For sixteen years this corner of the internet held me,
my thoughts,
my writing,
my art,
my work,
my projects,
my dreams.
Nearly half of my lifetime.
For many years, especially since starting Folkling full time in 2020, I thought I would get back to this space.
That I would consistently write here again.
That I would share photos just-because again.
That blogging and more “analog” forms of the internet would resurface again.
That I would spend time creating not just and only and solely for Folkling again.
But year after year ticked by and this space sat, a frozen time capsule and largely untouched.
The irony is that as digital as this space is, it feels incredibly tangible to me.
I remember where I sat while writing every essay.
What feelings embodied each season of life in which I shared my photo projects.
It was my own little corner of the world that I could organize, label, curate, make sense of.
But with the advent of social media, this space became less and less engaging.
As people opted for quicker, shorter, more immediate consumption and affirmation and conversation.
Myself included.
I often long for the days of the early 2000s internet.
For virtual community spaces like Craftster, and Live Journal and independent fashion blogs with engaging comment sections.
For entertainment as silly and simple as MS Paint.
Alternatively I long for the long ago days of no-internet-at-all.
I’m not sure that either will ever fully resurface.
I’ve made my way through the world with my art for the majority of those aforementioned sixteen years.
And to continue to make a living with my art (in the way of keeping a roof over your head and food on your table and clothes on your back and gas in your tank) the internet feels necessary for that to be possible.
Admittedly, life and the world as a whole, looks very different now than it did when I was 18 and started sharing my thoughts on the internet.
( Not the least of which is the sleeping baby I currently hold in my arms as I write this. )
I have in many ways fully given myself over these last six years to one particular form and iteration of my art in the form of Folkling.
And while it feels like that too is shifting and changing (maybe ending? maybe staying the same? Maybe becoming something else entirely?) just as this space has— the transforming of that has not yet made itself clear and I am in the meantime longing for another avenue of creation.
One with fewer constraints.
Fewer have-tos.
Fewer patterns to replicate.
It doesn’t feel like returning to this space is an answer.
As much as I have tried and somewhat wish it to be so.
It feels necessary to have a new beginning.
For I used to write everyday.
I used to be good at writing.
It came naturally to me. I loved it. It felt like breathing in the way that I have to, but also in the way that I need to.
And that
I miss that.
Writing feels hard for me now.
Sticky and achey like an unused muscle.
For truthfully it is unused.
The necessity of writing daily sales pitches sort of takes away from your ability to write anything of any real depth or substance I’ve found.
But never the less, here I am.
Trying to create an ending so I can create a beginning.
Substack seems to be the corner of the internet where most people seem to be writing these days.
So perhaps you can find me there in the near future. Once I figure out what this new beginning is going to be.
I have started one tentatively anyway, though it is at present untouched.
While I have long enjoyed some aspects of creating into a void, regardless of feedback, I think my long held solace, hibernation and Thoreauvian leanings have led me to a place of wanting to come home.
To a place where connection can more-so be the order of the day.
Instagram has of course been that to some degree, but the bulk of that creation and sharing these last few years has been fueled by the necessity to make a living. Which is of course makes it a different kind of creating.
I have hopes to write, to create, without the desire for monetization altering the process.
Something that has been foreign to me for a long time now.
But back to the original point of this verbose post.
Although I reserve the right to change my mind— this is goodbye.
A goodbye to this corner of the internet.
A goodbye to this version of myself.
A goodbye to this form of creation on this canvas.
I hold so much gratitude for this space, for all that A Girl Named Leney brought into my life and what it allowed me to discover and do and become.
I am leaving with the belief that this ending is going to bring about the opportunity for a beautiful new beginning.