This past week, during a moment of calm, I paged through a journal that I keep in my studio. I loved turning the pages and seeing a year unfold before me.
I purchased this handmade art book at an outdoor market with my daughter in High Falls, New York. We had an art getaway weekend, just the two of us the spring before last. We stumbled upon an outdoor market in the middle of town on a Sunday morning and an artist selling tiny handmade books.
I cannot resist books, especially handmade ones waiting for someone to write their story on the pages. And a few months later, I had a story to tell; a joyful story told from my cottage studio. Take a look.
I wrote about how calm I felt in my creative space.
I wrote about the very first pieces I painted in my new studio. I am trying to tally exactly how many pieces of art I worked on in this space so far, but already I have lost count.
I realized on these pages that the toughest deadlines to meet are the ones I place on myself.
I felt no obligation to write each day or each week. I just wrote.
And just writing whenever I was moved to do so was enough.
Enough so I could write down "my heart is singing. I just needed a little quiet so I could hear it."
And a few words on paper so I could remember it all.