For as much as I admire my artistic friends who are using their newfound free time to pour out work, I am Not There. My body is resting. My soul is quiet. My days have a sort of meditative quality to them. I feel a twinge of guilt as I stand in the middle of my studio, which feels so empty now. I look at the piles of metal stacked neatly on the shelves and feel a strange sense of scarcity. I stocked up some months ago, but now feel oddly protective as my suppliers have been shuttered. I have enough, but enough feels different these days.
I find my focus shifting. Out of my hands and into my head. I’m finding new ways to be creative. Writing. Learning. Trying. Absorbing. I’ve learned two new programs. Formatted a book. Written some things. Built a website. It feels like so little given the amount of time that has passed. Then I remind myself it’s only been three weeks.
The image above shows the creative work of our newest hens. They’re somewhat lumpy and imperfect, and they took several months to get here. And yet, they’re beautiful. I don’t look at them and ask why they didn’t happen sooner or aren’t more perfect. They remind me what enough is.
It’s delicate orbs of olive, tan, and cream. It’s metal sitting neatly on a shelf waiting for the right moment. It’s a pile of papers stacked together on a desk. It’s a moment of stillness.