I haven’t been painting as much lately. All of my painting supplies are in my room, in the two-door large wooden unit where I keep them. My paintings supplies take up about half of my room. I haven’t finished a painting in at least 5 months. Maybe more. And if I have it’s just one.
You would think for how much I love art I would churn out more.
Art has been a part of my identity for years.
I am made to create.
But I have been in a season where my creativity, at least in the forms that it used to show up in, has been sparse.
The question that keeps popping up in my head is... Am I missing out on part of who I am by not painting?
There’s something similar to regret in my heart sometimes when I think about how long it has been since I have created.
It’s not a painful regret. It more so is a wondering.
Wondering if I should be creating more.
And so my supplies sit there. At the back of my mind.
And I wonder if I should be using them more.
And just this morning I thought of the words that give form to this season and uproot this slight rumple of wondering.
I haven’t deserted art.
I haven’t deserted my creativity.
It’s on reserve.
It will come back in full force in another season when it is needed.
I am growing in other areas.
I am becoming more leadership literate. I’ve learned how to be more social instead of creatively, yet intentionally secluded.
I’ve learned to explore. I’ve learned to be busy.
I have noticed that I create in seasons of drastic change, and, particularly, heartache.
And seasons of rest.
Art is a life-long pursuit. It is not deserted.
I do not have seasons where I am an artist. I am always creator. And there will be seasons where there is more time for art and where art will be the natural result of living once again.
This season is just different.
It will be back.