Seasons of an Artist's Life

The rhythm of the studio doesn’t always stay confined to working hours. Ideas creep into quiet moments—when I should be resting, when I’m falling asleep, when I least expect them. My mind lingers on unfinished pieces, the way layers of paint interact, the soft resistance of a dry brush dragged across a textured canvas, the contrast between light and shadow. I think about color constantly—whether I have enough ochre and cobalt in my paint inventory, whether I need to stock up on raw linen canvases before my next big creative wave. Being an artist means being both the creator and the business owner, the visionary and the problem solver. Some days, that freedom feels exhilarating. Other days, it’s overwhelming enough to make me want to throw in the towel.

But just like the seasons, the creative cycle keeps moving. The stark, skeletal trees of winter will soon be cloaked in verdant green. The frozen ground will thaw, giving way to wildflowers that explode in vibrant hues of fuchsia, saffron, and indigo. Dormancy will shift into growth. And as long as I continue showing up—through the slow, gray days and the bursts of inspiration alike—the work will continue to evolve, just as it should. 

After wrapping up two intense weeks of workshops, I’ve realized that my plans to plant my vegetable garden are colliding head-on with the demands of creative learning. But, like anything in life, it’s all about balance. Nurturing both my artistic growth and my garden leaves me feeling fulfilled—and maybe even a little wiser. After all, I’m getting those seeds in the ground before the summer heat and its ever-persistent companions, the mosquitoes, arrive in full force.

Until next week!