Newsletter: Imbolc 2026
- Midwest Coven Cast
- Jan 31
- 7 min read
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Imbolc, Art, and the Craft of Resistance
Imbolc arrives not with spectacle, but with insistence. It is the season of the low flame, the lamb’s first breath, the hearth newly swept after winter’s long occupation. Traditionally associated with Brigid—goddess of poetry, smithcraft, and healing—Imbolc marks a threshold moment in the ritual year: a time when what has been forged in darkness begins to test its strength against the cold. It is not a festival of victory, but of preparation. That distinction matters now.
Brigid is often divided into her familiar triad—poet, smith, healer—but these roles are less separate professions than variations of a single principle: transformation through disciplined craft. The poet shapes language; the smith shapes metal; both work with dangerous materials that can burn, cut, or liberate. In the Irish tradition, Brigid’s fire is not merely warmth but skillful heat—the kind that tempers steel and gives words their capacity to endure. To invoke Brigid at Imbolc, then, is to engage art not as ornament, but as labor. And labor, especially creative labor, has long been a site of resistance.
Historically, art has rarely stood apart from protest; rather, it has functioned as one of its most durable technologies. Spirituals encoded escape routes; illuminated manuscripts preserved outlawed cosmologies; protest songs and posters carried movements across borders and decades. For marginalized communities—witches among them—art has served both as shield and signal. When overt power was denied, symbolic power was cultivated. Witches, particularly in early modern Europe, were persecuted not only for alleged acts of sorcery but for their refusal to relinquish vernacular knowledge, embodied practices, and alternative systems of meaning. Their resistance was not always loud, but it was persistent, encoded in charms, stories, songs, and ritual gestures passed hand to hand.
Imbolc’s timing underscores this quieter mode of defiance. The ground is still frozen; the fields appear barren. Yet the work has already begun. Seeds are chosen. Tools are repaired. Fires are rekindled. This is resistance as infrastructure rather than spectacle—a form of preparation that understands endurance to be as important as disruption. In contemporary movements against authoritarian governance, we often see moments of mass protest crest and recede. What sustains resistance between these visible peaks is culture: the poems that articulate grief, the images that refuse erasure, the songs that keep bodies moving when exhaustion sets in.
Brigid’s smithcraft offers a particularly resonant metaphor for political art in this moment. Smithing requires repetition, patience, and a willingness to strike while the iron is hot—knowing that mistimed force can shatter what might otherwise hold. Likewise, effective resistance art is neither purely reactive nor purely aesthetic. It is strategic, informed by history, and aware of its material conditions. Protest banners, zines, chants, performance rituals, and digital art are not ancillary to movements; they are tools forged for specific purposes: to galvanize, to remember, to reframe reality itself.
Witches have long understood this. From the sigils hidden in embroidery to the revival of goddess iconography during second-wave feminism, witchcraft has used art to challenge dominant narratives about power, gender, and legitimacy. These practices resist not only specific regimes but the epistemologies that sustain them. To create art as a witch is to assert that meaning does not flow exclusively from institutions, that enchantment remains available even under surveillance and repression.
Imbolc asks us to recommit to this work with seriousness. Celebration, here, is not escapism but resolve. The flames we light are small because they must last. In times of political precarity, art risks being dismissed as indulgent or secondary. Brigid’s example refutes this. Poetry and protest are not opposites; they are mutually reinforcing disciplines. One teaches us how to speak; the other teaches us when. One keeps memory alive; the other insists on futurity.
As we witness renewed waves of resistance—crowds in streets, mutual aid networks forming, cultural workers refusing silence—Imbolc reminds us that revolutions are not only made in public squares. They are also forged at desks, looms, anvils, and altars. Art made now may not bear fruit immediately, but it shapes the conditions under which future action becomes possible.
To honor Brigid this season is to tend the fire with intention: to write, to make, to teach, to remember. It is to understand resistance as a craft that must be learned and practiced, not a posture adopted in moments of crisis. Imbolc does not promise that spring is here—only that it can be prepared for. And that, perhaps, is the most radical work of all.
Crafting Resistance at Imbolc
Imbolc is the holy moment when the fire returns—not as blaze, but as promise. This ritual is designed to be performed alone or in community, and it centers Brigid not only as goddess of the hearth, but as patron of poets, smiths, and those who shape resistance through art. This is a ritual of intention and preparation rather than triumph. Allow it to be quiet. Allow it to be serious.
You will need:
A single candle (white, red, or hearth-colored)
A small bowl of water
A piece of paper and a pen, pencil, or charcoal
An object that represents your craft (a book, needle, instrument, tool, or symbol)
Begin by cleaning the space where you will work. This need not be elaborate; sweeping the floor, clearing a desk, or washing your hands with warm water is sufficient. As you do so, say (aloud or silently): I make room for what must be forged.
