Lately, I’ve been asked a question that’s starting to feel all too familiar. I understand the curiosity behind it—three years ago, I was creating artwork with such passion and frequency. Now, the silence is deafening by comparison. I wish I had a clearer answer to give, something more profound to explain the pause in my artistic rhythm, but here I am, standing in the shadows of my own expectations, trying to make sense of the gaps.

Of course, I could say it’s life—those unpredictable waves of personal chaos, emotional challenges, and the deep valleys of depression I’ve waded through. But no, the real block, the true setback, is far more layered than that.

Before we dive in, though, let me ask you something: When was the last time you allowed yourself to create, to just art for the sheer joy of it? When was the last time you picked up a pen and doodled without purpose? Or perhaps finished a paint-by-numbers, dipped your brush into a soft wash of watercolor, or shaped something with your hands? You don’t have to wear the label of “artist” to indulge in creative expression. Art, dance, music—these are the languages of the soul. We all need them, even if we don’t speak them fluently.

Surely, I’m not the only one feeling this strange emptiness, am I? I’ve noticed other artists navigating the same fog, stuck in their own versions of mental blockades. It’s got me thinking—what if there’s something bigger at play here? A collective, unseen force weighing us down?

I know. Everyone is tired of hearing about COVID. But bear with me—I think it might actually be part of the reason. During lockdown, so many artists, whether hobbyists or full-time, turned to their craft for solace, for survival, for income. We had endless hours to create, pouring ourselves into every brushstroke, every melody. But fast forward five years, and life pulled us back into its routine demands. For those of us who didn’t manage to sustain art as our primary focus, the transition was jarring. And even for those who did, the energy shifted—creating under pressure, with less time, less space, and more expectations.

And now, AI ART hovers over us, further complicating things. We’re artists, yes, but we’re also tired. Tired of chasing that elusive “next level” in our work. Tired of rushing, with barely any time to let our creativity simmer. Tired of seeing our art stolen by faceless corporations, mass-produced without our consent or compensation. We are so very tired.

In the quiet spaces between creating, I’ve explored new mediums, curious about different forms of expression. But even in those ventures, something is missing.

So here it is—the reason I haven’t been creating lately. Yes, artist block is real, and burnout, too, but looming over it all is something more insidious: imposter syndrome. The last painting I completed, Spotted Beauty—a portrayal of the graceful spotted shark—was what I would consider technically my best work yet. And now, I’m stuck. Frozen by the fear of not being able to surpass that moment.

There are other factors, of course—my knee injury, making it harder to stand for long periods while painting, and the mental fog that clouds my creative headspace. But the truth is, I’m struggling to find inspiration. My usual methods—Pinterest binges, observing the work of other artists—have failed me. Normally, something would ignite in my mind, and I wouldn’t be able to rest until I had a brush in hand. Now, there’s just silence.

I feel like I’m letting down everyone—my followers, my students, but worst of all, myself. And that’s a deeper kind of pain. Art has been the foundation of my life, my livelihood, my world. And here I am, unable to even pick up a brush. I feel absolutely paralyzed by this.

At the end of last year, I was brimming with inspiration. At the start of this year, it still flowed through me, vibrant and alive. But now, it’s vanished. I look around and wonder where it went, and how it left so quickly. Somehow, days, weeks, months have slipped by, and creatively, I have nothing to show for it.

And each time I witness an artist’s work being stolen, used without their consent, I feel myself hardened artistically-paralyzed by the fear that my creations might suffer the same fate. It leaves me unsure of where to go from here, but I hold onto hope. Hope that with time, and a slow, deliberate return to my craft, I’ll rediscover that creative space within myself. I long for the day when I can create freely again, with the full force of my potential.

With that in mind, I’ve decided to gradually shift the way I share my work, focusing more on my blog and website. Partly, this is to protect my art. But equally, it’s about fostering a community—a safe, welcoming space where others who feel the same can gather. A place beyond the noise of social media, where we can speak openly about our creative struggles, our truths, and find solidarity in one another’s journeys.