One of the concepts we established for my child early on was the idea of a Quiet Corner.
It is a space just for her, that no adult will intrude upon, when she needs a mental break - a place to escape to when things get too loud, too noisy, too overwhelming or overstimulating. A place to calm her mind if she needs to, and learn to process her big feelings in her little body.
In it she keeps her favorite toys, books, her safety blanket, and anything else that may comfort her. It was also our first example to her of setting a boundary: it is her space and nobody else disturbs her when she’s there. She can go there when she’s sad, when she’s angry, when she’s tired. But she can also go there when she’s happy, when she just wants to jam to cocomelon songs on her headphones and look at picture books. It is a sanctuary. A quiet space and one that is so important to her well being.
So why don't more of us have one? I used to, I realized.
When I was younger, had less responsibilities, and could spend my hours on what I wanted, drawing was my outlet. I would fill page after page in a ruled notebook I used as a makeshift sketchbook, without any rules or expectations of my mark making. The doodles would live there and nowhere else, and that was fine. It gave me a way to process those big feelings, or press pause and simply relax. But I was constrained by what I had, or didn’t have. I couldn’t make the work I wanted beyond a notebook.
Once I got older, I pursued art in college and was absolutely spoiled. As a double-major, I had not one but two studio spaces in our building. I had access to amazing equipment, tools, peers, and professors. I thrived in that creative art bubble! Then after a short stint at a Real Adult job, I became a full time artist with a bedroom turned studio to go into every day.
Then life happened. A new baby meant giving up my lovely studio to convert into a nursery. Which was fine. That was needed. It also meant I could no longer solely depend on freelance work, for financial reasons. So I went and gave up the studio space, promising to myself I’d use the other empty room in the house, and if I could no longer make art for a living then I could do it after hours, knowing I’d have a space to do it in.
Then Covid came around, and my mother visiting for two weeks to help my transition now with a newborn turned into a months-long stay while we all huddled together during the pandemic, locked in, necessitating that another bedroom be given up. But alright, that was also needed. My computer and my desks were moved, along with my art supplies, into the basement… but since I could no longer work from an office, and I could no longer just go out, the desk that used to be my artistic space became office space. I basically went back to working from home full time, just in a different industry.
Top that off with a master’s degree that required all my spare waking moments for twelve months, and my personal art practice went out with a whimper. With all that going on, who had time for art anyway? right? so alright, that sacrifice needed to be made before having a studio to make art in. Except I graduated, and still no proper studio space, thus, no art.
Seeing a pattern? I thought so, too.
In my mind, I had always had a quiet corner. It began in a notebook and ended in a vanishing studio, but those things began disappearing one by one, and with no quiet corner, how could I now do the things one does to quiet one’s mind? I established no boundaries with my space, because it was needed for more practical things, and really, who would have time to draw with a baby? so I established no boundaries with my time. I had other things and other people to put before my needs. I just didn’t know in doing so, I was also putting everything above my mental well being, as well.
Ignoring this intrinsic need to create led to burnout for me, which I confused as art block. Assuming I needed a proper studio to do so further cut me off at the knees. Somewhere between a ruled notebook, two studios, a dedicated home space, and the basement, I began assuming that my lack of creativity and increasing agitation with the mundane every day tasks before me had something to do with a lack of space. I tried to find other outlets, even! I wrote, I took pictures of everything (an art form of its own made much more immediately accessible thanks to iPhones), I became a plant mom.
But I am an artist at heart. I am a painter, an illustrator, a visual storyteller, and I had tied so much of my worth to my perfect studio practice inside my perfect studio that, upon not having either, I started questioning who I even was anymore. Somewhere between the notebook and the basement I forgot that my Quiet Corner isn’t a physical place, an empty room with four walls, or large windows; for all those things are certainly VERY nice to have, my Quiet Corner is the act of creating itself.
Drawing, painting, mark-making are the way in which I quiet my mind and navigate life. It’s in the chaos spilling onto the page, much like my daughter will put her headphones on and focus on a book when she’s overstimulated. The art doesn’t have to happen in a fancy studio on a fancy canvas. It can happen on the kitchen island in a cheap sketchbook.
Most importantly, it doesn’t have to be perfect. Not to the standard I began to hold my work as I waded deeper into the waters of professional illustration. It can be as messy and as heartfelt as it needs to be, because my quiet corner doesn’t need to be quiet to be effective. It just needs to exist as a retreat for my own peace of mind. It also needs to be protected by the boundary I impose on myself that not only must I make time for art making, but I must also respect it; to put the doom scrolling aside, pick up some supplies, and let myself make, let myself play and experiment and fail. And I don’t even need to be alone for it! My biggest joy is now making time to paint alongside my kiddo, each of us doing our own thing, sharing paint and brushes and paper.
The thing about an art practice is that it’s exactly that. It’s in the name. It’s practice. And it must be sustained to do the sort of healing and provide the sort of fruitful daily introspection it is meant to provide to people like me, for whom making art is how we make sense of our world and our thoughts. So that is my goal this year. To carve a slice of my daily life for myself to do what brings me the most joy and quiet mindfulness. To make art without stressing about whether it’s pretty or successful, whether social media or anyone else will like it (a whole post for a different day), if it successfully conveys a concept, or if it’s even good. Perfection is not the goal, never should have been, and I am slowly learning to be okay with that. I’m ready to step into what the cool kids on tiktok would call my unhinged era. I’m ready to let go of the empty room and put enough art out into the world to fill as much of it with joy as I can.
In the meantime, friend, if you made it this far then I welcome you on this journey of chaotic exploration with me. I plan to fall in love with my art again. I hope you end up loving it, too.
Until next time.
"It also needs to be protected by the boundary I impose on myself that not only must I make time for art making, but I must also respect it;" - this is such an important bit, and one I struggle with myself.
I'm really excited that you're coming back to art, and I look forward to whatever you decide to share with us <3