There’s something about the beginning of Fall that makes change feel a little more noticeable. Maybe it’s the light. The days getting shorter. The first hint of coolness in the air after months of summer. Or the way the natural world seems to begin quietly pulling inward.
I’ve always loved this time of year, but this year I’m noticing the changing season a little differently because, in many ways, I feel like I’m moving through a changing season of my own.
Life feels quieter these days. The rhythms that once filled my days have shifted. People I love are moving into new chapters of their lives, responsibilities have changed, and some of the things that once happened easily or spontaneously require more effort now. My world has become a little smaller and a little slower. And if I’m being honest, there are days when that quiet feels peaceful. And there are days when it feels very lonely.
I think we tend to talk about slowing down as though it is always this lovely, restorative thing. Light a candle. Make some tea. Read a book. Enjoy the stillness. But stillness can be complicated. Sometimes we choose it, and sometimes life chooses it for us. Sometimes it gives us room to hear ourselves again, and sometimes it makes us acutely aware of what we miss. I’ve been thinking about that quite a bit lately - especially when it comes to painting.
Finding Creativity in a Quieter Life
For years, I think I associated creativity with inspiration and momentum. An idea would arrive, I would feel excited about it, and that energy would carry me into the studio. But I’m beginning to understand that creativity has seasons too.
There are seasons when ideas seem to tumble over one another and you can’t possibly make everything you want to make. And there are seasons when finding your way back to the canvas requires a little more intention. This feels like one of those seasons for me.
I’m learning how to find my painting within the quieter spaces of my life. Not necessarily waiting until I feel wildly inspired. Not expecting every studio session to result in something wonderful. Sometimes it’s simply picking up a brush. Mixing a color I love. Working on one small section of a painting. Sitting with an unfinished piece long enough to hear what it might need next.
I’ve spent enough years making art to know that creativity doesn’t disappear just because it becomes quiet. Sometimes it is simply waiting for us to meet it where we are.
And Then, Of Course, Comes the Busy Season
The funny thing is that just as nature begins slowing down, life has a way of speeding up. Fall leads quickly into the holidays, and for those of us who craft things, this can be one of the busiest times of the year. There are markets and orders and gifts to make. There are newsletters to send, packages to wrap, gatherings to attend and endless lists of things that somehow need to happen before the end of December. The studio can very quickly shift from being the place where we create to the place where we produce. There is nothing wrong with that. I’m incredibly grateful whenever something I’ve created finds its way into someone else’s home. But I also know how easy it is for the business of being an artist to quietly consume the actual practice of being one.
And so this year, as I head into the busiest part of my studio calendar, I’m trying to protect a few pockets of time that don’t have an agenda attached to them. Time to paint something simply because I want to. Time to experiment. Time to make something that doesn’t need to become a product or a post or even a finished painting. Maybe it’s an hour. Maybe some weeks it’s only twenty minutes. I’m beginning to think the amount of time matters much less than protecting the connection.
Making Room for Both
Perhaps that’s what this particular season is teaching me. There can be quiet and busyness at the same time. There can be loneliness and gratitude. There can be responsibilities that need our attention and still be small corners of our lives that belong entirely to us. And creativity doesn’t necessarily need ideal circumstances. It just needs a little room.
I’ve always been drawn to painting flowers, and I believe that’s one of the reasons why. A garden never looks exactly the same from one season to the next. Some months are overflowing with color. Others look almost empty. But an empty garden isn’t a garden that has stopped growing. There is still something happening beneath the surface. I think creative lives are much the same.
We aren’t meant to create at exactly the same pace, with exactly the same energy, throughout every season of our lives. There will be abundant seasons and quiet ones. Seasons when we have hours to give to our work and seasons when we have very little.
The important thing, I think, is not to mistake a quieter season for the end of something. Sometimes it’s simply a transition. And perhaps our job isn’t to fight against it, but to keep making a little room for the things that make us feel most like ourselves. For me, that means finding my way back to the easel, again and again and again - even if some days all I have is a small pocket of time and a little bit of paint. That’s enough to keep the garden growing.
And if you happen to be moving through a changing season of your own, maybe the invitation is simply to ask yourself what you want to keep making room for. It doesn’t have to be painting - or even something creative. Maybe it’s reading, gardening, walking, writing, seeing a friend, or anything else that helps you feel connected to yourself. Protect a small pocket of time for it, even when life feels too quiet or far too busy. You don’t have to wait for your circumstances to change or for a new season to arrive. Sometimes tending to one small thing that matters to you is enough.
