I’ve been stuck. Creatively blocked, uninspired, tired, unmotivated—there are many ways to say it, but it’s all part of the same pile of ‘uck’. It snuck in slowly, like a dark cloud over my shoulder. In November, I was on fire. Then, sometime after the holidays, I started to feel like I was missing a certain spark. My desire to go into the studio was low, and when I did go, a lot of time was spent making mud. Certain nothing good would come of toughing it out, I’d turn out the lights and quietly get on with the other business of the day.
I would speak with my galleries and friends: “I’m so frustrated. I don’t know, is it hormones? I can’t deliver. I feel like I’m getting old. I just don’t have the passion for it. I think I’ve lost my mojo. Why can’t I just do it? I need to find my spark. Maybe I should just focus on my other projects. I’m kind of numb.”
Months went by. I generally avoided the studio, trying not to worry about the fact that my production is directly linked to my income. I listened to my trusty little voice that said, “Rest up, it’s going to be okay.” I walked in the forest and dedicated my time to desk projects, yard work and retreat planning.
Most importantly, I became completely available to our beloved senior dog, Chester. I barely left his side for the last few months of his long life. I navigated his pathways, carried him upstairs, and steered him around obstacles. I prepared his favorite meals on demand, bathed him, and made sure he had his little brown sweater on when it was cold. We napped wrapped up together almost every day and went to bed early every night. He was my constant companion in life, my shadow. Now it was my turn to follow him. When he left us, it took quite a long while, but I was able to grieve him fully and completely.
I’ve always known that slumps, creative or otherwise, are a natural part of the human experience. They mysteriously come and go for all of us on some level. As much as we try to understand them, dealing with them can be challenging and scary. They can stem from various factors, including burnout, stress, grief, or even the lack of a clear deadline or goal, such as a scheduled solo show. Hmmm, now there’s something to that—this was the first time in over 23 years that I did not have a winter solo show. Noted.
Whatever the cause of my block—most likely a perfect storm of various factors—I can now look back and see it as a true gift.
Slowly, I’m beginning to hear the call of the studio and feel the tingle of inspiration returning. The slump is ending as mysteriously as it started and I’m excited to get to work. For anyone reading this from the depths of “stuck,” know that you’re not alone. I’ve been there, and I’m just beginning to see light at the end of a pretty long tunnel. Some helpful strategies include giving yourself a deadline, changing your environment, seeking new sources of inspiration, experimenting without pressure, and setting small, achievable goals.
Or maybe just rest in it awhile. Accept it. Be kind to yourself, be present and trust that the spark never truly goes out. It’s always there, waiting.
Love,
Laura. xo
