I am a compost heap
I deliberately committed to only one exhibition this year, and I followed through on it. Things in the studio have since slowed down. I’ve written about slowing already this year, and yet I still fall into the trap of feeling inadequate. I forget to take my own advice: you are not what you produce.
Production doesn’t equal a “better” practice. It’s one part of the creative cycle, and it’s the last part. Yes, production can open the aperture for growth and momentum, but compost heaps generate energy by being still. There is merit in both, and I’m trying to live in that.
Over the last few months I’ve been questioning where I’m at with everything, especially around my income. What do I actually want and need from my paid work? What am I willing to trade in for money and stability? Outside of this internal debate, it’s too easy to underappreciate what is right in front of me: a life in which I’ve been privileged to have some control. Control in one’s life is wealth. I can choose how I spend my time, which projects I take on, and how much energy I devote to my practice. That privilege doesn’t erase the tension of balancing it all, but it serves as a reminder of the freedom I already have.
Work in my studio - and in my head - is still churning, ever so slowly. There’s a kind of quiet fermentation happening.
This slow, quiet stage is part of the work too. Nothing looks dramatic from the outside, but something is breaking down, reforming and becoming richer. I don’t need to rush it. Compost doesn’t hurry. It just keeps transforming, quietly, until one day there’s enough warmth and nourishment to grow something new.
