The Sunday of Summer
Late July can feel like a little seasonal pause.
By Sue Pendleton, Founder
There is a point in the summer when I start to feel it. I am still in summer. But part of my brain begins looking ahead.
Fall schedules.
Work plans.
Art goals.
Shows.
Holidays that feel far away and also right around the corner.
It can feel a little like Sunday evening. I’m still in the weekend, but Monday is already tapping me on the shoulder. I read this end-of-July feeling referred to as “the Sunday of summer.” We’re still in the season, but we can feel the next one coming.
I loved the beginning of school.
When I was a kid, I loved summer. I loved the wide-open freedom of it. But I also loved school. I did well in school. I liked the structure. I liked the feeling of a fresh start.
And I really loved when the school supplies came out.
New notebooks.
Pens.
Pencil cases.
Tabs.
Folders.
Binders waiting to be organized.
Everything felt crisp and clean and full of possibility.
Of course, a few months later, those same supplies were usually covered in doodles. The corners were bent. My beautiful organizing system had kind of worked, but not perfectly. There were rips and smudges and watermarks.
But at the beginning, there was a particular kind of excitement. A fresh start. A sense that maybe this year could take shape.
Later, summer started to feel more complicated.
As a working mom, the end of summer felt different. I still loved the freedom summer gave us.
No rushing everyone out of bed.
No homework battles.
No school/activity/homework/dinner shuffle.
No short days when it felt dark in the morning and dark again before the day was done.
By late July, I could feel the change coming. Some years, I felt ready. Other years, not so much. That end-of-summer feeling could easily turn into worry about everything ahead. And I do not want to spend the last stretch of summer stuck there. I do not want the anticipation of fall to steal the season I am still in.
But I also know myself.
Pretending fall is not coming does not really help either. What helps is a small reset. Not a giant plan. Not a complete life overhaul. Just enough prep to feel like I’m not starting from scratch.
A reset is like the sketch before the painting.
Since I have been at the beach this summer, I have been trying to plein air at least once a week. Before I jump into the painting, I have been doing a quick sketch or two. Then I do a value study.
At first, when I was new to painting, I did not love this stage. I wanted to get to the color; to the “real” painting. The sketch and value study felt like something I had to get through.
But over time, that changed.
Now I understand what they give me.
The sketch helps me figure out the composition.
The value study helps me understand the structure.
Both help me get to know the scene before I ask too much of myself.
They do not have to be perfect. That is not the point. They give me a loose skeleton. A foundation. Then, when I begin adding color, some of the hardest thinking has already been done. I can focus more fully on the painting itself.
And I can enjoy it more.
Seasonal resets can work the same way.
That’s how I’m starting to think about late July. Not as a time to solve the whole fall season. Not as a time to create a rigid plan I will resent by September. Just as a chance to make a sketch.
What do I want fall to feel like?
What do I want to share?
What opportunities might matter?
What do I want to make easier for myself?
What small foundation could I lay now?
A seasonal reset is not about perfection. It is about getting familiar with what is ahead. So when the next season arrives, I am not staring at a blank canvas.
This matters for a marketing practice, too.
At ENSOhello, I talk a lot about marketing as a practice. A practice is not built by doing everything perfectly. It is built by returning. Again and again. And every practice has rhythms. Summer may bring travel, family visits, heat, less studio time, or a looser schedule. Fall may bring shows, deadlines, new routines, markets, school calendars, or holiday planning.
A seasonal reset helps us move from one rhythm to the next. For artists, that might mean:
Looking at upcoming show deadlines.
Making a folder of available work.
Writing down a few fall post ideas.
Updating a bio or website page.
Choosing one piece to share again.
Drafting one newsletter.
Cleaning one corner of the studio.
Naming one opportunity you want to explore.
Not all of it. But setting priorities and knowing what you want the end to look like. And enough to begin laying the foundation.
The prep can become part of the practice.
What has surprised me about painting is that the prep stage has become enjoyable. The sketch has its own beginning, middle, and end. So does the value study. They aren’t obstacles to the painting. They are part of the painting.
I think a seasonal reset can become that, too. Not an annoying task before the “real” work begins. But part of the work. Part of the practice. A way to pay attention before rushing ahead. A way to make the next step feel more possible.
You don’t have to rush out of summer.
The goal is not to abandon summer early. It’s not to worry our way into fall. It’s to give ourselves the beginning of a path forward so we can enjoy what is still here.
Late July may feel like the Sunday of summer. But Sunday does not have to be all scaries. It can also be the moment you set out what you need.
Sharpen a pencil.
Open a notebook.
Make a sketch.
Lay down a value study.
Not because everything has to be figured out. Because a small foundation helps us begin.
