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2025 arrived, and with it, an unexpected guest: artist’s block. I don’t mean the kind where you just need a day off. I mean the kind that lingers, built from layers of things—big and small—until I found myself avoiding my canvases, paints, and brushes altogether.
Every day not creating felt like a day wasted. And with that, came guilt. Heavy, unnecessary, but persistent guilt.
I decided to take my own advice, and try and not get stuck in this phase, and shift my attention to what lies ahead… It’s ok to rest, and restart. Mentally, functionally, emotionally.
A PAINTING IN CONVERSATION
During this period, I started a new painting, an unconventional conversation between me and the canvas. It began with a love poem—E.E. Cummings’ I Carry Your Heart With Me ( I carry it in my heart), written in gold marker. A safe start, I thought. After all, this poem is special to me. It’s one I’ve dedicated to my partner, the talented simplifier in my life.
…no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you…
But as the layers built up, so did frustration. The painting wouldn’t settle. It went through unsatisfying phases, shifting between abstraction, ink washes, paste, lace, and other hidden secrets. It became a mirror of my internal state—searching, reshaping, pushing forward.
CAR RIDES AND MUSIC LESSONS
Meanwhile, life was unfolding outside the studio. One evening, I was driving with my daughter, who is preparing for the Panhellenic exams. These drives, which some might call time-consuming or expensive, are precious to me. It’s in these moments that she trains me in her world of music—sometimes the haunting voice of Sofia Vembo from the 1940s, other times the raw poetry of Lex.
This time, it was Lex. And as his words filled the car, a wave of realization hit me: these drives won’t last forever. Soon, she’ll step into adulthood, and the rhythm of our daily rides will change.
It hurt. And with that, the weight of a recent surgery, family stresses, and weeks without intense exercise crashed down; thankfully I added yoga again in my routine. The next morning, I woke up in tears. The kind that signals something deeper is shifting.
WISDOM FROM THE ELDER ARTISTS
But that morning, my suitcase full of paint was waiting. I had a workshop to teach—a secret art class for elders. There were about 22 participants, painting on flower pots, and I was surrounded by women who carried decades of wisdom in their hands. The average age? 80. The lessons they offer me? Priceless.
One woman, a clothing designer, guessed my exact clothing size in a glance. We laughed about how sizes have changed over the decades but concluded that health is what truly matters. She shared how she felt like she had lived 100 lives, but still felt 20. And I realized—so do I. My soul, no matter how much life has moved forward, is locked in that same timeless space.
ART, TIME, AND PERSPECTIVE
Back in the studio, I looked at my unfinished painting. Every portrait I paint captures a moment in eternity—a face that was once an infant, a child, an adult. Just as a landscape captures a cloud in a fleeting position, a wave mid-crash, the wind moving in a unique pattern. Time is always shifting.
The painting, once a poem, then an abstract chaos, had transformed. It became a mix of lace, gold, paste, music notes, and even a fragment of Da Vinci’s face (it’s there, look for it!..)
And now, it is complete. Ready to belong to someone who understands that when you look too closely, you might miss the larger picture. Sometimes, we have to step back, see the bigger picture, and trust the process to move forward.
How do you deal with you blocked feelings?
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