My Creative Winter Thaws

After a two year hiatus, I am returning to my creative practice. I discuss artistic burnout under the weight of commodification and my desire to create art just for the hell of it.

From a young age, I believed that I was destined to be an artist. It was all I wanted to do. Someday far in the future, when I was grown-up with an art degree from some official school, I would make a living with a paintbrush and a dream. All of this would of course take place in a chic yet chaotic loft apartment setting with floor to ceiling windows in the metropolis of my choosing. Okay, that sounds pretty naive and maybe I was a little more grounded in reality than all that, but you get the picture. I had the loftiest of dreams. You could call me an idealist. And if you yourself are an idealist, or know someone in your life that is, you know that reality can feel a little harsh to someone who spends their day fantasizing about perfection.

I see in hyperbole. Potential is my love language. My head is up in the clouds and my feet float just off the ground. Because of that gravity can come as a real downer sometimes.

I had unrealistic dreams of what success as an artist would look like. I never got there. I never even finished art school, I never got a job as an artist, and I certainly never made a full-time living from my art. And that’s not for want of trying. I’ve worked in many mediums, each new experience blossoming into another unrealized pursuit of artistic solvency. Maybe I’ve gotten close, a time or two. I’ve sold some work, sure. But ultimately, I could never make the jump to doing it full time. Instead my identity was tied to whatever non-creative jobs I did to pay the bills, which, as a lot of artists can relate to, have been many.

I grew up with this idea that, unless you were earning your living through art sales, you were not, in fact, an artist. This was an idea planted in me at a young age. The societal model of what makes something a success is largely tied to the amount of revenue it generates. Many of us grew up hearing, seeing, and believing a whole set of ideas centered around creating monetary value, first and foremost.

There are bills to pay. If you are doing anything, it should be generating value. Turn your passion into a side hustle. Monetize your talent. Commodify your dreams. Make. that. money.

It’s a hard belief system to break out of. I’d be lying if I said I was free from it. I’m totally not. I do still dream of supporting myself with my art. If I want to spend my days creating, I still believe I must find a way to fund the time it takes to create it. That belief adds stakes to the game. I have never been able to sustain under that kind of pressure. Historically, I burn out. I’m tired of burning out.

I want to return to the belief I had as a child, that art is for art’s sake. Art is for OUR sake. It reminds us of the beautiful. Beauty is what calls to us even in the worst of places, as a plea. Remember how wonderful this is. How incredible. As an artist you have been conscripted to recognize it, capture it, translate it, then share it. So that we all can keep remembering.

And that is what I have done. Even in my own inconsistent way, I have managed to amass a body of work over the past 20 years that makes me pause. It makes me feel like I’m an artist, after all. Even though I’ve had so many failures, I have also shared a lot of beauty. And I want to keep sharing.

So after feeling empty and lost without an artistic practice for the past two years, I’m more determined than ever to return to it. Sometimes wandering in the desert of your soul can give you a new perspective on what matters most. To me, art has always mattered, will always matter. It is how I see and how I communicate. By losing my artistic process, I lost my ability to process the world around me, to communicate how I felt. It’s an awful feeling. One that I’m not keen to feel again anytime soon.

So, I’ve got a lot of work to do and I am excited about the ideas I have brewing. Not all of them will come to fruition, of course, but I know some will. This newsletter, the studio life, is one of those ideas. It’s a way to accommodate my desire to share my journey with you, but limit my exposure to social media environments that control what I see, who I see, and who sees me.

Here, it’s just you and I. We can talk about art for art’s sake. We can talk about books and travel and life. We can talk about the food we cook for ourselves, for our lovers, for your children, for our found families. We can collaborate with and challenge one another. It can be about the small things, because they’re important too.

In the coming weeks you can expect to see new original paintings, highlights from a daily digital illustration practice, illustrated recipes from my kitchen because I love food, my slow return to ceramics, reading recommendations, behind-the-scenes content from my latest projects, my daily inspirations, and more.

In next week’s newsletter, I’ll be walking you through my process for starting a series of paintings and sharing some of the goals I have for my next collection. In the meantime, if you’re interested in seeing examples of my past work, head on over to my website.

Thank you for being here,

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