As an artist, staying self-motivated day after day can be a daunting challenge. The art world is unpredictable, and often, the monetary rewards are modest at best. To persevere in this field requires not only discipline but a touch of madness as well. Questions constantly linger: What will resonate with audiences? Which exhibitions are worth pursuing? Is it worthwhile to invest in one’s craft in a world increasingly dominated by AI? In such moments, we must dig deep within ourselves and reconnect with that essential wellspring of creativity.

Childhood memories often hold the key to unlocking our creative potential. I fondly recall those rainy, uninspiring days when, with only a few TV channels to choose from, I resorted to creating my own world of imagination. I’d dismantle small radios and clocks, fashioning unique works of art from their components, attaching them to painted laundry soap boxes to create whimsical robots. Back then, my access to traditional art supplies was limited, so I learned to craft beauty from whatever was at hand, even discarded items. This resourcefulness laid the foundation for my artistic journey.

While I did dabble in drawing during those early years, it wasn’t until high school that I had the opportunity to experiment with various mediums. Pastels quickly became my favorite, yet it would be many years before I could afford genuine fine art supplies. By that point, I had already enjoyed several successful exhibitions, but I began to want more variety and wanted to make more items that I wanted to own. I realized that I was creating to please others, rather than following my own artistic passions to please myself.

One day, I decided to infuse my paintings with elements from my workbench adventures. Initially hesitant, I eventually let go of my reservations and embraced the freedom of mixing unconventional materials with traditional art. The results were astonishing. I created a three-dimensional art exhibit designed for tactile exploration by the visually impaired. It received a warm reception, and I even had the privilege of showcasing it at the Pennsylvania Blind Association’s annual conventions. The association’s president touched my Muslim boy portrait and remarked, “I haven’t had sight since childhood, but when I touch this, I conjure an image in my mind. Keep up the great work.” I continued along this path for a few years until health issues intervened. Instead of sitting idle, I redirected my creative energy toward crafting clothing, purses, jewelry, and fine art for personal enjoyment. My home became a living canvas adorned with my creations, and I even accepted commission work from clients who shared my passion.

One fateful day, I stumbled upon a news report about an online marketplace for artists. Inspired by the idea, I promptly opened my own Etsy shop. The journey involved mastering the art of photography, delving into SEO techniques, and even taking coding classes to build my website. What I discovered, however, was that people around the world appreciated and resonated with my unique creations crafted from vintage finds. It was an incredible journey – my pieces sold internationally, and my purses made appearances at fashion week shows in NYC, Italy, and England. Astonishingly, these were pieces I initially designed for my personal use.

Then, tragedy struck with the loss of my son, Korey, who left behind only a note before taking his own life. The impact of such a profound loss cannot be put into words, as anyone who has experienced the loss of a child knows. My world ground to a halt, yet my Etsy shop continued to receive orders and messages. I was overwhelmed by the ongoing demand but I was reluctant to close my shop. After a short while it was clear that I wasn’t emotionally equipped to handle it. Eventually, I made the difficult decision to close my shop as I grappled with the devastating loss of my son.

It took several years for me to rediscover my path to creative bliss. I will never fully overcome the loss of my son, as I miss him every day. However, it was time to start anew, and I had no idea where to begin. My creative pursuits, a source of immense joy, had been put on hold for far too long. I soon realized that creativity and depression were locked in a relentless cycle – without one, I couldn’t escape the grip of the other. I needed to rekindle the joy, the playfulness, and the essence of art in my life. Over the years, I had been burdened by guilt and sorrow, which seemed to barricade me from the simple joy of creating. It was an emotional battle that I had to confront head-on.

I started by revisiting my sources of inspiration – the materials. Exceptional supplies have always had the power to jumpstart my creativity. I took stock of what I had available and what I needed to enhance my toolkit, including paints, glues, and other essentials. Moreover, I began searching for antique hardware and vintage findings, which had always ignited my imagination. I even rummaged through my own clothing and linen closets, gathering items that resonated with me and could serve as both inspiration and tools for my artistic revival.

The journey was far from easy, as everything felt unfamiliar. There was no immediate flow, and my initial attempts were lackluster. I was neither feeling nor hearing that inner dialogue that had guided me since childhood. As a child, it was effortless to tap into that source of inspiration when playing, but now, with my daughter grown and my son gone, it was a challenge. Over the years, my excitement for art had dwindled, and what used to be a seamless creative partnership had become an arduous task. While creating, I had always engaged in an inner dialogue, as if collaborating with a divine force. This inner voice answered my questions, offered guidance, and provided unwavering support when no one else was around. I had come to rely on this voice, not just in my art but in life itself. As a single mother, I would confide my struggles, fears, and aspirations during prayer and meditation, and this voice would respond with understanding, sometimes leading me down paths I couldn’t explain but trusted wholeheartedly. However, in the throes of grief and guilt, I lost touch with this invaluable presence in my life. It felt distant, like a fleeting breeze that had passed unnoticed.

The question loomed: How could I reconnect with that inner creative voice, that guiding force that had been lost? I realized that when my son left, he took so much with him – the laughter, the playfulness, and the happiness that had once filled our lives. I couldn’t quite remember what it felt like or looked like, but merely saying, “I want to get back there,” wasn’t enough. I needed to start with play.

I began with something as simple as bath time, which I had always enjoyed. I swapped out my usual bath salts and oils for good old Mr. Bubble and added tub toys – fish and octopuses that lit up and swam around. I even purchased my first doll online, a Madame Alexander doll named Victoria from 1966, who had been my favorite childhood toy. It was great to hug her again to be honest.

At first, it did feel a bit silly, but I knew I had to try. My daughter embraced the idea and brainstormed more ways to infuse our lives with playfulness. We added play-doh for its comforting aroma. Within the privacy of our home, we played and laughed together. I painted murals to brighten our surroundings, and we revisited beloved movies from our shared memories. As the holiday season approached, I was determined to reclaim this part of our lives. My son had passed away on December 20th, and the past few years had been marked by darkness. This year, we resolved to change that narrative. My birthday fell just days after my son’s passing, followed by Christmas, and unbelievably, my son’s birthday on December 30th. The task ahead was monumental.

We began with the Christmas tree and ornaments, crafting clay decorations and custom crowns for us to wear during the festivities. The crowns turned out to be so stunning that I now offer a line of them in my shop. That year, we celebrated the holidays with renewed enthusiasm. I received a Lite-Brite and a stuffed dinosaur, but most importantly, we had reclaimed the holiday season. It was a glimmer of hope on our path to healing.

We continued to infuse playfulness into our lives, and I established daily aspirations, breathing exercises, and visualizing my success. I quickly noticed how these small steps were making a difference, and I added more elements to my routine that I use to do many years before. Daily rest, naps, journaling, and meditation became a regular part of my life, as did twice-daily walks with my excited canine companion, George. Gradually, I began to feel a semblance of my old self returning. I created a few pieces here and there, and before I knew it, I was fully immersed in my art once again.

Late into the night, I would immerse myself in a creative frenzy, accompanied by every monster movie I could find. It was then I realized I was reconnecting with my long-lost, most intimate friend: my creativity. I found my way back to my creative bliss, the place where I felt safest. I realized that I was no longer plagued by overthinking, and I no longer questioned every move I made. I had found comfort within myself. While I may never be the same as before, I had rediscovered my creative spark, and for me, that was the most precious place to be.

To this day I keep up all the rituals and include play in every single day.