Filling the Well
This past spring, I had the incredible experience of seeing my heart art gathered together for my solo exhibition, Illuminated Hearts: Glassworks of Healing and Hope.
It is hard to fully describe what that meant to me.
For years, hearts have found their way into my work again and again. They have become a language for things that are sometimes difficult to put into words: love, grief, healing, courage, resilience, forgiveness, gratitude, hope. To walk into a gallery and see so many of those pieces together felt both surreal and deeply personal.
Mostly, I felt grateful.
Grateful that the work had a place to be seen. Grateful for everyone who came to the show, shared stories with me, connected with a piece, purchased artwork, or simply stood for a few moments and took it in. There was something incredibly meaningful about watching work that began in such a personal place become something other people could find themselves in.
And then, almost as quickly as the show ended, summer began.
I went from the exhibition to teaching and then almost immediately into my summer art camps and workshops.
And what a summer it was.
The camps were busy, creative, funny, messy, loud, imaginative, and amazingly wonderful. Watching kids experiment with materials, solve problems, make each other laugh, help one another, and become proud of something they created continues to be one of the most gratifying parts of my work.
I poured myself into those weeks.
And by the end of them, I realized I was pretty depleted.
Not unhappy. Not ungrateful. Just empty in that particular way that can happen when you have been giving and doing and moving for a long time without much space in between.
I have always been someone who can lean toward “all or nothing.” When I care about something, I tend to jump in with both feet. Teaching, making art, family, projects, community, ideas. I can happily fill every available space.
Until there is no space left.
There is also the very practical evidence of all this sitting right in front of me.
My studio is an incredible mess.
Not the charming, creative kind of mess. The kind that feels daunting when you walk in and realize how much needs to be sorted, put away, cleaned up, and reorganized before the space feels like itself again.
Usually I can power through things like that. Lately, even getting started has felt like a lot.
So I have hired a professional organizer to help me begin.
That decision may sound simple, but for me it feels significant. I am someone who is used to doing things myself, figuring things out, pushing through, and making things happen. Bringing someone in to help me create order in a space that has become overwhelming feels like one more way I am trying to care for myself right now.
My family and friends have also offered more than once to come over and help me tackle the studio, and I love them deeply for that. I have not taken them up on it yet, but I know I probably will.
Maybe that is part of this season too.
Learning that I do not have to do everything by myself.
Learning that support can come in different forms.
And learning that sometimes the first step is simply letting someone help you begin.
Lately I have been thinking a lot about the idea of filling the well.
Creative people talk about this often, but I think it applies to all of us. We cannot continually draw from ourselves without eventually needing to put something back.
And this season of my life has made that especially clear.
There have been a lot of changes happening at once.
My eldest son recently moved across the country to begin a PhD program. I am incredibly proud of him and excited for what lies ahead, but pride and missing someone can occupy the same heart. My younger son is becoming increasingly independent too. Driving, growing, creating more of a life that belongs to him.
These are good things.
And they are change.
At the same time, someone I love very much, my mom, is very ill.
I do not feel ready to say much more about that here, except that it has changed the rhythm of my days and the way I am thinking about time.
About who we spend it with.
About what actually matters.
About how easy it is to believe that there will always be another visit, another conversation, another season, another opportunity.
And about grace.
I have walked beside people I love through difficult seasons before, but this one is hitting me differently. Maybe it is the stage of life I am in. Maybe it is everything happening at once. Maybe it is also the heaviness that can often feel present in the larger world around us.
Probably it is all of it.
I have had stretches lately when I have not felt especially creative or productive. And for someone who is usually a doer, that can be uncomfortable.
My instinct is often to figure out how to get myself out of a funk.
But I am beginning to believe that sometimes you do not get out of it.
You go through it.
You let yourself feel what is there.
You walk.
You breathe.
You practice yoga.
You listen to podcasts that make you think or remind you that other people have traveled through difficult places too.
You spend time with people you love.
You notice the light through the trees.
You visit your favorite beach- China Camp
You make something when you feel like making something, and sometimes you do not.
You give yourself a little more grace than usual.
I am trying to learn that rest is not the opposite of creativity. Sometimes it is part of it.
I can already feel that there is artwork somewhere inside this season.
I do not know exactly what it will look like yet.
Maybe more hearts. Probably more hearts.
But I suspect the work that comes next will carry some of what I am learning now about love, change, letting go, motherhood, grief, presence, and the strange tenderness of watching life keep moving.
For now, I am filling the well again.
And next week, I will return to my after school classes.
I have missed the kids.
I have missed their ideas, their stories, their complete willingness to turn a pile of materials into something I never could have imagined myself. There is something wonderfully grounding about being around young artists who are simply excited to create.
I think returning will be good for me.
Maybe balance is not something we finally figure out and then keep forever.
Maybe it is something we continually adjust.
A little more work here.
A little more rest there.
A little more time with the people we love.
A little more room for the things that bring us back to ourselves.
And perhaps, every so often, remembering to leave enough space to hear what our own hearts are trying to tell us.
I also want to share about our new kitten-
Meet Sir Pumpkin, our new kitten.
He has brought so much love, comfort, amusement, and sweetness into the house. Our older kitty, Dominona, is still deciding exactly how she feels about all of this, but I love her dearly too.
Watching the two of them get to know each other has brought a lot of laughter and comfort into our home.
Maybe that is part of filling the well too.
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