Hello creatives,
This short letter is meant for those navigating intense life crises as creatives and artists.
Dear You,
This morning felt heavy as you woke up; it would have been better if the plans you worked so hard on had actually happened within your deadlines.
You wake up, you stretch—or maybe not. You wonder where the strength will come from for that extra effort. You do so much it exhausts you, and you question whether it was all worth the pain and the bruises.
You reflect on your day, on the tasks ahead, the projects on the row, and you seek joy. You wonder if joy hasn’t been too hurt in the process.
Finally awake, early in the morning, you still find the bravery to focus on that solution for a breakthrough. You work on it, battle doubt and fear, and still push through.
It’s a crisis so deep it shakes your creative fire, and you turn back to a younger you. She is holding watercolors in her hands, asking you to look at her painting. She draws like a debutant, it is vivid, messy, yet she draws lightly, freed from technique. Showing you what it once felt like to have no pressure, and especially no pressure to draw well.
You look at her and she smiles. You show her a hack to have cleaner lines. She follows your training and mixes clean lines with brutally vivid mess. And you realize it is pointless to try to train her, but instead, it's all about letting her (re)train you.
You both smile.
You turn and look at yourself in the reflection of a frame on your desk, and it’s hard for you to smile. She taps on your shoulder candidly, and you look at her. She steals a smile from you. You release a breath, and the two of you laugh.
The phone rings, bringing you back to today—this day that feels heavier than yesterday. The weight could shatter your love for creating; it could break the little hope left in this season, in what you do.
It could…, but the smile from your younger self is too strong!
You stand, looking at that to-do list, and remove half of it. You take a step back like a renewed painter, then remove half of it again. You look back, come closer, and spot that heart next to this project, written at the end of your list. It screams at you, just like the bills, family anguish, and society’s crises, but with a sweeter tone. A silent one, yet you can hear it.
You take your pen and highlight that heart, touching your own. The weight lifts a little, you’ve decided to take it one day at a time, this project in this moment, the only one that nourishes you at the edge of your wounded creative heart. The only canvas you need.
Your younger self appears again, runs to you, and hugs you. She tells you that you will be okay, that it will all turn out well, just as The Artist planned it. Just play with her now, in this very second. She even wants to shadow you as you focus on that heart project. She smiles the whole time and holds your hand.
“It’s gonna be okay… can you pass me that violet brush? I like violet. And you—do you still like violet?” she says in that jolly, high-noted voice.
You both start your usual conversations, and you both miss them so much. A tear falls from your face; it’s not sadness, it’s brighter: it’s joy.
I had this emotional thought about a creative out there who might need this, today more than ever. Stand still and let joy find you.
I finished writing and immediately picked up the brush and watercolor after months. Here is the final result. The video shows the entire process—messy.
🌱 With love,
Keva.
Creativity is in every little curious experimentation.
