Bone Book Blog: The Call That Persists

There are periods in life when circumstances press in so closely that creative energy thins. Not disappears — but stretches, becomes fragile, easily exhausted.

Major trials do this. Financial strain, uncertainty, grief, responsibility. They occupy the same internal space that art usually lives in.

It is quiet, persistent, and oddly steady. Not urgent. Not dramatic. Simply there.

I’ve noticed that during difficult periods, the desire to work does not come from hope that art will change anything. It comes from something older and deeper — a need to remain in relationship with what is essential. As if the act of making says: I am still here. I am still myself.

Creative work, in these moments, is not productivity. It is orientation.

The studio becomes a place where time slows enough for the nervous system to breathe. Where the body remembers its own intelligence. Where attention can rest on something tangible, even if only for a short while.

Often, very little is produced. Sometimes nothing at all. But that is not failure. It is contact.

I have learned that art does not always ask to be made for an audience, or even for a future. Sometimes it asks simply to be touched, to be acknowledged, so that life does not become purely endurance.

The world does not pause for our trials. Systems continue. Obligations remain.

Outcomes are not softened by beauty. And yet — returning to the studio is not denial. It is refusal to disappear.

There is dignity in continuing to make, even quietly. Especially quietly.

The call does not promise relief. It does not claim power. It only says: Come back. Remember.

And that, I’ve found, is often enough.

After thought: I am not broken by sensitivity - i think I'm alive to it!