Something about this fits
To my friend,
I missed my letter to you two weeks ago. I knew I was going to drop it as that Sunday neared. And following, I put pressure on myself to get the damn thing out. I have the letter written, but everything that comes after the writing (gathering images, formatting, scheduling, etc.) can sometimes overwhelm my process. It’s also a reflection of where I’m finding myself these days.
In many recent conversations, there is a wave of something familiar in the air. It tends to be expressed as general burnout, the desire to tear down and build ideas back up in a more simple and spacious way, a lack of interest, and deep questioning. These conversations are happening in the creative industry, yet I think they are being felt beyond, too.
I certainly felt it/am feeling it. Many of you know last year, I took significant strides back. I stopped using social media altogether (full disclosure I am on TikTok but solely for my daily dose of dog dopamine). I shifted my business. I scaled back offerings I knew my body couldn’t physically sustain to meet demand. None of these decisions come easily. My busy brain easily convinces me that if I had just pushed through, I would have rendered a breakthrough.
But would I have?
Instead, in this new space acquired, I am reading more. I am walking more. I finally started exercising again. I am planning trips. And seeing friends. I am investing in my home.
Contentment is hugely present. It’s scary and uncomfortable because this wasn’t my intent for this space. A part of me is still nagging. Something asking, “Hey, what the hell are you doing? You’re letting people down. You’re letting yourself down.”
I verbalized, at the onset of this year, that I created this extra space to be engaged in making artwork - not the activities listed above. I had a collection idea brewing and began exploring themes in my sketchbook. I met with an artist consultant, accepted feedback on my work, and kept charging forward. I felt busy. Yet, looking back, I am skeptical about what I have actually materialized. I have maybe six pieces I would call complete (or near complete). Six.
Then, the other day, I connected my AirPods to my iPhone and opened my Spotify app in search of the latest podcast episode from Marlee Grace. I’ve distantly followed Marlee’s work for a few years, occasionally reading their
newsletter. And it was their newsletter that introduced me to their new podcast, Common Shapes. I, at first, wasn’t overly interested in another podcast informing me on what I should be doing - however, something was comforting and friendly in Marlee’s voice. The episode was an interview with the artist Lukaza Branfman-Verissimo ( ) - the one who designed Marlee’s newsletter and podcast artwork, which I adore.Inside the episode, I heard the term process artist. Process artist.
Words often stick with me for some time. Occasionally, I immediately understand their meaning in my life, and other times I slowly grow into their ideas.
Google search results will tell you that a process artist emphasizes the process of making art. The product of art is not the primary focus.
I am still meditating - and stress testing - but something about this fits. And feels like home. It offers me a window to look back on what I have gathered for my sky collection. Through this lens, it feels like I might have something to show. That the work I put in didn’t amount to nothing.
There are sketchbook pages, notes, and conversations. Research, reading, and writing. Essays. Playlists. Photographs. And, yes, of course, visual art. Sitting uncomfortably in front of this word, I think this collection is more about the entire process—the act of engaging with the sky on a regular and consistent basis.
It’s a shift in perspective. It’s maybe a call to stop measuring “enough” against the visual artwork rendered and instead the entire process. My process.
I think I want to visually gather my process. To pull it all together and present it on my website. Share it like an exhibition. And invite you to its showing. Maybe some pieces will be for sale? Maybe they won’t be? But I think this approach is the right way through this. A way for me to not always measure my accomplishments against capitalism but instead against the deep inquiry that unfolded.
So, that’s where I am at these days. Still looking at the sky. Still finding presence in its presence. I’m still writing. And reading. And making art.
Warmly,
Lauren
Currently reading: Love and Other Words
Currently playing: Zelda, Tears of the Kingdom (ok, but this is actually really fun)
Currently excited for: A retreat to Cape Cod with my mastermind group
Happy to find you here, fellow artist, via Natalie Eslick. :)