Drawing yourself a shelter

Hi friend!

It has been a while since I have written here - or anywhere on the Internet for that matter. I have been away from Instagram, my newsletter and this little blog because a lot has happened over the summer! After living in my French hometown for four years (I moved back there when Covid struck), I moved abroad again. It was a pretty quick decision: back in April, I decided to leave my little flat and move to Madrid to live with my boyfriend. He started working here last January, and after a few years of living apart, it was time for a reunion!

Emptying the flat felt so strange

It is very unlike me to make such a big decision so quickly. And even though it was quick (something felt right about it), adjusting once again to a new flat, a new city, a new life, feels a little strange. I have moved a few times since my adult life started, but I am someone who does not cope very well with change. Habits and familiarity comfort me. Nature comforts me. I had all that in France, and it was hard to say goodbye to my comfort zone. But one thing I have managed to accept (although some days more than others) as I have grown is that challenge is where we grow. I have a tendency to avoid discomfort a lot in my personal life, as the process of making art itself, and my job, tend to already bring those things into my professional life already. But after a few years of sitting comfortably in my hometown, I felt like a change would be welcome to evolve, learn and grow into someone slightly different. I felt deeply lucky, grateful and scared when this opportunity came my way.

And now, here I am, writing to you from my desk in the new flat I am living in, in Madrid (Spain). Although I have no intention of complaining about this kind of change in life (it is such a luxury to experience change in this way), I must admit that adapting to a new environment, even under such privileged conditions, can be demanding. Especially if, like me, you enjoy the peace and quiet that small, repetitive habits can bring. The move happened over the summer, and while I was still working for most of it, I was fortunate that summer in my area of work can be very quiet: people go on holiday, things slow down, the email inbox becomes silent and quiet, and the only messages you receive are ads for a new skincare product or newsletters from someone you follow. So it all felt very holiday-like, even on the days when I had to complete some tasks and projects for clients. And then I ended the summer with a nice two-week break to settle as smoothly and quietly as possible into my new place and environment before getting back to work.

Although I had been working over the summer, most of my drawing and painting supplies were packed away, and I only drew on my iPad. It had been almost two months since I had touched a brush or a pencil, and as the end of summer approached, I started feeling increasingly anxious about picking up a pen again. It felt as if so much had happened, I had felt so far away from drawing for so long, that I had forgotten how to draw anything. I thought about it over and over again as I went to sleep at night, and the same thoughts danced in my head when I opened my eyes in the morning. And of course, like anything else, the more you think about it, the bigger and scarier it gets. So I ended up dreading the day when I would have to sit at my desk and draw something again, knowing that I could not get away from it.

I know it all sounds a little dramatic, doesn’t it? But this is what happens in one’s head when you get caught up in your own thoughts.

Monday 2nd September arrived and I had no choice but to sit down at my (new) desk and start working again. I started very slowly, finishing a few sketches that I had left half coloured in my sketchbook. It felt like easing back into it in a gentle way. The fear slowly faded and by the end of the day I had completed two whole pages. Yes, but I hadn’t really drawn anything yet, had I ? All I did was colour in some things I had already done in my sketchbook.

Tuesday, September 3rd. Sitting at my desk, trying my best picking a colour palette for a client project. I had no choice but to keep going, half satisfied with what I was doing. And then after lunch, it felt too much, I was a bit frustrated with what I was making, not quite satisfied, feeling really rusty.

I decided to go through old sketchbooks - my trick when I feel lost, uninspired, or unhappy with what I’m drawing.

Fun fact, the book I've been developing since January talks about leaving your hometown

And I found this sketch from long ago - maybe three years?

I suddenly remembered the obvious: what I always do when I have no idea when to start. Limit everything that can be scary about starting to draw and reduce the decision-making as much as possible: no colour, one single medium, a small piece of paper, and as few expectations as possible. That way I can concentrate only on the mark-making, the feel of the brush on the paper, the shapes, the lines. No worries about choosing a pretty palette, drawing a detailed scene or a cute character. Just concentrate on the act of putting the brush to the paper.
I took a simple black watercolour, one of my sketchbooks, traced a frame on the page to avoid the fear of the blank paper, and started.

I spent 30 minutes painting whatever came to mind or popped up on my Pinterest homepage, not thinking, just enjoying the textures of analogue art making. The result is a little penguin holding a cup of tea in the middle of an apple orchard. It makes no sense, it is not particularly beautiful, interesting or worthy of attention at all, but it had the merit of taking me to a place I had forgotten for two months: the peaceful bubble you can create around yourself when you draw, paint, make something without expectations. It magically took me to a beautiful place, somewhere in my mind where I felt home, where I was no longer anxious or overwhelmed.

It was only the beginning, I am still very rusty in everything : drawing, picking a palette,… I have so much more to warm up to before I find the creative flow I was in before the summer. But at least I am so glad that I remembered how peaceful making simple art can be. And how, even when I’m far from home or going through some big changes, it can feel like a familiar and comforting place, and turn off the noise in my head for a while.

This article may not make much sense, it may even lack interest, really, but I felt like writing about all of this here because I realised that I can forget about this magic, and maybe so can other people. And perhaps, being reminded of the peace that just painting for 30mn can bring you, when you are facing some challenges, can help you feel more better if you need it.

Thank you for reading about my ramblings and thoughts, and see you soon!