods shift, with the quality of the light, shorter days, prevailing weather, a quarter turn in the wheel of the year ask what can you do when things get bad, when you push feelings down, suffering in isolation, keeping it all locked in? prompt yourself by asking awkward or thorny questions… what if I was to let more folk know? does it hurt more to share, or to hide? am I scared of spoiling the party? being seen as a seasonal grinch? are my blues infectious to others? pluck up courage, pick a trusted person, invite them to join you on a wander and ask what does SAD look like second-hand, now describe how it feels to you, find ways to share your worries, clear the air together keep your new connection, make a few more with those you trust, be surprised, socialise your SAD-self, slowly, safely, and steadily ensure you allow yourself to be vulnerable let yourself winter well

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my kind of landscape start find a new patch of sky with your frame, see what you’re feeling, imagine it’s spring, time for moving on time for a trip, using the map to find some places associated with light place-names search for sun-themed names, Sunnyside, Sunnylaw, Sunnybank, Sunhoney, and Blinkbonnie, Gaelic gives us Greenock, the Sunny Bay, Tornagrain, Sunny Tor, and many more, ‘grianan’, ‘grian’, and ‘greine’, are all sunshine on the light side of the hill close by see how lichen is shy of the sun, prefers to grow on the north face of a tree

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my midwinter colour wheel start a fine winter’s day, the kind when night begins to fall in mid-afternoon find a window that faces west, or wrap-up warm and go find yourself a horizon, somewhere to watch the sun setting carry a cushion, easy perch, or fold-out chair, a handful of coloured pencils, a sketchpad watch how the colour schemes spread across the canvas of the skies, beneath it all, allow yourself to get starry-eyed, feel all that cosmic melancholy, or whatever comes draw a small circle, slice into segments from the centre, then fill each one in to make a colour wheel that can hold the last of this day’s light, give names to each shade of colour that you see remember the margins of the day can help brighten the corners, and make any home a lighthouse

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my letter to winter write a letter addressed to ‘Dear Winter…’ let the season know just how you feel

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a letter to winter I’ve been thinking recently, it’s not actually you who’s the enemy. Some winter days (like today*) are so wonderfully bright and light, days that force you to feel intensely because the frost is biting, the light is piercing, the colours are vibrant.

Days that force you pause to consider what you’re going to wear to make the walk more comfortable. Because if you get the layers right, it’s a joy to walk in this light. It’s a welcome kind of forcing on days like this. When the sun is shining so brightly you can’t see the other side of the street from the glare.

When people are out and about and you almost forget the dark, dreich days that have filled the majority of winter so far.

It’s not actually you, winter, that I dread. It’s more the endlessness of the dreich. The dreich itself. The dark that makes it torture to leave the house. When no matter how waterproof your clothes are, you have wet, sticky, cold hands, forearms and feet. When no matter how short your to do list is, it feels impossible to get out in the afternoon before the sun is setting.

When the dark feels like a thief of ‘life’. It forces you to squeeze everything into a tiny window of ‘day’ and nothing feels quite right. Nothing feels satisfying. Everything feels lacking.

It’s the feeling that everything is harder, costs more energy, just when you’re at capacity, and have less energy than usual.

It’s like you come down with a virus and instead of tarmac to walk on, the universe sends you thick mud and leaky shoes. It’s the expectation that as soon as you enter the office, you must be as efficient as always, when it took all your energy to just get there. It’s the lack of respect for a full night’s sleep when your body needs that little bit extra, but start times are start times.

It’s the requirement of professionalism, presence and kindness when you just need to be cared for yourself. It’s the fact that you wholeheartedly wish for an easy fix, but those bubble baths and herbal teas just don’t seem to cut it.

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So, yeah, it’s not actually you, winter, it’s the combination of all of the above and the lack of respect from society of our experience of you. I wonder what it’d be like to be in a society that allowed flexible waking times, longer breaks in daylight hours, warm community hubs of safe people who could commiserate together, thereby connecting and making the commiseration less required. Some of the tweaks I’ve made to my family’s winter evenings have helped. To connect to writers and other cultures through literature and poetry. To connect to each other by sharing which stories were our favourites, or be glad together that others have experienced darkness and celebrated light, just as we long to.

It’s not actually you, winter. But my experience of dread and despair is real, and significant, and unfortunately tightly tied to when you come. Maybe I’ll manage to make it less personal next time.

Ruth *20 January, a day of bright winter sun

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light is a right a communal manifesto for living with low winter light ‘… this moment, this day so grey, so plain, so pleasing in its way!

– Edwin Morgan, ‘Grey’

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I We’re the summer children, and, winter, it’s not you, it’s us: we’re so over.

Whether we were born in this endlessly dreich place or washed up here, in a country lacking light, we have to winter here, watching the portions of day shrink, feeling our moods wind down with the clocks, until daily life’s lived in darkness, and it feels as if the sky won’t be visible for months.

