Slowing down is good for your art. In a world that glorifies speed, I’ve found that art blooms when we take our time. I don’t want to work faster. Really I don’t. Sometimes I’d like to feel less like I’m wasting time on roads that seem to lead nowhere…but I know those are important roads to travel because everything I try that doesn’t work leads me in a new direction and everything I try that I don’t enjoy reminds me that the only map I need to follow is one that leads to happy. And spoiler, if I only create art from a place of joy, all roads lead to happy. What a concept!
Lately I’ve been sidelined from creating very much. First it was my knees making it painful to walk, slowing me down physically and creatively. Then came our new rescue dog Tali—completely untrained, a love bug, but one filled with wild energy—demanding my time and patience. Eye issues made focusing painful, and a tooth infection came along just for fun, knocking me out when I least expected it. (That wasn’t so bad in itself, but the caffeine withdrawal and antibiotics are kicking my backside.) And I am going to PT twice a week, probably indefinitely, to help keep my arthritis at a manageable level.
TMI?
So why am I sharing a bunch of stuff that a lot of folks will think is too much personal information? Because that’s my real life. (And I’m still creating.) And you have your real life, which might be peppered with illness or caregiving or planning weddings or baby showers or moving or job changes—or, horrors, all of the above. But you can still create.
Life doesn’t wait for the ‘perfect time’ to create, and those small pockets of time become precious opportunities to make something meaningful. I’ve learned that creativity isn’t about having endless hours; it’s about finding these moments amidst the curveballs, adapting to what we have, and creating anyway.
As a creative all of my life I have always found ways to fit my creative pursuits into whatever pockets of time I had. When my children were little I wrote my books while they napped and edited manuscripts while cheering at Little League games. Even during my busiest days, creating brought a sense of calm and purpose, something just for me amidst the chaos. Today I stitch between breaks to walk the dog and visits to PT and just moving around to keep my joints loose. Creating my art grounds me. It lets me root myself in a place of joy so I can grow into the artist I am meant to be. You can’t force something to root. It takes time.
Making art isn’t a race. I get sad when someone tells me they want to make a certain kind of art but it will take too long. Some of my art has taken me several years to complete because I just didn’t know enough, yet, to get to the finish line. I’m okay with that. I hope you are too.
It took time for me not only learn and become proficient at various stitches but I had to learn the language of the various fibers. Some were best for French knots. Some were better for vines or flat stitching. And some of the times were nothing but frustration as I failed to achieve the effect I had hoped to achieve. Every moment spent experimenting became part of the story woven into each piece.
But here’s the thing. None of it was wasted time. The process of trial and error and learning creates an energy in me. And when I honor that process, I transfer the energy to the final piece of art.
If making art is something you enjoy, whether or not you want to call yourself a professional or sell your art, time shouldn’t factor into it. If you know me at all you will know the only thing I think that matters when you sit down to create is, are you having fun? Can you not wait to get to work every day? Are you obsessed with your current project? If you aren’t having a fun, try something else, try ALL the things until you find that one thing that sparks your heart. You only need a little spark and you can fan it into a continuous flame of joy.
Art isn’t about speed; it’s about savoring each moment, letting yourself take root in joy. Slow down, nourish those creative roots, and trust that growth will come in its own time.
The joy is in the process, not the pace.
