2026: A Wild Rabbit Year

This evening, as I was walking home with our New Yearโ€™s feast from Lotus Express Chinese restaurant, one of our wild city rabbits hopped out from a driveway and down the sidewalk in front of me.

North American cottontails donโ€™t dig burrows. They get through the winter outdoors, sheltering in bushes and under porches. This one was certainly on its way home to some preferred back yard where it knows it has a secure place to keep warm tonight and something for breakfast in the morning. As long as I didnโ€™t try to mess with it in the malicious way of those humans who think othersโ€™ discomfort is funny, it seemed content to share the sidewalk with me. So we lolloped along together for half a block. I lost sight of it when it rounded the corner ahead of me. It must have cut up another driveway to get behind the houses. 

I hope it was heading for our yard. We have the most trees and shrubs, thanks to my ambitious but overworked landlords. An accidental rewilding project.

I took this as a good omen. A rabbit-rabbit-rabbit charm, even if the moon is not yet full.

Rabbits symbolize fertility (obviously) and by extension prosperity. Theyโ€™re survivors who thrive against ridiculous odds. Tiny and fragile, they will throw hands (paws) without hesitation when threatened or just pissed off. Omg, those little hooligans will come at you with intent. I just love them.

So I presume to take this rare winter encounter as a good sign for 2026. Confirmation of a feeling Iโ€™ve been having.

A headline from one of the 2025 wrap-up articles I have set aside to read later says, โ€œThis year ended better than it started.โ€

I agree. Granted, the landscape is still rolling dumpster fires as far as the eye can see, and if I were betting on it, Iโ€™d say 2026 will get worse before it gets better.

But for the first time in a long time, I have the feeling it will get better, maybe even quicker than expected.

Thereโ€™s no particular event that makes me think this. Itโ€™s more a shift of energy. A societal mood swing. A ripple in the zeitgeist. A sense that people have had enough of this shit.

Which shit? All of it. All the 10,000 shits. 

A sketch of rabbits fighting in the spring.
When first you see the full moon’s light,
Say “Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit” thrice
For a month of fortune, joyous and bright.

I know Iโ€™ve had enough. My list of Things Iโ€™m Done With is long. Iโ€™m done with billionaires and maga, with marketing and media, with all the corporate shenanigans and snake oil. Just frikkin done.

And Iโ€™m done with a lot of myself, too. With old bad habits. (I need new ones!) With my waffling and procrastination, with half-assing my way through problems. With being so deep in the weeds, I have no idea where Iโ€™ve come to in my life. With my utter and complete disorganization.

When it comes to changing for the better, nothing just happens. You have to do it, and nobody does anything until theyโ€™re ready. Until they feel like it. Thatโ€™s when they make their move. Thatโ€™s when they quit smoking, change parties, leave that job, take that class, get out and vote, blow the whistle, clean their house.

2025 was horrible. No argument. I donโ€™t need to go over it all here. If you follow me, then you probably also follow the news. Itโ€™s been a historically horrible year.

But as of this writing, on December 31st, 2025, We the People are not the ones freaking out and trying desperately to cover our asses. I wonโ€™t say weโ€™ve taken control of the narrative just yet, but we have a grip on it, which is more than we had a year or even six months ago. It took us a whole year, but we finally have the ground under our feet again.

So despite skyrocketing costs, economic chaos, political violence, and a latter-day Nero fiddling with the White House as the dumpsters burn, I will take that little rabbit as a lucky charm. 

An omen of success against the odds, of building happiness by thinking quick, adapting to the circs, making do, creating a lot, and not being afraid to get into the fight when needed.

Thriving in 2026 might not look the way we expect, but lifeโ€™s too short to be long about the forms of it. Whatever comes, I know we can make the most of it.

Iโ€™ll put that up over my desk as a motto for the year. โ€œWhatever it is, make the most of it.โ€

Naturally, I have big plans, but I make no promises now. Between the world and the dramas weโ€™ve survived, we are embracing a lot of change here at the studio and attached apartment, so I have no idea what Iโ€™ll do or when. Iโ€™ll just say my focus in 2026 will be on experimenting with new-to-me forms and media. There are skills I want to learn, and skills I learned the past couple of years that will get new uses and presentations. Some of you might not be into it, but some might like it better. I hope everyone will find something good here. But however it goes, 2025 is ending with happy outcomes we couldnโ€™t have foreseen. I intend to make good on it.

