The Art of Giving Up Art

Once, I gave up art. I was forced to.

I was a starving artist. It was a time in my early 20s when neither my husband nor I could find work. To save on heating oil, we heated the whole house with a tiny kerosene heater. We rented out our upstairs bedrooms and made the first floor into a tiny apartment for ourselves. That was a cold, dark, strange winter. We finally found great jobs, which meant we could have our house back, but it meant I came home too tired and cranky to produce any art for my pleasure for a very long time.

There were upsides, though. The new job gave me opportunities to do commercial illustration and graphic work, and I traveled extensively to exotic places that expanded my world. I spent weekends and vacations hanging around galleries and museums.

I've finally returned to producing fine art. And I realize that giving it up was actually a good thing -- it was an essential step in my artistic evolution. Life experiences have meant everything to my painting quality -- my work is much deeper and soulful. The years of strolling old-world cobblestone alleys and museums, sipping espresso in outdoor cafes, and even doodling in corporate meetings have made my painting come to life.