There’s a particular kind of disorientation that comes with returning after time away—whether from a physical place, a creative project, or an extended illness. The space is the same, but I’m not. How can I be?
The piles of fabric, the unfinished sketches, the half-written notes—waiting as if I had just stepped out for a moment, when in reality, weeks (or months) have passed.
Travel has a way of shifting perspective, filling my head with new colors, textures, and ideas that demand attention. But re-entry? That’s its own beast. There’s the inertia of getting back into routine, the anxiety of picking up where I left off, and the quiet (yet persistent) fear that I’ve lost the thread of what I was doing before I left.
The trick, I am learning, is not to fight it. Instead of trying to snap back into the old rhythm, I am trying to let myself wander through the work, much like I wandered through cities archives and places of worship. I sift through sketches, re-read notes, and allow myself to be surprised by what I had planned versus what now feels urgent. And, most importantly, I start. Even if it’s a mess. Even if it’s just organizing materials or mixing colors. Motion begets momentum.
So here I am—back in the studio, back in the writing, back in the making. Not quite where I left off, but somewhere new. And that, I think, is the point.
Val
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