☀️The Great Art of Chilling: Morning Sun, Soft Breath, and the World Waking Gently

Cheryl Quejada Canning, Sydney, 18 May 2026 1-minute read

Excerpt

A return to the quiet discipline of morning: carving space for art, honouring my time, and remembering the fearless child who always followed her curiosity.

The Great Art of Chilling: Morning Sun, Soft Breath, and the World Waking Gently

I’ve always been an early riser. Since I was a kid, the morning sun has had a way of pulling me out of sleep — that soft light seeping through the window, the quiet sound of someone sweeping with a walis tingting, the world slowly waking. There’s something sacred about those hours. They feel like a breath.

But there was a long stretch of my life when mornings weren’t gentle at all. My days were spent working for survival — food on the table, tuition fees, bills, responsibilities that never paused. I woke up not to create, but to provide. My mornings belonged to duty, not to myself.

Still, I consider myself lucky. One day, I woke up to a different kind of life — one that felt closer to the child I used to be. The same child who refused to take afternoon naps with my siblings during school breaks. While everyone slept, I would sneak out, wander, explore, play, get punished, and then do it again. That fearless curiosity never left me. It just waited for the right season to return.

“Instructions for living a life:

                                                                 Pay attention.

                                                                 Be astonished.

                                                                Tell about it.” 

  — Mary Oliver

A wild termite mushroom gathered in the 6 a.m. sun — a small miracle from our garden, glowing in the quiet of the morning.

Now, as an adult, my creativity lives in the daytime. I intentionally carve out space for it — painting, contemplating, reading, sketching, or simply sitting with an idea until it reveals its shape. Morning is where my process begins. It’s where I settle my mind, breathe, and let the work find me.

People say you have to be selfish if you want to be an artist. Maybe they’re right — but not in the way people imagine. Making art isn’t indulgence. It’s not escape. The “selfishness” they talk about is really obsession — that deep pull toward creating something honest. I’m obsessed with my art, yes, but creating isn’t selfishness in itself. It’s an act of love. Love for myself, because it keeps me whole. Love for the world around me, because every piece I make is my way of paying attention, of honouring what I see, feel, and remember.

And so, I’m trying to master the great art of chilling in the best way I know how — through my art. Through slowing down, breathing, and letting the morning hold me long enough for ideas to rise gently, without force.

The great art of chilling isn’t about doing nothing. It’s about being present enough to hear your own ideas. It’s breath, morning sun, and the quiet discipline of showing up for your creative life — finally, freely, and on your own terms.

There is more to feel, more to make — but that belongs to another morning.