So many thoughts float in my head. Very little time to implement. In this chapter of my life, days are filled with caring for other family members, business-related tasks, and cooking from scratch. Somewhere in between, I’m craving Pockets of Solitude, small moments of silence, creative expression and being just me (not a mother, partner or entrepreneur). Lately, I often find myself daydreaming, reflecting on what’s next in the creative expression mental bucket. What brings me creative joy in this era, when daily life feels so demanding and exhausting?
Can creating with my hands reintroduce some joy and relaxation into my life? Like it used to, in the past?
Sometimes, I remind myself of my creative past. When, as a teenager studying at art school, I was so immersed in the studios, practising in a state of flow. Really enjoying my artworks forming right in front of me. Or the times when I was off from my 9-to-5, before I had kids. I was creating with curiosity, taking my time.
I feel that part of the issue is social media. An overwhelming amount of content. The algorithm is feeding my brain with viral posts from other visual artists. Whether I like it or not, I jump into comparison mode, not intentionally, of course. 15–20 years ago, it just wasn’t there. Every time I went to a museum or an art gallery, or looked through art albums, I felt inspired but not pressured. Don’t get me wrong, I have an appreciation for Instagram. After all, the majority of my brand photography clients find me through the platform with no paid ads. But when it comes to visual arts, I feel like it is often a mental minefield. I’m trying to actively reduce my time on social media platforms, write more, and reflect on what I want to create in my very limited windows. In recent months, I’ve also been reducing the amount of time I spend watching stuff on Netflix in the evenings. All the content out there somehow makes me feel more disconnected from my core. As I’m writing this, I’ve left my mobile phone in another room and turned on flight mode on the tablet to avoid distractions and temptations. It’s interesting to allow myself to type freely; is it just me, or have AI tools rapidly made us question our ability to write? I still remember my amazement when I first asked ChatGPT a question and the lines started to form right in front of my eyes, faster than I could read them.
Offline thoughts, back to the point. What sparks my creative joy?
Covering pages with colour and watching gouache paint dry and turn from glossy to matte. Simply being in the moment.
Cutting painted pages into shapes without much planning. Just letting my hand do its thing.
Layering shapes on paper, watching how colours interact with each other.
Having some sort of creative restrictions and working in mini-series. Having 3–10 sheets of paper around me at the same time, creating in batches.
Listening to non-fiction audiobooks while I create, classical takes on modern songs (think Bridgerton soundtrack), or hearing the birds outside.
Adding embroidery threads to the composition. Symbolically, it connects me with my ancestors (who made leather handbags).
Taking my time at the end of the process, finalising my compositions with inky details.
Overall, the more intuitive and mindless the process, the better it feels to my overstimulated mind.Even though most of my career as a visual artist was connected to the black-and-white aesthetic, I am now drawn to colourful, abstract, layered artworks that leave space to experiment with new materials and techniques in the future. Now that I don’t have my studio shop as a full-time source of income (I had to reorganise my career after baby no 3 came along), I can indeed focus on creating for my own enjoyment.
I was putting together a wholesale order today for a shop in Galway, my most active wholesaler. A broad mix of small black-and-white linocut prints I’ve created over the last 6 years. For a moment, I thought maybe I should design a new series of linocuts, but at this time it’s the colour, texture, and layers that spark joy. This might change; I’m not closing that door.
It’s so nice and quiet in the bedroom; I can still hear the birds outside and can feel my eyes becoming heavier. It’s only 8 pm, but my youngest came to our bed last night around 3:30 am and didn’t fall back asleep until 5:30 am. I know that this will pass, and one day I’ll wake up, and there will just be the two of us in the house; life will be much quieter. Every time I feel exhausted because of the small kids, I remind myself of the final scenes from the movie About Time, where Tim’s father shares his secret that, once in a while, he travels back in time to an ordinary day when the kids were small and enjoys the little routines they shared. When my two older kids were smaller, I often imagined I had come back to this day from the future to enjoy that life stage once again. A small shift of perspective, a little mind game, but it worked wonders for how grateful I felt.