And I hope you can find your own inner wild city rabbit this year, as well. Find the resources you need, whatever form they come in. Throw down and thrive. And when the odds are against you, ignore them. Winners donโ€™t bet against themselves.

Happy New Year, everyone!
Letโ€™s get into it.

Note: This essay contains 928 words, which according to western numerology, reduces to 10 and then to 1. So do the numerals of 2026. In tarot, 10 is the number of the Wheel of Fortune, and 1 is the number of The Magician. Interpretation: 2026 is a chance for us to direct our fate. I might write more about this at a later date.


Some of the work I did in 2025.

Finding Magic: a winter small works series

How to stay hopeful when it all gets to be just too much seems to be the question of the day, at least among the Youtubers and pundits I follow. How to weather the slings and arrows, pick yourself up and dust yourself off, and all that.

Well, honestly, I’ve always been too bloody-minded to lose hope for very long. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had plenty of dark nights, but I get too angry at the effrontery of upstarts to meekly accept whatever they want my fate to be. To me, hope has never been the thing with feathers fluttering in the deep recesses of the heart. Rather, it’s the thing that spits out a bloody tooth and wades back into the fight for another round.

Life has been a real fight lately, hasn’t it? We’ve all been well and truly in it, and there’s no end in sight. Here at the house attached to the studio, we’ve been dealing with medical crises and all the attendant crises that come along with needing urgent help. Don’t worry, it’s working out. Life was saved. Sickness was cured. Needed work is being done. But this past month has been scary and exhausting and expensive, recovery and caring are not yet finished, and neglected work, home, garden, etc., knocked into the proverbial cocked hat by personal disaster, are demanding to get back on the agenda. Time is ready to march on even if I’m not.

So, when all has fallen into confusion, when I’m hopelessly behind on every task, exhausted to the point that I can’t even sleep, and the 10,000 things rush to fill every hour of the day, I open my eyes and look for the patterns in the chaos. This is what I call magic. To find the hidden structures that reveal the sense of it all. Thus I orient myself, ground and center myself, and gradually regain control of my reality.

Art and storytelling are my arcane methods for that.

I cast spells to shine clear lights on dark things, draw boundaries, invoke powers, steer and shape energies, and explore mysteries – until I feel pulled together enough to stand stably on my feet again.

And this year, because we’re all really going through it, I’m sharing my magical explorations with all of you. From now through at least New Year – maybe to spring, I’ll see how it goes – I present “Finding Magic,” a small works series celebrating the winter months of 2025-2026.

Talismans and amulets, tiny things to accent a threshold or guard a book. Symbols of power, resilience, prosperity, emotions. Worlds in the palm of your hand. Portals to other realms. Small wishes to bring good things into challenging times.

In the northern hemisphere, where I live, winter is the season for new beginnings, containing as it does not one but four new years – the solar new year of the winter solstice, the astronomical new year at the close of the calendar, the planetary new year at Earth’s perihelion, and the lunar new year in February. It’s a season for resting and resetting, for looking back and ahead, for personal transformations, for the quiet inner work of healing and growth.

With “Finding Magic,” I invite you to come along with me as I do that work for myself and offer what I find to you.

There seems to be a trend – or I’d like there to be a trend – of artists celebrating the end of the year with affordable small works series to tell the story of the year that was. “Finding Magic” is about pulling ourselves together to wade back into the fight next year, stronger, refreshed, clear-eyed, and empowered.

It will be all small items in various media, priced for any budget at under $50 and under $100 depending on the piece. Follow this site for updates as new pieces are finished.

Jen Fries, Eye Amulets, pastel, watercolor, and ink on paper, roughly life-sized, $25 each, part of “Finding Magic.” Display, carry, use for ornament, journaling, or to ward off unwelcome pests and gossips. Email me if interested.


And if you happen to be in the Boston, Massachusetts, area this weekend, stop by the Brickbottom building in Somerville for our Open Studios event, November 22-23, 12-6pm. Info here. I’ll be in Unit C322, showing the first of the “Finding Magic” pieces along with larger works on similar themes.

Summer Series: Midsummer

JFries Midsummer

Jen Fries, Midsummer, collage on paper using copies of 19th century prints.

