Away from the Studio
It hurts being away from my studio. I know people often say that you can make art anywhere, and maybe some artists can. But for me, art doesn’t come from chaos. It comes from stillness, rhythm, and a sense of inner order. Life has felt incredibly scattered lately.
The last few months have passed in a haze — one child preparing for her 10th boards, the younger one needing attention in completely different ways, house helps leaving exactly when you need them the most, and travel that was more work than rest. It has been constant movement without pause.
I’m finally back home. It’s only been three days, but those days have gone into unpacking, settling back in, reorganizing the house, and trying to return to some version of normal life.
I recently came across the term “window of tolerance” — the nervous system’s capacity to hold stress while still remaining grounded and functional. That phrase stayed with me because lately, I feel like mine has narrowed. Not because of one dramatic event, but because of continuous fragmentation. And maybe that’s why I miss my studio so deeply.
For me, the studio is not just a physical place where paintings get made. It’s a psychological space. A place where my mind stops scattering in ten directions. Where thoughts can complete themselves. Where silence returns. Where I can finally access parts of myself that get buried under responsibility.
People romanticize artists being able to create anywhere, but I think many of us actually need containment. We need rituals, familiarity, repetition, and uninterrupted thought. Creativity, at least for me, does not bloom under constant interruption. It blooms when the nervous system feels safe enough to wander. I’m slowly trying to find my way back to that space again.