I’m in another time of wordlessness.
I’m worried that this time, it’s for good, and I won’t revive my creativity again.
I know that saying, writing or feeling this way doesn’t make it accurate. I know it’s been an extended period of not being in my studio and not opening up that side of me. So, in this piece of writing, I’m hoping the reader in me reads these words:
It’s okay. She’s still there. She’s eager to come to life again, but she’s patient, understanding and willing to hold space for me to get there when I get there.
It’s been an extended period of a lot of things. A lot of hard things. But they don’t define me, nor do they erase who I once was.
Sometimes, writing words and forming sentences and thoughts on paper isn’t the same as playing with paint, making something with my hands or glueing things together to form something new.
So perhaps something beautiful can still come from this time of wordlessness. Maybe all I need is to reconnect with a space that uses no words to describe another type of reality.
Perhaps creativity isn’t lost but simply changing forms, like water shifting between states – from flowing river to still lake, gathering strength before the next movement.
My hands remember even when my words forget.