Everyone gets sad sometimes, but not this SAD, so, while it’s not you, winter, still, this is us – walking to work in the dark – and these are our feelings – walking home in the dark – knowing there’ll be another winter, as Time takes a rest, and another winter, when everything seems harder, and another winter, when everything costs more energy, and another winter, thieving light from us, and another winter, with this dread, this – let’s call it what it is – this illness.

Let’s admit it, cosy bubble baths and herbal teas aren’t the answer.

For now, we’ll put on a face that says I’m fine, for now, friends will become

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ghosts, while we worry the problem’s other people, worry they’re the only solution, worry they’ll catch this mood from us, as if it was a cold, worry that even sharing these feelings is oversharing, worry they’ll feel our feelings as rain, worry we’ll wet them through so thoroughly they’ll never get dry again.

For now, the clouds have no concern for us, for now, even knowing what’s difficult is difficult, for now, missing our summer lives we step back from the world’s threshold, for now, even though we long to belong, for now, we’re determined to do something, together – or alone – to soothe the season For now, we’ll say, winter, you’re not deathly, you’re just a long spell of rest, which is needed, for now, we’ll get through the dark days, for now, accepting there’s less light for a reason, for now, affirming dark spaces are dead spaces, for now, remembering that whenever a tree dies it renews the wood, adding its share of light, air, and shyness.

For now, Winter, you’re not the enemy, for now, we’re in this together, for now, if we suffer, it’s our version of a lack you suffer from, for now, let’s agree we allow you, and you allow us, allow the limits that needn’t define us.

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Until we gain more light, let’s create a new relation to its absence, finding the kind of force within us that gives a reason to go outside, mingle with other people, see what the sky does with the sun’s setting, take some photos to find a little light in the lows, recognise wind-hurled clouds as hurly-burly characters that skite across a stage, and appreciate the skeletons of the trees shorn of their leaves.

By finding the stories that hide wherever there are shadows, we’ll greet moods of dread as if they were old friends, or sad songs, and accept being alone, even with friends, let’s remember, come Summer, things will feel different, so let’s take wee steps, even when we feel we can’t place one foot in front of the other. Just tilting our chins lifts our eyes, so let’s take it all in and make our night walks magic!

Let’s put the bins out and see the stars!

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II When we tell you about the sky it’s the weather report for our soul – when we look at another Atlantic low it’s to imagine the sky anew – a dishcloth-grey Glasgow sky – a grey upon grey nothing sky – a flat, monochrome sky – a dark that isn’t only grey sky – a white upon white empty sky – a drab bright sky, a bright dark sky – a limitless sky that’s endless – an endless sky that’s limitless – a milky, curdled, egg white sky – a glaring, glowering sky – a skyelly sky – a soft sky – a toxic sky, a disease for the eyes – a bit of sky caught in a basin – a sky that’s so mild, yet so wet, so windy – a sky whose greys pop the greens in the snowdrops – a patch of sky seen through yellow leaves – a cloudy, whipped, fluffy, wild sky that will render us tiny – a sky our finger could poke through – a sky the flag points to, lit with a golden dome.

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We needn’t be afraid of The Dreich, not if it’s changed by what we see – movement glimpsed in creamy white, hints of pearly light – and changed by what we know – that there are other skies – skies with patches of blue, skies seen through the big window – that there is light, enough light, and soon, hours and hours of limitless brightness to recharge our batteries.

III When we face the harshness of north, stuck in a cold spell that seems to say, ‘life is fleeting’, ‘things must die’, with another seemingly infinite winter to traverse, let’s have faith the gloom contains just enough light to renew our resilience – to rise with the sun, or hold back its setting, to dare to invite the day to stay a wee bit longer, to revert to goblin mode, to hang with Lo-fi Girl all evening, sharing a sofa-wallow in the unending drizzle of her spotify.

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We can take comfort in the scarf someone crocheted for the park railings, unexpected carols called in at the window, or laugh at a new poem which begins ‘winter’s shit innit…’.

WE CAN breathe scents of eucalyptus, lavender, sprinkle garam masala, squeeze citrus, and learn to play by the Yule Rules: (i) less is, (ii) rest is, (iii) plans are, (iv) even a feast can be, (v) and it’s all true, for me, for you, for others: that there is hope, which we have only to imagine – because having hope is an act of imagination.

We can enact gestures of self-care, see them gather round us, become something more, something tangible, something lasting, noting each point where the sun enters our home, shining pools of comfort, choosing a room for reading, framed in the windowpane, with a papercut outline proving shadows are shapes which are always moving, a room that cheekily borrows some light from the neighbours, a room settling the sunset over the tower again and again, a room for dreaming in a bath of sound, lit with floating candles, a room for the sun’s promised return, when it’s time, a room for our soller,

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which is a mirror, in which we can imagine rising embers, starlit cafes, wee shelters lined with colourful leaves to coorie doon in, or walks to the woollier parts of the garden, tutted with fronds and improvised bowers.

