The Beauty of Starting Again

The Beauty of Starting Again: Returning to the Studio After Six Years

There are seasons of life when creating comes easily, and others when creativity looks nothing like you imagined.

For me, the past six years have been a season of becoming.

Although I never stopped calling myself an artist, I stepped away from having a dedicated studio. I wasn't producing collections or spending every day surrounded by paper, paint, and printing presses. Instead, I was building something less visible—healing, experiencing new places, creating a home, strengthening relationships, and allowing life itself to become part of my creative practice.

Today, I'm finally returning to a studio of my own.

And surprisingly, I don't feel like I'm picking up where I left off.

I feel like I'm beginning again.

Why I Stepped Away From My Art Studio

When people hear that I spent six years without a dedicated art studio, they're often surprised. Looking back, it wasn't a creative decision as much as it was a deeply personal one.

After a significant breakup, I found myself questioning everything—including the version of myself I had built through my work. My studio had become intertwined with a chapter of my life that had suddenly ended, and walking into that space no longer felt inspiring. It felt heavy.

For years, black paper had been one of my favorite materials. It became the foundation of many of my layered paper pieces. But after the breakup, even something as simple as looking at a blank sheet of black paper brought back memories I wasn't ready to face.

My artwork had always been bright, hopeful, and filled with curiosity.

At the time, I wasn't.

When your inner world changes, your creative work often changes with it—or, in my case, it paused altogether.

So instead of forcing myself to create work that no longer felt honest, I gave myself permission to step away.

I left Chicago.

I traveled.

I learned how to be alone.

I built new friendships, explored unfamiliar places, and slowly began creating something I hadn't realized I needed first: a life that felt like my own.

Those years weren't empty. They were quietly shaping me in ways I couldn't yet see.

Looking back now, I don't think I stepped away from creating.

I think I was creating a foundation for the next chapter of my life.

Creativity Doesn't Always Look Like Making Art

One of the biggest lessons I've learned is that creativity isn't measured by how many paintings you finish or how often you post online.

Sometimes creativity looks like learning how to slow down.

Sometimes it looks like building a home.

Sometimes it looks like making dinner with people you love, taking the long way home, traveling somewhere unfamiliar, or simply finding yourself again.

For a long time, I believed I had to be constantly producing in order to call myself an artist.

Now I know better.

Every experience eventually becomes part of the work.

The conversations, landscapes, grief, joy, uncertainty, and quiet mornings all find their way back into the creative process.

The joy you see in my artwork today isn't something I can simply paint onto the page.

It's something I had to rediscover first.

Returning to the Studio With Fresh Eyes

Walking into a new studio after six years feels different than I imagined.

There's excitement, of course.

But there's also humility.

I don't expect everything to come naturally again. Like any craft, creating requires practice. My hands will remember some things immediately, while others will take time.

That's part of the beauty.

Instead of trying to recreate the artist I was six years ago, I'm choosing to become curious about the artist I am today.

The work doesn't need to look the same.

Neither do I.

How Nature Continues to Shape My Artwork

One thing hasn't changed.

Nature continues to be the foundation of nearly everything I create.

Birds, changing seasons, organic movement, weathered textures, winding paths, and quiet landscapes have always reminded me that growth is rarely dramatic.

It happens slowly.

The same is true in the studio.

Every layer of paper, every mark, and every decision builds upon the one before it.

My process has always been rooted in patience. Hand-cutting paper, layering textures, and allowing each piece to evolve over time mirrors the way life itself unfolds.

There's something deeply rewarding about creating original artwork by hand.

Allowing imperfections to exist.

Trusting that the finished piece will tell a richer story because of them.

Building a Creative Space That Feels Like Home

This new studio represents far more than four walls.

It's a place to experiment again.

To make mistakes.

To rediscover materials I haven't touched in years.

To create without worrying whether every piece is worthy of sharing online.

After years of living in transition, having a permanent creative space feels like an incredible gift.

I'm taking my time filling it.

Every piece of furniture, every shelf, every tool, and every window has been chosen intentionally because this isn't simply where artwork will be made.

It's where the next chapter begins.

Why Starting Again Can Be the Best Thing for Your Creativity

Whether you're an artist, writer, musician, entrepreneur, or simply someone navigating change, starting over can feel intimidating.

We often assume we need to return exactly as we were.

But maybe that's not the goal.

Maybe growth asks something different of us.

Maybe the experiences that pulled us away are the very things that give our work new depth.

Looking back, I wouldn't erase the years away from the studio.

Those years taught me patience.

Perspective.

Gratitude.

They reminded me that our value isn't measured by our productivity.

Sometimes the most important thing we create isn't a painting.

Sometimes it's a life that finally feels like home.

Looking Ahead

As I unpack supplies, organize shelves, and slowly begin creating again, I'm allowing myself to approach this season with curiosity instead of pressure.

Some pieces will succeed.

Others won't.

Some ideas will surprise me.

Others will stay in the sketchbook.

That's part of being an artist.

The studio isn't a place where everything has to be perfect.

It's a place where possibility lives.

After six years away, I'm incredibly grateful to walk through its doors once again—not as the artist I was, but as the artist life has quietly shaped me into.

Frequently Asked Questions

Why did you stop making artwork?

I never stopped being an artist, but I needed time away from the studio after a significant life change. During those years I focused on healing, traveling, building meaningful relationships, and creating a home. Those experiences now influence every piece I make.

What inspires your artwork?

Nature is at the heart of my work. Birds, changing seasons, movement, texture, and quiet moments all influence my layered paper pieces and original artwork.

Are you creating new original artwork?

Yes. Returning to my studio means I'm actively developing new collections, experimenting with materials, and accepting commissions again.

Can I follow your creative journey?

Absolutely. I'll continue sharing behind-the-scenes moments from my studio, new artwork, and reflections on the creative process here on the blog and on social media.