“Art is not a thing, it is a way.” - Elbert Hubbard
A conversation with a friend on Saturday got me thinking about the other side of my post last week. Even as some of us choose to share creative outlets like journals that many consider private by nature, we also sometimes may not want to share creative outlets typically made public, like a painting or a novel or a podcast.
Making things can be so personal. So vulnerable. And it can help, when I am feeling that vulnerability, to remember that I don’t have to share anything I don’t want to—or share when I don’t want to.
Sometimes keeping creative work private can be a lifelong personal decision—like Emily Dickinson’s—and sometimes it can be a decision for a season or time of life.
My mom, a fiber artist, at times just wants to make her work. And at other times she submits work to shows. She’s increasingly learned to accept these ebbs and flows and to own them when talking to other people. My friend similarly spoke about recently feeling drawn to go inward and share less, and about honoring this in herself.
I’ve had those seasons too, and I’ve learned what a kindness it can be to myself to honor them. Sometimes they last for years. Sometimes they last for weeks. This is one of those weeks where I am struggling to write a single line to share here. Where events in the world have made the ground feel wobbly and the words feel inadequate.
So I am making this post a spare one, using this quote as a resting place: “Art is not a thing, it is a way.” The things we make and what we do with them matter far less than making them. Making them is what helps us through our days.
Some seasons, some weeks, some days, are pure winter. Time for bundling up our work and ourselves. Time for holding loved ones close.