Prise de Mousse - The Birth of Bubbles
I didn't expect champagne to teach me anything about creativity. When I arrived in Saint Montan for an artistic residency, I wasn't looking for lessons. If anything, I was looking for space. Space away from deadlines, responsibilities, and the familiar rhythms of everyday life. Space to create, to wander, to listen. Saint Montan felt like stepping into another century. Ancient stone houses climbed the hillside, narrow pathways twisted between walls worn smooth by time, and every corner seemed to invite slowing down.
I found myself paying attention to things I often overlook when life becomes busy: the way sunlight moved across a wall, the scent of wild herbs growing between stones, the sound of cicadas filling the afternoon air, the silence that arrived after they stopped. There was no intense pressure to produce anything. Only an invitation to be present. And perhaps that was the real work.
Over the past few years, I have spent a great deal of time healing, rebuilding, and finding my footing again. Much of that journey required structure, reflection, and conscious effort. Yet somewhere in Saint Montan, I noticed a different energy emerging. Less effort. More curiosity. Less planning. More trust.
I started feeling drawn toward things without necessarily understanding why. A conversation. A photograph. A path I hadn't intended to take. An idea that arrived unexpectedly and refused to leave. Instead of questioning it, I simply followed. My body seemed to know before my mind did. There is a particular kind of freedom that emerges when we stop asking where something is leading and allow ourselves to experience it as it unfolds. The residency reminded me of something I had almost forgotten: creativity is not always something we do. Sometimes it is something we listen to.
After Saint Montan, I travelled north to the Champagne region to visit a dear friend. The landscape changed, but the feeling remained. Rows of vineyards stretched across gentle hills, disappearing into the horizon. Everything seemed shaped by patience: the vines, the cellars, the generations of knowledge passed from one pair of hands to another. During a tour of a champagne house, our guide introduced us to a French term I had never heard before: prise de mousse.
Literally, it refers to the stage in champagne production when the second fermentation begins inside the bottle. It is the moment when the wine starts its transformation into champagne. Sugar, yeast, time, and pressure work together in silence. From the outside, nothing appears to be happening. Yet this is where the bubbles are born. I found myself returning to the phrase long after we left the cellar.
Prise de mousse. The taking of foam. The creation of effervescence. A quiet becoming. Perhaps because it felt strangely familiar. For the past few years, much of my life has felt like a form of prise de mousse. Not dramatic transformation, but subtle shifts happening beneath the surface. Changes that could not always be seen or measured. Grief slowly becoming wisdom. Solitude becoming self-trust. Healing becoming freedom. And lately, something else has been fermenting.
Creativity.
Not the creativity attached to outcomes, projects, or expectations. Something more instinctive than that. A growing desire to follow inspiration wherever it leads. To say yes to curiosity. To experiment without knowing the result. To allow beauty, wonder, and playfulness to take up more space. What struck me most about prise de mousse is that the bubbles cannot be rushed. The transformation happens in darkness. In stillness. In its own time. The pressure is not a sign that something is wrong. It is part of what makes the champagne possible.
Standing there among thousands of bottles resting quietly in the cool cellar, I wondered how often we misinterpret our own periods of uncertainty. How often we assume that because we cannot yet see the outcome, nothing is happening. Yet some of the most important transformations occur precisely in those unseen spaces. A dream gathering strength. A new identity taking shape. A creative practice finding its voice. A part of ourselves preparing to rise to the surface.
Looking back, I realise that Saint Montan and Champagne were offering the same lesson - trust what is happening beneath the surface. Trust what your body is drawn toward. Trust the quiet excitement that appears before there is a plan. Trust the spark before it becomes a project. Not everything needs to be understood immediately. Some things need to be felt first.
As I returned home, I carried memories and something even less tangible - a growing willingness to let inspiration lead. To create without needing certainty. To step outside my comfort zone not because I have mapped the destination, but because something inside me feels alive when I move in that direction. Perhaps this season of my life is its own prise de mousse. A period of quiet transformation. A deepening trust in intuition. A gentle shift toward creativity, wonder, and possibility. Not a grand reinvention. Not an arrival. Simply the recognition that somewhere beneath the surface, bubbles are already forming.
