lessons in looking is a newsletter by visual artist and writer Ludi Leiva — slow essays on presence, attention, making, and what we gain when we stop and look for a while. Free to read, with paid subscriptions available for those who’d like to support the work.
It’s chilly in my studio now. I can see specks of yellow in the leaves of the trees outside my window. Just a little. I’m savoring the view, the green, the lushness of it all, because in a few more weeks it will be gone.
A lot has changed. I don’t know if it’s just in me or all around me—it’s difficult to tell sometimes where the self ends and begins. But something is different. In two weeks, I’ll be thirty-five. And I feel a lot of rapid growth taking hold, flowing through me in ways that surprise and, at times, frighten me. This life is so tender, so fragile, so fast. And I don’t want to miss it. I want to savor every drop of it. (Which is why I’m starting a new project — more on that below ✉️ ).
Perhaps this is why I make art. I didn’t “choose” to be an artist, after all. I was on a path to a career in other things. I’d probably be far up the corporate ladder now, but deep down I didn’t want that. I was thirsty for slowness, presence, high highs and low lows—proof that I was alive, living. And so this path was the one I took. Sometimes with proud strides, other times crawling on my hands and knees, face to the ground, wondering why on earth I had chosen it. But I was meant to walk it.
Recently, I was able to name something I’d been dancing around for years: I was burned out. Not now, but that summer before moving to Sweden, before packing up my life into three suitcases (for the sixth time in my life) and moving to a new country, a city I’d only seen in photographs.
In 2020-2021, I was making six figures as a commercial illustrator & writer. Global clients, brand deals, “booked and busy.” But I was also performing—erasing parts of myself, smoothing my edges to be more palatable, more marketable, more hireable. And I was exhausted by the constant performance of social media, of client briefs, of selling products, the digital grind, the curated version of myself I was presenting to the world. I burned out completely.
Since then, I have made a series of decisions to prioritize my wellbeing—or for self-preservation, really. I made decisions from a place of desperation. I can’t go back there again.
I did what felt necessary: I disappeared. I dove headfirst into my studio practice—painting, printmaking, drawing. Analog work only, that was my mantra. I avoided social media. Since moving here four years ago (!), I have honored these acts of self-preservation. I have built a beautiful life: I got my MFA, I have fully given myself to my artistic practice, I am engaged to the best human I’ve known, I own a home, I have a dog who brings unspeakable joy to my every day. And so many other tiny-huge things.
I have watered the seeds of my personal and private life, and yet in many ways I’ve simultaneously been hiding, playing small professionally and staying out of sight. I see now that in closing myself off to prevent more extraction and burnout, I also closed myself off to resonant connections, aligned opportunities, people who might actually get me, not drain me, if only they could actually see me. Because, as I’m realizing now, you can’t wall yourself off from what scares you without also walling yourself off from magic. At some point, we have to choose to be seen, fully, and to trust that the right people will meet us there.
Realizing this was an epiphany. It scared me. But in the same breath it was a freedom. I felt a weight lift as I looked at my life honestly. I had almost convinced myself I had lost my mojo, when really I had just been protecting myself so fiercely that I was slowly removing myself from the world. But I don’t want to hide anymore—I want to live with all my senses, as is all of our birthrights.
So that’s where I stand: entering into a new chapter, determined to open myself up to all the universe has in store for me, to make my way back into this precious world through doing the things that scare me and being real when it’s easier than ever to be anything else. I’m being transparent about this journey in case it might help someone else who’s gone through something similar. I wish for all of us nothing more than the ability to be our fullest, most integrated selves, and to be met with a loving gaze that says, “I see you. I appreciate you.”
I’ve been reflecting a lot, and I’ve admitted to myself how often I feel disconnected. I have a community I adore and am so grateful for, but I also have this tendency to hide. I know that many of us are feeling this way, though, regardless of who we are. We are more inundated than ever with impressions, with distractions, with entertainment, but all the while quietly feeling alone.
I soft-launched this on Instagram stories last week and 10 people signed up immediately (thank you!!!). This told me I’m not alone in wanting this kind of connection. I’d love to send you something physical, something you can hold in your hands. Something slow and intentional that you can count on each month.
Each delivery will include:
✹ A hand-signed postcard-sized fine art print (14.85 x 21cm / 5.8 x 8.3 inches)
✹ Personal note from me about the inspirations and process behind the piece
✹ A reflection prompt related to the artwork (i.e. community, nature, memory)
✹ Thoughtful, beautifully designed packaging
✹ A moment of creative pause in your month
✹ One member each month will receive a bonus original drawing from my sketchbook
The first 25 members will receive something special from me as a thank you for being early believers!
If you’re feeling that disconnection too, and you want to receive something beautiful, tangible, and slow to look forward to each month (while also supporting me!), then you can save your spot here:
Thank you for being here. I can’t wait to connect with you this way.
Know a friend who might be interested in receiving art mail? Please spread the word! It means more than you know 🌀
Here are some things I’ve been reflecting on and considering lately. If they feel in alignment with you, I invite you to write about one or more of them in your journal, make a drawing or collage, or just give them a moment’s consideration. I hope they’ll be helpful for you.
𓂃⊹ “Authenticity” has become a buzzword. But what does it actually feel like in your body when you’re being fully yourself, fully integrated? (Go deeper: what was your child self like? What made them laugh? How did they play? What made them feel wonder and awe? What made them feel strong and capable?)
𓂃⊹ When you’re doing something that scares you or makes you feel vulnerable, what embodied practice helps you stay in your physical experience? (For me these days it’s Qi Gong, shaking, or running)
𓂃⊹ What parts of yourself have you been editing out to be more palatable? What would it feel like to let those parts show? What’s stopping you from letting them show?
𓂃⊹ Is it self-protection or self-isolation?
✦ ˑ ִֶ Konsten att vara / The Art of Being @ Konstnärshuset
I am showing work in a group show in Stockholm, at Konstnärshuset. The vernissage is Saturday October 11 from 13-16. I’ll be there and would love to see you!
✦ ˑ ִֶ Woolwich Contemporary Print Fair with Rhodes Editions
Rhodes Contemporary / Rhodes Editions will be presenting a few of my works at this year’s fair, alongside some other artists I greatly admire, like Morag Caister, Martha Zmpounou, and Camilla Perkins. I will be at the opening, and in London that week, so would love to see you there if you’re in/around London. Early bird tickets are still available now.
✦ ˑ ִֶ Works on Paper 7 @ Blue Shop Gallery
I still have works available exclusively through London-based Blue Shop Gallery.
P.S. If this letter resonated with you, please consider leaving a comment, or sharing lessons in looking with a friend. Thank you for supporting independent artists and publications!
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