As you might have noticed, I’m not a trained professional artist. I’m not someone who spends hours studying anatomy or perfecting their linework (though I wish I was—I really do). For a long time, I posted what I considered to be funny doodles on an old Instagram account. It was fun. It wasn’t perfect. But I showed up regularly, and you know what? I improved. Yes, really. It used to be worse. Do you want to see some of them?
With the regular practice came something else: ideas. I’d have two or more sketch ideas in a day, just from life happening around me. But then… I had my son. And let’s just say the creative part of my brain went quiet. For a long time.
I can say the same thing about writing.
Just copy and paste the previous paragraph and switch “drawing” to “writing.” You get the idea.
At some point, I had this clever idea: What if I combine drawing and writing? I can’t see myself writing an illustrated book right now, though I’m not giving up on this idea.
So, the blog sounded like a good middle ground. I don’t have the time or skill to produce great writing and great drawing, but combined, they will support each other, like two drunk friends after a night out.
And you know what? Producing anything at all has felt amazing.
For the last few years, I’ve felt deeply frustrated. I was stuck.
Not drawing, not even doodling unless my son asked me to.
Not writing, aside from a postcard I meant to send to a friend, and never did (Anna, I’m doing it this week, probably). A complete creative failure. That’s how it felt. Doing less made my brain feel like it couldn’t do anything at all. Call me Elsa the Frozen Queen.
I want to be clear: I’m not blaming motherhood for my lack of creative practice.
Being a parent demands a lot of creativity—improvising daily life, answering weird questions, and making up stories on the spot. It’s just… a different kind.
I’m often amazed watching my son draw. He never stares at a blank page. He grabs one and goes to town. No hesitation, no overthinking—it’s so natural. So joyful.
I miss that.
Do I need to draw? Do I need to write?
Yes, I do.
Just a few articles in, and I already feel… lighter. Less tormented. Like some small rusty part of my brain is waking up again. The constant stress I usually feel is losing some power. I’m kind of proud of myself. I’m no Virginia Woolf or Yayoi Kusama and I will never be, so what ?
I also started reading this amazing book: We Need Your Art by Amie McNee. And it’s comforting me in my adventure. It’s like someone is reminding me that art doesn’t have to be good, or useful, or shared—it just needs to exist.
So yes, I need to do this.
I don’t need to share it. But I want to.
Maybe it’s to stay accountable. Maybe it’s just to let something out. I’m aware I’m shouting into the void right now—but maybe, one day, someone will read these lines. And that small thought is enough to keep me going.
As Amy mentions at the start of the book, practicing art is often (if not always) belittled.
What’s the point? Where will it lead?
I don’t know—where will your adult tennis class lead?
Fun? Better health? Improved mental well-being?
Same.
To summarise, as I remember learning in school, I’m doing this for me, but I do hope you find something for yourself too, and maybe get inspired to start your own creative journey.