peopling

I’ve been thinking a lot about community lately.

I am, by nature, a solitary creature. There’s nothing I like more than being on my own, by myself, in the quiet with nobody around to disturb me. I think this is part of the appeal of archival research: I don’t have to talk to anyone, and in some cases, I don’t have to talk to anyone for days and days and days on end. It’s a delight.

tracing nineteenth-century handwriting from archival materials.

(speaking of archives, it’s African Heritage Month – check out the virtual exhibition hosted by the Provincial Archives of Nova Scotia)

Peopling is much more of a challenge to me. I think it’s because I’m awkward in social situations. I’m never quite sure what I’m supposed to say or do. I’m sure where I’m supposed to be or what I’m supposed to do with my hands. My body feels awkward and I feel awkward in my body. Unsurprisingly, I also find it exhausting.

stitching over a cyanotype photo on fabric. How I often feel in large groups: constrained, hidden, uncomfortable, silent.

As a result, I often tend to avoid large gatherings (ask my husband about the exciting New Years’ parties we go to….). If I do go to large events, I need to prepare in advance. A lot of invisible labour, a lot of time, a lot of energy to make sure that I can manage in those spaces.

Put simply: I’m not a natural social butterfly.

peopling on a grand scale: would you believe these are all flue players? This was definitely a most overwhelming week! The little group I hung out with are all just to the left of the centre, sitting near the bottom. I still remember having in depth debates with an American flutist about the nuclear arms race.

That’s not to say peopling never works for me. In carefully curated environments – a classroom, a concert stage, in conversation with close friends – I can find peopling exhilarating.

What’s the difference? The biggest difference is that I know and understand my role in these situations, and I can translate that into how I’m supposed to function. There’s a level of control I can exert over the space, and also – and equally importantly – over myself. There’s also a level of trust: for the people I’m with, but also, towards myself.

Enter, then, creative conversations.

some of my favourite conversations happen with archival materials (lol). Archival materials transcribed in pencil; conversational interventions in marker… (materials from the Bibliothèque cantonale et universitaire de Lausanne)

There is nothing I love more than chatting creative stuff with small groups of like-minded folks. In these situations, peopling is a delight, a wonder, a joy … it’s magical.

And so, this post is a shout out to my small creative communities: we span time zones and countries, so we’re almost always online, but you’re all a vital part of my own creative practice. Thanks to my poetry group (Jeffrey, Shannon, Joanne, and Lara), my prose group (Pierre and Kate and also JoAnn), my stitchery group that meets across the ocean (Ruth, Joanne, Sara, Alison, and Denise), my quilty groups (Maritime Modern Quilt Guild and SAQA Atlantic), my group of MFA students at Kings (Patti-Kay, Evi, Sophia, Cecile, and Jill), and the writers and creative folks I chat/correspond with one on one on a semi-regular basis (you all know who you are, but here’s to Ariel and Bettina and Jocelyn and Christine and Chelene and and and and).

You all make my life creatively richer, brighter, and deeper. Thank you.

© Sonja Boon, 2026.