Why I Make (Even When Life Gets Busy)
I grew up in a very creative household, which meant I was drawing and painting from a young age (think handprints, pasta-shape collages, and all the glitter). Art has always been how I express myself, and even now, I can lose myself in it for hours at a time.
But when I grew up and started working, I found less and less time for it. Admin, life, stress — all of it seemed to get in the way, and I forgot just how much joy art brings me. Creating helps my mental health and gives me a space to play and explore new ideas without boundaries.
When the rhythm of life changes, I notice how quickly my creative time gets pushed to the side. And when that happens, I feel it — I become more irritable, less grounded. I’ve realised it’s important for me to do something, no matter how small, every day. It doesn’t have to be big or impressive. Just picking up a pen or brush for a few minutes feels like carving out a sacred space for myself. Without it, I’m immediately off balance.
When I finally came back to art — after years of not even opening a sketchbook — I started small. I picked up Art Before Breakfast by Danny Gregory, a wonderful little guide that encourages you to draw just for yourself in 15 minutes at the start of your day. The idea is simple: sketch while the kettle boils or while your coffee brews.
That practice changed everything for me. It reminded me that all art matters, and there is no such thing as “bad” art. Taking away the pressure to be perfect gave me the freedom to just make something — anything. Slowly, I felt more playful, less stressed, and like I was reclaiming a part of myself that had been ignored for far too long.
Of course, making art for others is different — it often comes with higher standards and extra challenges. For a while, I thought I should hold myself to that same “polished” level all the time. But I’ve learned to let go of that when I’m creating just for me. That way, I save my energy for the moments when polished work really matters, and I get to enjoy the freedom of looser, more personal art too.
What’s become clear is that whether I’m making for myself or for others, it all has value. Looking back through old sketchbooks, I see more than just pictures — I see little time capsules. Each page is a memory, a moment in time, a reflection of who I was when I made it.
And I’m so grateful I picked up those small morning sketches of toast and coffee all those years ago. They reminded me that art doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to breathe.
Over to you
How could you fit gentle creating into the margins of your life?