Summer Series: The Diver

Jen Fries, The Diver, collage with artificial flowers on board, 16 x 20 inches.
Inspired by the Olympic Games.

New Work: April Moon

JFries april moon 4.22
Rabbit in moonlight
Moths dance
Returning home

This one is about the gifts the universe sends us, the treasures we pass by on the road.ย 

The moon was particularly beautiful over Somerville last night, when the storm clouds parted. It was bright enough to light my room, overcoming the street lamps. The wet air smelled of spring.

By the way, we call Aprilโ€™s moon the Pink Moon, not because it looks pink, but because it’s the month for pinks, the flower, to bloom. Indeed, my city is filling up with flowers now.

I repurposed one of my blue landscapes for this collage. Sometimes an image has more to say, and I will often revisit older pieces that seem like they want to go in a different direction. In fact, I wonโ€™t let go of a piece until Iโ€™m sure it is what it wants to be.

Happy Spring, all.

-Jen

And Sings the Tune: New Art, New Cat

JFries birds border 7.2021

I can hardly believe it has been about three months since my last update, but as most of you know, I tend to fall off the planet fairly regularly. I donโ€™t apologize for it. When I have crap to work through thatโ€™s irrelevant to anyone else, I just do it without showing it to anyone. But finally, I do have news to share.

New work on exhibit this summer

โ€œSometimes the neighbors are up all night,โ€ collage and acrylic on paper.

JFries sometimes the neighbors 6.30.2021
And sings the tune without the words…

This new work is inspired by our local wild birds, whose songs frequently echo through the streets at night, when all else is relatively quiet. I find the birdsโ€™ nightlife deeply reassuring. Even in something as small as a bird singing in the dark, we are reminded that we share a living and lively world. The collage is 7 x 10 inches, and made with copies of vintage images, bars of music randomly sliced from Stravinsky’s “The Firebird Suite,” my own blue landscape in acrylic paste, and a line from Emily Dickinson’s “Hope is the Thing With Feathers.”

Itโ€™s part of the summer show at the Brickbottom Gallery, โ€œThe Great Outdoors,โ€ running July 15 – August 14, 2021. Visit the Brickbottom website at This Link for details.

A Cat

Allow me to introduce Luna Lynx, Lady Silvertip, our new cat and studio assistant.

lunalynx 6.2021
“I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.” – Jean Cocteau

She has been with us about a month and is still in studio orientation, but has taken the job of House Cat well in hand. According to the good folks at Animal Rescue League of Boston, although very young herself, she had just weaned off a litter of kittens before coming to us. I believe she has transferred her maternal instincts to her two new humans. Luna Lynx is extremely attentive, playful and nurturing. She scolds us if we wander off, makes sure we eat on time and get our exercise, and checks on us in our beds at night. 

Iโ€™m grateful because we have needed someone to take care of us these past few sad months. With her to get us up and running, I feel like we can finally start to move again and that the winter – and all of last year, really – is over at last.

Finally, watch this space for upcoming projects and a new online shop system, coming soon.

Dull November Brings the Blast

JFries squirrel border 11.2020

Then the leaves are whirling fast…

Well, darn it. September got ahead of me. October got off the leash entirely. November has been very uncooperative. And now itโ€™s Thanksgiving. Letโ€™s think about what we have to be thankful for.

Fair warning: Iโ€™m going to be blunt again because, apparently, thatโ€™s my medium. Nothing herein should come as a surprise. ๐Ÿ˜‰

I am deeply grateful that both my sainted mother and myself are healthy, as are my friends and family as of last report. I donโ€™t know how the friends and family have managed it, but Mom and I have done it by draconian measures, which are not being lifted any time soon – home, distance, sanitation, masking, no exceptions ever. Life has been completely insane in the US this year, and the madness continues, Iโ€™m sorry to say. But, so far, so good at our house.

I am grateful to almost 80 million of my fellow Americans for making Joe Biden our next President – and equally to the point, Donald Trump NOT our next President – and if anyone out there wants to start muttering about recounts and lawsuits, stow it because Iโ€™m not interested. We still have to get that person physically out of the White House, of course, but we did unseat him, so we can check that off our list of things to do, at long last.

And I am grateful for the roof over our heads and the dinner that will be on our table this holiday. Food, shelter, health, and a light at the end of the Trump tunnel – I think those are blessings enough for this hellish year.

