February 2026 Director's Journal
- Journals
Director’s Journal
February 2026
You wander through Sitka’s campus in mid-February. At first glance, not much is happening.
A photographer steps out and squints into the light. A lamp clicks on in the writing studio. On the headland, a thin skiff of snow lingers in the shadowed grasses from earlier in the week, softening at the edges as the morning warms. Elk pick their way through the frost where the sun has not yet reached. The trails are damp. The light is thin.
It looks quiet.
Lift the Sitka nurse log, and beneath it everything is scuttling.
Inside the office, Sitka’s busiest day of the year, the opening of Members-First workshop registration, is around the corner. The online catalog is built. Course descriptions and materials lists are uploaded. Dates are checked and rechecked. Instructor emails were sent months ago. Calendars are aligned. The printed catalog has been designed, proofed and sent to press.
At home, the catalog lands in mailboxes, a magic object many keep all year. Its pages carry the possibility of painting outdoors, foraging for botanical pigment sources and playing with clay.
Program Manager Maria Elting has been building this season for more than a year. There is an art to curating a workshop catalog. She balances mediums, invites new voices and welcomes back beloved instructors so that each offering reflects the heart of Sitka. There is also a science to it, one that involves studio capacities, housing logistics, sequencing, scheduling and timing.
Throughout the year Maria listens and adjusts. She carries the shape of next summer long before any of us can see it.
The day arrives.
Coffee is poured, and the voicemail light is already blinking. At nine o’clock, registration opens.
The phones ring, and the website hums. There is excitement and anticipation. Browsers refresh steadily as people watch to see what is filling.
Nancy answers the first call. Nicola picks up the next.
“We get to hear the enthusiasm,” Nicola says. “What each person wants to take and is excited to learn. It makes us feel good about the programming choices we’ve made.”
There are lots of questions.
Can I take this with my sister? Is there still space in Monica’s Wood Muse course? Will everyone know more than I do about photopolymer?
“There’s anticipation,” Nicola says. “And sometimes shock from first-time callers, people who just discovered us and can’t believe Sitka exists. They’ve always wanted to learn printmaking or book arts or natural dyeing. When they find us, it’s wonderful.”
Our workshops are small by design because gathering around one table matters.
There are waiting lists.
“Put your name on them,” Nancy and Nicola encourage. “Wait lists help us understand what our community is most excited to learn.”
“It’s one of our greatest joys in the summer,” Nancy adds, “when I call through the list and make someone’s day.”
The Sitka team sees the season take shape in real time. They hear what it means to have a workshop circled on the calendar, a few days or a week set aside for making and learning among others who love this place. “The Members-First window is an opportunity for Sitka supporters to sign up for workshops they’ve been dreaming about since the preview in December,” Maria reflects.
They hear friends inviting friends and help family members sign up together. “We love it when people decide to try something new,” Nicola says. “It’s cool to see how the Sitka community signs up for and welcomes new instructors,” Nancy adds.
“Every year there are sold-out workshops on day one that delight and surprise me,” Maria observes. “It’s a reminder that no matter how well we know our closest community members, their passion for learning is rooted in exploration and curiosity. Each year, this informs how I program the next one, a balance of Sitka hallmarks and the unexpected.”
For me, this moment in the calendar reveals something deeper about Sitka. Not just the workshops, but the trust and teamwork that sustain them, and the quiet knowing that gathering to make something together matters. Time set aside to create and connect with the natural world is not indulgent; it is necessary.
On the headland, the last of the snow slips back into grass and the elk move on.
Coffee is refilled. Laughter travels through phone lines. Workshops fill. The catalog rests open on kitchen tables.
Above ground, winter lingers.
Below, summer is stirring.