Creating as a Way Back to Myself

A crooked shot of a 6’x3’ acrylic self portrait from 2006

I didn’t come to art looking for healing. It was just always there.

A place to be honest. A place to feel safe. A place where I could finally hear myself think.

Even early on, my work was deeply personal. I painted my relationship with food and body, long before I had the words to name what I was working through. I didn’t call it ritual or self-reclamation then. It was just… what I did. What I needed.

Where Flow Lives

Now, years later, I realize that making has always been the most honest version of home I’ve ever known.

It’s where I find flow.

Where I stop spiraling.

Where I remember that I belong to something.

Creating, especially when I’m not trying to perfect anything, feels like freedom.

Not the performative kind. The quiet, rooted kind.

The kind that says, “You’re allowed to be messy. You’re allowed to be here.”

Pulling weeds as a metaphor for letting go of what no longer serves.

🌱 Garden, Studio, Self

Lately, I’ve been thinking about weeding as a form of creative clarity.

Each weed I pull is a thought I don’t need.

Each one makes space for light and breath and presence.

The act of weeding, like painting, becomes a way to clear space in my body too.

A way to say: I’m here. I’m listening.

“Hands in the act of making, colorful and messy, free in the moment.”

✨ You Don’t Have to Monetize It

I used to wonder what I was going to do with all this art.

Who it was for.

What it was “worth.”

But now I’m letting go of that.

Art is not a transaction.

Art is a return.

Some sketchbook action on the go.

Your Turn

What’s one creative act that helps you feel more like yourself?

Is there something small you can do this week, just for the joy of it?

In the zone.