Now we are less than two months away from 2021, and I feel a combination of relief and anxiety. The results of the election were like having a crushing weight lifted off my chest. I can breathe, but four years of that tension have left me like a plate of jelly, unable to pull myself together.

I am working on some things, though. First, Iโ€™m doing NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), because when youโ€™re exhausted and brain-fried, the best tonic is trying to crank out 50,000 words in a month. Iโ€™m not doing too well, but the month isnโ€™t over so…fingers crossed? Iโ€™ll tell you all about it when itโ€™s over. (Spoiler: Itโ€™s not going to happen, and Iโ€™m okay with that.)

Also, bats and moths are in progress because why not? I like bats and moths. This is an experiment Iโ€™ve been mulling a long time, making hard sculptures out of traditional origami. Expect to see more.

Iโ€™ve been designing dollhouses and books, putting my garden to bed between rainstorms, rethinking my approaches to social media and time management, and wandering off on artistically esoteric (or esoterically artsy) mind trips which take me far from the madding crowd and which I hope will produce work in the coming year.

But I havenโ€™t really been, you know … productive.

Screw it. We all deserve to give ourselves a break. If 2020 isnโ€™t an excuse for falling short of last New Yearโ€™s expectations, then I donโ€™t know what is. Iโ€™m thankful just to have made it this far, in a depressingly literal sense. Iโ€™m taking the rest of the year off. And Iโ€™m giving you all the month of December off, too. There. Thatโ€™s my gift to you. Just be alive, at home, healthy and safe, and we’ll deal with the rest in January.

In the meantime, you might see some odd posts here as I play around with styles and topics over December. Feedback is always welcome. And below, please enjoy some photos of things I’ve been doing while being unproductive.

That’s it for now. Take care, my friends. Keep well, hang on, and have a small, intimate, safe, and happy holiday with the ones closest to you.


Luna Moth

Not entirely unproductive. This new work returned from exhibition this week and will be available in the shop soon. The moth is an origami-based paper sculpture colored with acrylic paint and mounted on a collage of hand-tinted vintage images.



When not in the gallery… Luna Moth atop my desk with Call Me Ishmael, Woman Found and Studied, and random inspirational bits.


Bats and Moths!


Did I mention…

We had a snow storm in October. It didn’t last long, though.


24 hours later…

Sparkly.

Coming up for air

Surprisingly busy this summer, despite the distancing and closing. I hope you have been having a good summer, too, and enjoying the weather or at least beating the heat.

To catch you up:

Estuary Moon is viewable at the Brickbottom Gallery online, along with works by many other wonderful artists. You can find that exhibition here, through August 15.

Iโ€™ve been experimenting with new-to-me techniques, resulting in a new collection of small monochrome landscapes, acrylic on paper. You can find those under Artworks, here.

Iโ€™ve also been rebinding an old book from my library – a 1970โ€™s hard cover edition of Arthur E. Waiteโ€™s Pictorial Key to the Tarot, a gift from my friends back in high school. Itโ€™s a low-budget, no-frills book, but it has sentimental value, so when the binding finally started to give up the ghost, I decided to rehabilitate it with my favorite non-adhesive book style, the Japanese tetsuyoso binding. Itโ€™s quite the job, as the 40-year-old glue did not want to come off, despite dropping pages. I had to do more cutting and reconstructing than Iโ€™d hoped, and I added some muslin to reinforce the spine, but itโ€™s going well. The refurbished cover, dressed in one of my paste papers, is drying under weight as I write this.

Pictorial Key to the Tarot in progress


More reconstructed botanicals are coming up. White pine and goldenrod are in progress.

JFries new botanicals 8.2020

And I did a bit of housekeeping on the website – cleaned up the images, consolidated the books under one heading. The Artworks pages look cleaner and prettier now.

Outside the studio, itโ€™s been pretty much gardening and birding round the clock. Well…Iโ€™m not going to any shopping malls, thatโ€™s for sure. The community garden is at war with our local city rabbits, but while others engage in brute force with brooms and hoses, I have entered into a psychological battle with one particular adorable fluff-nugget who has a fondness for bean tendrils. Yeah, okay, Peter Cottontail, but I notice he doesnโ€™t touch the aromatic herbs, tomatoes, or turnip greens, so guess what this garden will look like next year? Buckle-up, Buttercup. It is brought.

