The things my senses ate

On artist dates, post-creative emptiness, and re-filling the well.

A few weeks ago, I submitted the fourth draft of my novel. I feel beyond proud of myself - for how hard I’ve worked on it, for what I’ve managed to create, for the growth it’s allowed me. But I also feel emptied. Like I left everything behind in those pages. Every idea, every tension, every image that had been living inside me.

There’s something powerful in letting something take you over, and then letting it go. In building a whole world, shedding a life, birthing another. But we don’t talk enough about what happens after. The come-down. The disorientation. The quiet pressure - from the world, and from yourself - to move on to the next thing. The next idea. The next version of you.

I’m fucking exhausted. That’s the truth. And I’m trying to give myself grace. To understand that the aftermath is part of the process, too. That this, right now - this in-between - is its own kind of world. Its own kind of work.

I remember when I first started out as a writer. I was a music journalist then, and spent a lot of time interviewing artists about the album they had just released, or the tour they were currently on, or the video they had just wrapped. My editors would always want me to end the piece with, “What’s next?” As if they hadn’t just made something. As if they hadn’t just poured themselves into a project and offered it up to the world.

The idea that we should always be moving - always producing - is so deeply embedded. But the truth is, creativity is not a tap you can turn on without feeding the source. It’s not sustainable to keep giving if you’re never taking anything in.

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I first began to properly understand this when I came across The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. I did the 12-week programme a couple of years ago (and wrote a little about it here.) I haven’t stopped banging on about it since. In the years since its release, it’s become a kind of cultural movement, helping to shape the practices of countless artists, from Elizabeth Gilbert to Kerry Washington - and more recently, the rapper Doechii credited her own creative breakthrough to it. At the heart of the book is the idea of creative recovery; the cycle of emptying and re-filling.

One of the key tools Cameron offers in which to do that is the artist date - a weekly solo expedition to enchant or inspire your inner artist: the part of you who’s curious, childlike, unedited. The part that notices.

An artist date could be anything, she says - a walk through a gallery, a film on your own, a park bench and a book, a visit to an antique shop. The only rule is that you go alone, and that it’s something that delights you. That it’s something for you.

Since I first read that, I’ve tried to keep up the practice - some months more consistently than others. I’ve been to the theatre, to the cinema, for walks in the park, full albums playing in my headphones.

What’s surprised me is how it’s helped me grow more comfortable being alone in the world. Not just at home, but out in it. And how, in those solo times, I’ve been able to tune back into myself. My own voice. My own curiosities. What I actually want to see. What I actually think.

When I go places with other people - especially when it’s my idea - I often find myself wondering if they’re enjoying it, if they’re bored, if it’s landing the way I hoped it would. But when I go alone, I move at my own pace. I linger as long as I like in front of something that captures me. I get to form my own thoughts before anyone else’s arrive.

In the almost two months since submitting my manuscript, I’ve been especially devoted to the practice. Needing to re-fill that creative well more than ever. To remember that I am not just a mind with a deadline, but a body. A soul. A person trying to feel and do and be something true.

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Some things I’ve seen lately - and what they’ve been stirring in me:

From plays and exhibitions to unexpected gardens and quiet rooms full of flowers, here’s what I’ve been drawn to recently. And what it’s been showing me - about creativity, womanhood, longing, and how to move through the world with my eyes open.

🌀 Keep reading to see what I’ve been noticing - and what’s been staying with me. This part of the post is for paid subscribers. If you’d like to support my work and receive more of these reflections each month, you can upgrade your subscription below.