Preparing for 2026, Painting My Way Into the New Year

Preparing for 2026, Painting My Way Into the New Year

As this year draws to a close, I find myself once again entering the familiar ritual of making my annual calendar. The moment I begin selecting images and painting the final pieces, I feel two things at once: a quiet shock at how quickly the year has passed, and the slow opening of a doorway into the next one. Creating twelve paintings, gathering them into a single narrative, and shaping them into a calendar has become my way of closing the old year and welcoming the new. And the theme for 2026 is horses.

This year, the horses that emerged through my brush have carried a unique, steady energy. Recently, I finished the ninth painting: a horse running freely through a field, another cutting across the fading light at dusk, two horses leaning into each other as if sharing warmth and breath. Each horse has its own expression, rhythm, and atmosphere, and as I painted them one by one, it began to feel like I was weaving chapters of a quiet, unfolding story.

I tried to portray horses in different seasons and moods: a winter scene where wind sweeps across the landscape, a solitary horse lowering its head to drink at the water’s edge, another standing still under slanted golden light in an open meadow. These scenes are not just depictions of horses but reflections of the fragments of emotion I carried through the year.
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Join my creative journey as I complete twelve horse-themed watercolor paintings for my 2026 art calendar. This reflective essay explores the meaning behind each piece, the emotions carried through the year, and the joy of welcoming a new beginning through art.

Now, with only two more horses left to complete, I am nearing the final stage of this year’s calendar. This point in the process is always thrilling. Once the calendar is complete, I begin sending out my Christmas cards, another personal ritual that marks the end of my annual work. The act of sending calendars brings a sense of closure, as if I’ve tidied my desk after a long project. The notes and messages I receive in return, even the simple acknowledgments, motivate me to continue this tradition. Sometimes someone tells me that the calendar arrived on Christmas Eve, and hearing that fills me with quiet gratitude and warmth.

One thing I realize every year is that the calendar is essentially my growth diary. When the twelve images are gathered together, I see the concerns I carried, the new techniques I attempted, the moments of hesitation and courage, all embedded in the layers of watercolor. Horses, in particular, reveal this. Though they are strong, fast animals, the horses in my paintings often carry a calm, contemplative expression. Perhaps they represent the pace I want for myself or the mindset I hope to embody. When I painted the horse at the water’s edge, gazing into its own reflection, I felt as if I were looking back at my own year.

Of course, the process is rarely smooth. My wrist aches sometimes, colors bloom unpredictably on the paper, and I occasionally worry that a painting might be ruined. Yet each time, I pause, breathe, and return to the page. Eventually the colors settle into place, and the painting begins to breathe again. It feels similar to how life’s difficulties resolve—slowly, almost quietly, with patience.

I often wonder what form the last two horses will take. Perhaps one will appear in the brightest landscape of the series, symbolizing the start of the new year. Perhaps another will emerge from the soft darkness of dawn, stepping into new light. I haven’t put brush to paper yet, but I can already sense their outlines forming in my mind. When these final paintings are complete, I’ll be ready to release 2025 and step fully into 2026.

This year’s calendar feels especially meaningful. More than a collection of images, it is a record of how I processed time—how I accepted it, organized it, and ultimately embraced it. And when people hang these paintings on their walls, I hope they feel a quiet strength from them, the same strength the horses offered me as I painted them.
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I don’t know what 2026 will bring, but I believe these twelve horses will carry with them a steady, hopeful energy for me and for those who receive them. On the day I place the final brushstroke, I know I will once again be standing at a new beginning, ready to face the year ahead with renewed energy. And I will, once again, leave a piece of that beginning inside the calendar pages.