Weโ€™ve also had a fun summer visitor to the mulberry tree outside our kitchen window. Camera-shy little thing – this is the best shot Iโ€™ve gotten of him – but from the color, the wing markings, and a brief glimpse of his beak shape, I believe this is a Baltimore oriole. The first Iโ€™ve seen in scenic Somerville. Judge for yourself, comparing my blurry photo to the entry in AllAboutBirds.org.

JFries oriole 8.2020
Sneaky glimpse through the bushes. It’s totally an oriole.

Itโ€™s not easy to write upbeat blog posts these days, what with all thatโ€™s going on. Iโ€™m not even going to say โ€œin the world.โ€ Letโ€™s just call it – things are not swell in the USA, and yes, there are people to blame for that. I spend about as much time as most people worrying and growling over it. There is a lot of uncooperative BS being bandied about that I am completely over and done with, together with the people spouting it, and the horses they rode in on. Done. Iโ€™m just done. It makes staying home easier, at any rate.

But after all, my sainted mother and I and our immediate neighbors are all healthy, and thereโ€™s a Baltimore oriole outside my kitchen window. What have I got to complain about? (Okay, plenty, but you know what I mean.)

So take care. Be well. Wear your masks. And look out your windows. Thereโ€™s probably something pretty and amazing out there that will lift you up and keep you going.


A walk in my garden

Storms, Color, Summer

JFries geese border

Iโ€™ve had an unusually productive two weeks since launching my newsletter. The thing must be magic! Here are some of the highlights, including a new work for another upcoming exhibition.

Iโ€™m going to be binding some new journals and re-binding some older books, so I made a selection of paste papers for them, which led to me playing around with the paste paint. That resulted in some not too bad monochromatic landscapes, which then led to shades of the color blue scrolling through my mind. A certain dusky shade of blue-gray struck me as perfect for a collage that had been simmering in my mind for some time, so I set about inventing the color with layers of paint and dyed tissue paper. The resulting collage of geese flying across the moon will be shown with the Brickbottom Artists Association summer exhibition, which just happens to be on the theme of โ€œBLUE.โ€ That will be shown online from mid-July. See the Home page for details.

I finished an additional collage today – The Death of Orpheus – but I did it on paper so I could experiment with a new pasting technique to prevent warping. Fingers crossed on that one. Two more collages on canvas are in the works, inspired by views from my studio window – one a particularly spectacular spring morning, the other a rather spectacular super moon.

Nature has been pushing me along. These past weeks have been full of moon views and thunder storms. The garden is filling up with flowers, bees, butterflies, and rabbits. My landlordsโ€™ mulberry tree, outside our kitchen window, is bent under the weight of fruit and crowded with birds and animals. And all day today, my landlordsโ€™ dogwood, outside my studio window, hosted two fledgling mockingbirds fresh out of the nest, crying for food as their parents came and went, stuffing them with mulberries.

I canโ€™t help feeling a little allegorical. I took the lesson of these weeks from the text on the collage of the geese, adapted from a Siberian shamanโ€™s song:

โ€œThe birdsโ€™ way of returning,
The birdsโ€™ way of leaving behind the sea,
If I lean on these ways,
I find support for my legs.โ€

Where are you finding support in these difficult times? Drop a comment and let me know what flashes or colors or things outside your window keep you going. If you have any questions about the works below, I’ll be happy to answer.

Also, issue #2 of the newsletter is scheduled for around July 16th. Sign up now for more updates and exclusive content.


Paste Papers



Estuary Moon, part of the Mystic River Project and Cities

JFries Estuary Moon 6.30.2020


Experimental landscape

JFries indigo landscape 7.1.2020


Death of Orpheus, part of Literary Works, another experiment

JFries Orpheus 1 7.2.2020

Virtual Gallery: Construction/Deconstruction is online

The Brickbottom Artists Association exhibition, “Construction/Deconstruction,” is now up in full online. Please enjoy!

The Brickbottom Gallery here in Somerville was forced to close to the public due to the pandemic, but my fellow artists did a fantastic job establishing our first virtual gallery. Our annual spring show is extended into the summer.

Click here to view the full exhibition at www.Brickbottom.org.

My contribution, “Pink Yarrow,” reconstructs flowers from my urban garden from the dried remains of the actual plants.

JFries Pink Yarrow 4.2020