#10 On Moonlight
Alone with the moon
I’m writing about my creative adventures, inspired by Julia Cameron’s idea of ‘Artist Dates’. She describes these as “solo expeditions to do something that enchants or interests you.” These dates replenish my energy, spark new ideas, help me tune into the seasons, and make me feel braver in the world. I hope they inspire you, too.
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I spent an afternoon alone with the moon—and I loved it.
At the Museum of Docklands, I stepped into a dark gallery lit by Luke Jerram’s installation Museum of the Moon. A huge, glowing orb showing detailed NASA imagery of the lunar surface.
While there were cushions and seats around the room, I stood and stared at the moon’s craters, mountains and valleys. It was intimate, almost rude, to see so much of the moon. To be moving around its edges, rather than watching it rise and fall behind the horizon.
This moon was part of an exhibition on the secrets the Thames holds—how the moon and tides make mudlarking possible, revealing treasures hidden beneath the river. A soundscape by Felix Taylor echoed through the room: mudlarkers’ calls, objects dropped and lifted from water.
I was the only person viewing the moon and I wasn’t sure how I felt. Facing the moon was like facing a mirror. Those dark shadows, those dusty channels, those deep seas. I circled the moon, noting pinkish-white light on one side, blueish on another. My hands glowed purple.
The moon is one way I chart time. I note its cycles in my diary and calendar. One of my favourite moments in a month is walking in moonlight. I did this on Saturday night, crossing busy road, then slipping onto quieter streets, marvelling at how bright the almost-full moon was. I almost tripped over a fox lying on the pavement. Of course it darted away, but it shone reddish-silver. It really shone under the moon.
These Artist Dates are offering a good, steadying presence in my life. To read poetry, go to the cinema, stroll by ancient trees, look at the moon. These things are much needed with the news so bleak. Thinking of creativity at the moment feels so difficult, but I’ve been holding close these words from poet Ada Limón:
To sit with a poem or take a walk in the woods isn’t an abdication or a kind of quietism. It’s a reminder of what this is all for. It’s an opportunity to muster the strength to continue, and to see just a little bit more clearly, and maybe respond just a little more compassionately.
One final thought: this full moon also brings the Jewish festival of Sukkot. I’m Jewish, though it’s not a festival I usually mark. The tradition invites us to spend the next seven days outdoors, under moonlight—gathering, eating and sleeping in a temporary structure called a sukkah. Its roof is woven from branches so you can gaze up at the sky. A table might be laden with fruits, lit by candlelight, surrounded by flowers.
I love this reminder to turn outward and upwards, to look beyond our own homes, to notice who might need care. To consider where our energy is most needed, both locally and in the wider world.
October’s full moon rises tomorrow, 7 October, at 4.48am in the UK. It’s a supermoon, likely to appear large and bright in the sky. Let’s all remember to look up!
October 2025. This essay is by me, Gemma Seltzer. I run Write & Shine, a programme of early morning writing workshops. This season is about trees and creativity and we have free events open to all, too!
More on Luke Jerram’s touring moon installation here. You can visit the moon I saw—I’ll call it *my* moon—at the London Museum Docklands until March 2026.
I love the sound of that tradition Gemma. I too am quite lunatic. The pull of the moon last night was so powerful! Love to think of you toddling off on your artists dates.
Exquisitely written: Gemma alone with her Moon.