Ep.1 - Do you respect something “Just Pretty”?

Is “just pretty” enough? - be honest. Does everything need a deeper meaning?

You’ve stepped into an old French room in your mind — the kind you don’t rush through. The walls are cream. The ceiling is high. Light falls the way it used to, when time took its time. Nothing asks anything of you here. Nothing pulls. On the walls, there’s a toile — not loud, not demanding. Just small scenes of ink pressed into fabric on a copper cylinder: people walking, pausing, pointing, resting. A child reaching toward a hand. Someone almost falling off the end of the scene, only for the pattern to repeat again. These images look quiet. But they’re full of life if you stand there long enough. I remember sleeping on patterned bed sheets, and in the half-light, I swear I saw them moving and changing, laughing and having fun. Right before I fell asleep, I could almost hear the echo of their laughter… And that’s what we’re doing tonight: standing, looking, letting something be beautiful without forcing a lesson from it.

I’ve always loved this kind of imagery — and recently, I created my own. At first, nothing worked. I scratched out the first sketches, then the second. And then it clicked. I realized what had been holding me back: I was trying to force meaning into a simply pretty sketch, hiding symbols, layering depth where it didn’t need to be.

The moment I let the idea of meaning go, there it was. My own toile. Not to retell myth. Not to prove anything. Simply to hold light, poetic fragments. Things that felt tender. Things that felt “just pretty.” And that phrase — “just pretty” — has stayed with me. We live in a world that asks beauty to constantly justify itself. What does it mean? What does it symbolize? What is its message? What purpose does it serve? But what if — sometimes — beauty is the purpose? What if beauty is a way back to yourself, not an essay waiting to be written?

Look at the toile again. Every scene is unfinished. Every gesture opens a question. What’s the occasion? Who put those books on the mantlepiece? What happened just before this moment — and what comes next? You’re not meant to know. You’re meant to be with it. And here’s the truth most of us forget: Being with something is harder than figuring it out. We are trained to interpret. Diagnose. Label. Explain. But rare are the moments in life where we simply sit beside beauty and allow ourselves to feel it — without defending it, without grading it, without “using” it for self-improvement. So let this room hold you for a moment.

The windows glow as though it’s late afternoon. The air is gentle. Even the silence feels ornate, like it holds stories. Where in your life do you demand meaning before you allow enjoyment? Where do you rush past the lovely parts because they don’t look “serious enough”? Maybe it’s art. Maybe it’s dressing up only for yourself. Maybe it’s flowers on the table. Maybe it’s moments of doing absolutely nothing — except existing. Just notice what rises. Not to solve anything. Not to judge yourself. Simply to see. Beauty becomes meaningful through presence — not through explanation.

And maybe that’s what this series is going to practice with us — the art of pausing long enough for beauty to have a chance.

Let the imagined room fade a little, like twilight gently closing in. Let the toile stay on the wall. You don’t have to take a lesson home with you. Instead, take this question: What happens inside me when I let something be “just pretty”? Carry it lightly through the week. Let it surface while you’re washing dishes, or passing a shop window, or noticing a color you love.

And if you want to go deeper — to sit longer, move gently, breathe with me, and let this vision unfold into practice — the full session is waiting for you here.

But for now, this is enough. A room. A wall. A quiet fabric filled with soft human moments. May they remind you that your own life — even in its simplest gestures — is allowed to be beautiful without permission. Take your time as you return.

No rush. I’ll see you next Sunday.

Full Practice: Breathe with a Toile de Jouy pattern

If you ever feel called to go deeper with these practices, I keep the full guided versions on my Substack. They’re behind a paywall on purpose — not just to support the work, but to keep them for the people who genuinely choose to be there, not for passers-by scrolling out of curiosity. If that feels like you, you’re welcome to join us.