IN CONVERSATION WITH TESS GUINERY

It is with great joy that we introduce With Great Love—a new journal series dedicated to sharing the stories of women who infuse love into all they do—whether through their art, their relationships, or the way they move through the world.

And what better way to begin than on International Women’s Day—a day dedicated to honouring the strength, creativity, and impact of women everywhere. To mark this occasion, we are thrilled to open our series with one of our favourite women and creative muses, Tess Guinery. A poet, artist, and luminous force, Tess so beautifully embodies the spirit of With Great Love, weaving creativity, self-expression, and devotion into both her work and life. Having collaborated with her for the launch of our With Great Love necklaces, she has created a special poem that captures the essence of love in all its forms—a heartfelt reflection on connection, devotion, and the beauty of life’s smallest moments.

In this first journal entry, Tess shares her thoughts on creativity, the guiding principles that shape her journey, and the power of living and creating with love. As we honour women’s voices and stories today, we hope her words—and her poetry—inspire you as much as they have inspired us.

 

 

The "With Great Love" concept is at the heart of this collaboration. What does living with great love mean to you, and how does it show up in your daily life, relationships, and creative practice?

Living with great love, to me, is found in the small, steady gestures—the quiet, unseen acts of care that shape our days. It’s not about grandeur but about the depth with which we choose to meet each moment, person, or creation.

In my relationships, it shows up as listening deeply and being present without trying to rush or fix. It's a quiet courage to meet those I love exactly where they are. In my creative practice, living with great love often means trusting the slower path—following intuition rather than forcing outcomes, honouring the work even when it's imperfect or incomplete.

It’s about carrying tenderness into everything.

 

 

Your poem beautifully weaves together love, presence, and the rhythm of life. Is there a particular line that feels most meaningful to you? What inspired it, and what does it represent in your own journey?

The line that feels most meaningful to me is, “WITH GREAT LOVE we become hungry to see, to touch, to sprawl out— and chase the coloured winds with time to simply be.” It speaks to the space love creates—one that invites a deep hunger for life, for the simple moments that fill us. In my own journey, this line represents a time of learning to slow down, to make space for what matters most. Love, in its quiet persistence, has taught me to be present, to savour the in-betweens of life, and to chase the quiet beauty that often gets overlooked in the rush. It’s a reminder to return to the act of simply being—of letting love be both a force and a rest.

 

 

Creativity, like love, has its ebbs and flows. When you encounter creative blocks, how do you nurture yourself back into a state of inspiration and openness?

Creativity, like love, moves through seasons—some quiet, some turbulent. When I face a block, I’ve learned the quiet power of knowing when to step aside. To pause. To leave a thing alone, or to wrestle with it, should it call me back. After many years of working in this way, starting as a child, I have come to understand that most of it will remain unclear, yet the voice of creativity itself is unmistakable. It has a resonance that is both deep and unwavering. In time, I’ve come to listen with trust, to follow its tug when it pulls, and let the things of my hands slip away when it isn’t meant to be. I’ve learned not to clutch too tightly to anything within the vast, unruly field of creation. Ideas may seem precious in the moment, but they are mere visitors—there is no use in holding them longer than they wish to stay.

 

Holding space for myself while loving my family and pursuing my work as an artist and poet feels like an improvised dance—a rhythm I’m learning to shape with practice. But with all that improv comes the need for fierce decision-making. It’s about knowing what I’m growing. It’s been about becoming good friends with my beginnings and ends, knowing when to let go even if the thing in hand glimmers beautifully. It’s about understanding the margin each season demands and recognising what I am graced for right now.

I’ve learned that navigating all the moving parts isn’t about stuffing every hour with productivity or keeping every ball in the air. Quite the opposite: it’s knowing when to let things drop or step aside entirely. For me, it’s been about carving out margin—those quiet gaps of space where life can breathe, where ideas quietly take root, where I can actually hear myself think.

There’s an honesty required in holding seasons well. I ask myself regularly: What is this season asking of me? If I can be truthful in the asking and expansive in my thinking, I can act accordingly, without guilt or performance.

This didn’t come naturally. It’s something I’ve had to learn by listening closely to my own limits and accepting them without apology. That sounds deceptively simple, but it’s really about asking: What can I hold, and what needs to be released—even if it’s beautiful?

A full life doesn’t have to be a busy one. My days are shaped less by how much I can fit in and more by what I want to tend to—whether that’s writing a paragraph that finally lands right, sitting in stillness with my thoughts, or savouring breakfast with my daughters without a clock breathing down our necks. I leave room for quiet because without it, nothing meaningful can grow.

Margin isn’t glamorous. It’s not applause-worthy. But it’s essential—an art form of its own, one I return to daily. Through it, I’ve learned to trust that good things still happen when you give life permission to unfold, rather than forcing it into a tight, frantic space.

 

If you could leave the RUUSK community with one message—through your poetry, your art, or simply through your way of being—what would it be, and why?

If I could leave the RUUSK community with one message, it would be this: create space with great love. It’s a practice that doesn’t always show its value at first glance, but over time, it becomes clear. In the constant churn of life, there’s a quiet kind of devotion in making room—room for reflection, for creation, for moments of stillness. With great love, we shape margins not as a retreat, but as a space for things to grow, unfold, and settle in their own time. To make room for what matters, we must be willing to let go of what doesn’t—whether it’s expectations, noise, or the rush to fill every gap. And so, through this slow, deliberate act, we honour not only the work we do but the life we’re living—sensitive to the ebb and flow, always returning to love as the quiet constant that holds it all together.

 

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Tess Guinery Website