Place the candle at the center of your space. Set the bowl of water to its left and your craft object to its right. Sit comfortably and take several slow breaths. Notice the season beyond your walls—the cold still present, the earth not yet open. Let yourself feel the tension of waiting.
Light the candle. Watch the flame carefully. This is not the fire of destruction, but the fire of skill.
Say:
Brigid of the forge and the word,
Keeper of the low flame,
Teach me the art that endures.
Dip your fingers lightly into the water and touch your forehead or hands. This marks your body as a site of labor and resistance. Consider the ways art has carried people through oppression: songs sung in secret, stories passed in whispers, images made to outlast regimes. Let these histories stand behind you.
Take the paper and write in response to the following prompt:
What must I make in order to resist?
Do not seek eloquence. Write honestly and concretely. Name the craft you already practice, or the one you are being called toward. Name the fear, fatigue, or doubt that winter has pressed into you.
When you have finished, fold the paper once and place it beneath your craft object. Hold that object in your hands. Feel its weight. Say:
What I make is not decoration.
It is a tool.
I will tend it like fire.
Spend a few moments envisioning how your work—however small it feels—connects to a larger ecosystem of resistance. You are not asked to carry the whole movement. You are asked to keep the flame.
To close, extinguish the candle (do not blow it out if you can help it). Thank Brigid, the ancestors of resistance, and yourself. Leave the paper where it is until the spring equinox, when you may return to it and see what has begun to warm.
Imbolc blesses the work that is not yet visible. Trust what you are forging.
Shadow Work Prompt: Tending the Unlit Fire
Imbolc is often framed as a season of hope, renewal, and gentle beginnings. Yet beneath that promise lies another truth: the fire does not return without resistance. Cold lingers. Doubt lingers. Exhaustion lingers. Shadow work at Imbolc asks us not to banish these forces, but to understand how they shape our capacity to create, to resist, and to endure.
Set aside time to write without interruption. Light a candle if you wish, or simply sit with a sense of deliberate attention. Begin by reflecting on the idea that art—like resistance—is not only fueled by inspiration, but also by fear, anger, grief, and hesitation. These, too, are raw materials.
Consider the following questions, allowing yourself to write freely and without self-censorship:
Where do I hesitate to claim my creative work as meaningful or necessary?
What stories have I internalized about art being frivolous, unsafe, or indulgent in times of crisis?Who benefits when I doubt the value of my voice, my craft, or my presence in movements of resistance?
Turn now toward the figure of Brigid as smith and poet. Smithing requires heat, pressure, and repeated strikes. Poetry requires vulnerability and risk. Ask yourself:
What part of my resistance work do I avoid because it feels too exposed, too slow, or too uncertain of reward?
Where do I demand immediate impact from my art instead of allowing it to mature through practice?
Imbolc is not a demand for confidence; it is an invitation to honesty. Explore the ways fear disguises itself as practicality. Examine how perfectionism, burnout, or cynicism might be protecting you from disappointment—or from responsibility.
Finally, write to the quieter shadow: the belief that your contribution is replaceable, that others are better equipped, louder, or braver. Where did this belief originate? Is it truly yours?
Close by answering this final prompt:
If I trusted that tending a small, steady flame was enough, how would my relationship to resistance—and to my art—change?
Do not rush to resolution. Shadow work at Imbolc is about naming what remains frozen so it can begin, slowly, to thaw.
Coven Coloring Series
The inspiration of art as resistance and the goddess Brigid as a symbol of those virtues is represented here in the Coven Coloring Series for this turn of the wheel. In one sheet you get a representation of artistic works and a literal blank canvas upon which you can create. On the other sheet, the goddess Bridgid herself. After you color your sheets, be sure to share them with us on social media. Use the hashtag #covencoloringclub or tag us @midwestcovencast! We can't wait to see your art!
You can print or upload to your favorite art app using the files below:
Southern Hemisphere Shout Out: Lughnasadh
Blessed Lughnasadh to our witchy friends in the southern hemisphere, may the blessings of the harvest season be plenty and the breaking of bread with your family and friends bring you much joy. If you would like to see how we celebrated Lughnasdh here in the north, you can find our newsletter from that turn of the wheel by clicking here.
Patreon Contributor Thanks
As always, we at Midwest Coven Cast send a special thanks to our Patreon contributors, without whom many of our operations would cease. They keep our website running, our podcasts on the air, and so much more. Thank you for all that you do! An extra special thanks to our MVPs, Steve D. and Anonymous - you each always go the extra mile to support this little creative project and we are ever so grateful.
Calendar
01 February Imbolc begins (at sunset)
Full Snow Moon (4:09pm CST)
02 February Imbolc ends (at sunset)
17 February New Moon (6:01am CST)
03 March Full Worm Moon (5:37am CST)
18 March New Moon (8:23pm CST)
20 March Ostara
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