A Gentle Look Back: Learning to Sit With Making Again

May 2025

This post is for anyone who feels a little disconnected from creativity — whether you consider yourself an artist or not.

I didn’t realize how uncomfortable it would feel to sit down and make art with no plan.

No deadline.
No product in mind.
No clear sense of what it was “for.”

For years now, most of my creative time has lived inside structure. Designing cards, wrapping paper, and home goods — all meaningful work, all deeply intentional — but also shaped by timelines, production needs, and the quiet pressure to create something usable.

Somewhere along the way, making became productive by default.

When Creativity Starts to Feel Forced

Last year, that quiet found me in Vermont, at an artist retreat hosted by Jennifer Nelson at her home, the Smiley Manse — a beautiful, welcoming property tucked into the landscape, full of light, history, and intention. From the moment I arrived, it was clear this was a space designed for connection: meals shared on the porch, enjoying nature and having time carved out simply to be present.

I was joined by a small group of other artists and surface designers — all at different places in their work, all bringing their own questions and curiosities with them. Over shared meals, long conversations, and quiet studio time, we got to know each other in a way that doesn’t usually happen in passing or online. These are people I’m still in touch with — the kind of creative connections that stay with you long after you’ve packed up your sketchbook.

The retreat was led by Shannon McNab, whose lettering and licensing classes I’ve taken for years. We first met in person at Surtex, when we were both exhibiting — a moment that marked a turning point in my own licensing journey. Learning from her again, this time in such an intimate setting, felt like a privilege.

The workshops took place in the barn — a rustic, open space where we gathered with sketchbooks, pens, and prompts. On paper, it was exactly what I love. In practice, it was surprisingly hard.

What Happens When You Sit Down to Create Without a Plan

I sat with my materials and waited for certainty to arrive. It didn’t.

Hand lettering, in particular, has always felt like a skill just out of reach for me — something I admire deeply but have never felt I truly mastered. I went into the retreat thinking this was my chance to finally learn how to make my letters perfect. Cleaner. More polished. More exact.

Somewhere along the way, I’d internalized the idea that there was always something else to learn before my work could be enough.

Instead, I found myself staring at my sketchbook. At my iPad. At nothing at all.

For so long, my creative work has been tied to purpose — releases, seasons, buyer needs, schedules. Even personal creative time often carries quiet expectations.

Is this going somewhere?
Will this turn into something?
Should I already know how to do this better?

At the retreat, those questions hovered constantly. I wanted direction. I wanted reassurance. I wanted to know what I was supposed to be making.

Instead, I was asked to sit with not knowing.

Learning to Trust Your Own Creative Voice

The hardest part wasn’t that the work felt bad.
It was that it felt unfinished. Unresolved. Quiet.

There was no immediate reward. No sense of completion. Just marks on paper. Experiments that didn’t go anywhere.

And slowly, something shifted.

Through conversations and gentle encouragement from Shannon and Jennifer, I started to see something I hadn’t fully allowed myself to acknowledge: I have been hand lettering all along — just in my own way. In my cards. In my illustrations. In the imperfect, expressive marks that already live in my work.

What I was being reminded of wasn’t how to make my letters more precise or polished. It was that my time and energy were better spent leaning into what already feels natural — refining my own voice rather than worrying about whether it matched someone else’s version of “correct.”

There was an important lesson there about trust. About listening to your instincts. About investing in yourself instead of measuring your work against others. And about how much it matters to put yourself in rooms with people who can see what you’re already doing — sometimes before you can see it yourself.

I went into the retreat thinking I needed to learn how to make my work better.
I left understanding that it doesn’t need to be perfect — it needs to be mine.

Why Practice Matters More Than Perfection in Creativity

That lesson extended far beyond lettering.

It became a quiet reminder about practice — about showing up, trying, experimenting, and allowing ourselves to be unfinished. About choosing curiosity over mastery, and honesty over polish.

This isn’t something reserved for artists.

The need to create — in whatever form that takes — is a natural, human one. It’s how we process, explore, and make sense of the world. When that instinct goes quiet for too long, we often feel it as restlessness, disconnection, or a subtle lack of peace.

This retreat happened in May, but it’s taken time for the experience to fully settle. Sometimes the most meaningful lessons need space before they make sense. Looking back now, I can see how much of my creative life had become focused on producing rather than practicing.

And practice — without pressure — is where growth actually lives.

A Simple Creative Practice to Reconnect With Making

If the idea of making without an outcome feels appealing — but also a little uncomfortable — start small. This isn’t about being “creative” in a traditional sense, and it isn’t about making art.

It’s about honoring the human need to make something with your hands, your thoughts, or your time.

1. Set a short container

Give yourself 10–15 minutes. Knowing there’s an ending makes it easier to begin.

2. Choose something simple

This could be drawing or journaling — but it could just as easily be cooking without a recipe, baking, rearranging a room, tending to a garden, writing a few sentences, or quietly working with your hands.

3. Let go of usefulness

Resist asking what this could become. If nothing comes of it, that’s okay.

4. Notice how it feels

Pay attention to your body. Are you calmer? More present? Restless at first, then softer? There’s no right response — just awareness.

5. Stop when the time is up

Leave something unfinished. That’s often where curiosity lingers.

You don’t need to do this often. Once is enough to remember that making — in any form — is a way of returning to yourself.

A Reminder for Anyone Feeling Stuck Creatively

Looking back now, this may have been one of the most meaningful lessons of 2025.

Creativity doesn’t require perfection to matter.
It doesn’t need to be mastered to be valid.
And it doesn’t need to look like anyone else’s to be worthy.

If you’ve been waiting to feel ready before beginning — I hope this is a gentle reminder that you’re allowed to start exactly where you are.

Sometimes, making is enough.

If you’re curious:
The Smiley Manse hosts a handful of small, thoughtfully run retreats throughout the year. You can learn more about the space and upcoming retreats on Jennifer Nelson’s website.
And if you’d like to explore Shannon McNab’s work visit her site or instagram.