Even if it does rain, the watergaw will make us a cover filled with colour, shining the perfect moment to picture the light we desire, inviting us to meet the golden hour under a wide blue sky, with a kiss, or embrace, and, together state out loud: LIGHT IS A RIGHT!

IV Light is a right! we want our warm-arse benches!

Light is a right! we want our sit ooteries and stargazer recliners!

Light is a right! we want our streets lined with SAD lamps and sunflowers!

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Light is a right! we want high places, long views, and far horizons!

Light is a right! we want guerrilla plantings, urban crofts, and glamourous night buses!

Light is a right! we want their fire, and their fire, and their fire, to be our fire!

Light is a right! because, Winter, you make the frost bite, the colours vibrate, and force us to feel intensely!

Light proves we’re never alone, light makes our vulnerabilities a promise of warmer, brighter homes, a seasonal recalibration of labour, flexible working hours, and even – just imagine – a Scotland that’s fit for its weather, for everyone!

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IV Give me the gingko, that sheds an arc of gold on the lawn.

Give me a blaze to burn Winter’s trash in a flaming beacon and heap of ash.

Give me the SAD lamp in the attic.

Give me solidarity, a flash of light in the dark.

Give me a green leaf clinging on through bare winter.

Give me Spring, which has a plan!

Give me green buds, there before you notice.

Give me the day when the borderless canopies are bird-sung into innumerable tufted territories.

Give me broken clouds, steer them so some sun falls on my eyes.

Give me a postcard pinned on the empty noticeboards in the park.

Give me the courage to say ‘hello’, ‘hello there’, to make the path feel safer at night.

Give me huddled elbows that spread like spindly branches.

Give me a hug.

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Give me the choice to be creative, in small ways – and who wouldn’t want that.

Give me the joy of meeting the light in your eyes, which fill me with lightness.

Give me the grace to rest, and, from time to time, to give in!

Give me the moon, as a wise companion.

Give me back my synchronicity with the sunrise!

Give me The Sun, source of our senses, to shine me a way.

Give me friends, places to share, and a hideaway to be inward, somewhere I feel safe, reflected, authentic, somewhere to listen, to hear, recognise and be recognised.

Give me the sounds of laughter set free, help me, help us, to help one another weather life better.

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composed by Alec Finlay from writings, notes, letters, and conversations, at six ‘wintering well workshops’, conceived by the Living with SAD team, winter 2022-23.

Also available as an A3 risograph poster published in an edition of 200 copies.

Notes Skyelly, (Orcadian): sky covered with bright glittering white clouds.

Watergaw, (Scots): rainbow.

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further reading fifty words for snow, by Nancy Campbell nature’s calendar: the british year in 72 seasons, by Kiera Chapman, Lulah Ellender, Rowan Jaines and Rebecca Warren the light in the dark: a winter journal, by Horatio Clare the return of the light: twelve tales from around the world for the winter solstice, by Carolyn Edwards a poem for every winter day, by Allie Esiri recovery: the lost art of convalescence, by Gavin Francis chasing the sun: the new science of sunlight and how it our bodies and minds, by Linda Geddes rain: four walks in English weather, by Melissa Harrison winter: an anthology for the changing seasons, by Melissa Harrison wintering: the power of rest and retreat in difficult times, by Katherine May making winter: a creative guide for surviving the winter months, by Emma Mitchell winter blues: everything you need to know to beat seasonal affective disorder, by Norman Rosenthal a winter book, by Tove Jansson the stubborn light of things, melissaharrison.co.uk/podcast 48

author biographies Hester Parr is a Professor of Human Geography at University of Glasgow, and the project team’s Principal Investigator. She works on cultural geographies of mental health.

Hayden Lorimer is a Professor of Human Geography at University of Edinburgh, and project co-investigator.

He works on geographies of place and cultural landscapes.

Shawn Bodden is a Research Associate at the University of Glasgow, working on the ‘Living with SAD’ project. His research examines relationships between community, place and activism.

Alec Finlay is a poet and artist; much of his work is on ecological remediation, human recuperation, healing, and the wisdom inherent in chronic illness.

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the ‘Living with SAD’ project is funded by the Economic and Social Research Council/Arts and Humanities Research Council of UKRI, involving researchers from University of Glasgow and University of Edinburgh. with support from Professor Chris Williams and project partners Living Life to the Full © the authors, 2023 published by morning star third edition of 2,500 copies also available as a free e-book: issuu.com/livingwithsad/docs/light_is_a_right_issuu light is a right manifesto poster, published in an edition of 200 copies, available from alecfinlay.com ISBN 978-1904477198 alecfinlay.com gla.ac.uk/research/az/livingwithsad

a guide to wintering well, created in collaboration with the wintering well collective, featuring proposals, practices, journals, and a manifesto for thriving in low winter light