What’s the next logical step? 1/25

From the journal January 2025:

I’ve done a lot of soul-searching in the last year and a half, trying to figure out why something feels like it’s missing in my art, in my practice, in my process. It’s been a journey of introspection, and I’ve come to realize that part of what feels disjointed is that I haven’t allowed myself to grow in an organic way. You see, I adore abstract art—it’s my first love, the thing that fulfills me like nothing else when it comes to creation. Yet, there’s been a persistent tug, an urge to evolve into something different, something that speaks to my spirit in a new way.

I know many artists who start with realistic work, only to find themselves drifting into the abstract realm out of boredom with the confines of reality. There’s something adventurous about abstract art, especially when you approach it with no plan, diving in intuitively. That’s where the magic happens! You discover surprising techniques, you encounter joyous accidents, and it becomes an exhilarating addiction. However, I also recognize that I thrive on a certain level of challenge. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, in his book “Flow,” talks about the sweet spot where challenge meets skill—enough to keep you engaged but not so much that it feels impossible. And that’s the crux of my struggle with abstract art right now; I haven’t let myself change the direction of my work, and it’s left me feeling stagnant.

There’s fear, too, fear of what branching outside my comfort zone might mean. I worry that those who have supported me—who have purchased my work, attended my classes, and cheered me on—might feel disinterested if I shift gears. As someone who relies on my art for income, that fear is palpable, almost paralyzing. But here’s the truth: my artistic growth, my personal evolution, and my emotional fulfillment should take precedence over mere financial concerns. It’s a hard realization, I know, and I’m acutely aware of the uphill battle ahead.

Change is daunting, and I’ve faced pushback from friends, family, and even fellow artists when I express my desire to explore a different artistic path. They often react with a negative whiplash, as if I’ve proposed something radical. Yet, I’ve also encountered artists who understand that evolution is essential—not just for relevance to the audience but for relevance to ourselves. If we don’t evolve, our work risks becoming stale, and eventually, people will lose interest.

So, after reflecting on my big audacious dreams for the next year, I’m left with the question: what’s the next logical step? What’s the one thing I can do to inch closer to those dreams? It doesn’t have to be monumental; it can just be a small action that nudges me in the right direction. This is the crux of the matter, and it’s something that I believe many of us face—not just artists but anyone striving for change. It’s about identifying that next step, however small, that brings us closer to our aspirations.

For the past year and a half, I’ve found myself saying I had dreams, but deep down, I let them slip away. I felt like those dreams were meant for others, for people who get happy endings. But I realize now that I was wallowing in self-pity and anxiety, stuck in a dark cave of my own making. That tether I felt to a particular emotional expression wasn’t serving me anymore; it felt hollow. I’ve seen too much backstabbing and gatekeeping in this realm, too much ego-driven ambition that doesn’t resonate with my values. Yes, we need a healthy ego to push us forward, but not at the expense of connection and authenticity.

So here’s where I’m at today, January 1, 2025. I’m walking into my studio and clearing out the clutter—both physical and mental. I’m letting go of supplies that no longer serve me, taking inventory of what I have, what I need, and what will help me move forward. It’s about creating space for the new, for the fresh ideas that are waiting to blossom. I’m also revamping my inspiration board, making a visual list of what I want to focus on this quarter, so I can keep my sights set on growth and movement.

These small actions—clearing, organizing, visualizing—are my scaffolding, a support system for the days when everything feels too overwhelming. Planning is tough for me; I’m not detail-oriented, and that’s okay! I thrive on the big picture, the abstract inspiration. So creating a visual representation of my goals for each quarter, breaking them down into manageable chunks? That’s my way forward.

When those uncomfortable feelings arise, when I feel tempted to throw in the towel, I’ll have steps to fall back on—exercises, books, podcasts, and Pinterest boards full of inspiration to guide me through the valleys. It’s about building those gutter bumpers to keep me in the lane of possibility, reminding me that change is a journey, not a sprint.

I’m ready to embrace the next logical step, however small it may be. I’m committed to nurturing my dreams, to allowing myself the space to evolve, and to creating from a place of genuine connection and expression. It’s time to step boldly into this new chapter, to light the way with hope, and to celebrate the beauty of the journey ahead.