I recently finished a series of galaxy paintings. If you haven't seen the series, definitely do check it out! Here's the link. And while I'm very pleased to share these pieces, that's not why I'm writing today. Instead, I'd like to examine the space that I and many other artists have come to know as the creative void.

The Stargazer 2026 Calendar featuring ALL twelve of the galaxy series paintings!

I hadn't thought much about how long I'd been working on these galaxy paintings. The inspiration seemed to come out of nowhere this past summer. I started first by patiently layering one wash of color after another. Adding a little salt for texture. Slowly, light and depth and graded color dotted with ethereal splatter and paint pen detailing became a galaxy. I had to keep going. So I did, intensely. It was just this morning that I counted how many months I'd been birthing my little universes. Five. Where had the time gone? Can you relate?

Testing this starseed of an idea for a galaxy series back in June.

The creative void isn't anything to be afraid of. In fact, it's the flipside of the flow state I just described. However, if you don't recognize that's what you're dealing with, it can be kind of panic inducing. Instead of being pulled along by a powerful current, you're seemingly drowning in nothingness.

I think this concept applies not just to the ending of creative endeavors but to any kind of time consuming and meaningful process someone has dedicated themselves to. After finishing my series, of course, I was very excited. It felt like a milestone. I felt jubilant. Accomplished. And then I felt very, very tired. Like the power went out. Okay, fine. I thought to myself. I'll just have a restful, restorative weekend and then I'll get back to things come Monday!

Getting some weekend R&R with my studio manager.

Monday came. And that's when that emptiness peeked its creepy little face around the corner. What did I have to come back to? Yes, I do have other meaningful work to engage in, but...well, I had no drive to do it! Without the big goal pressure cooking the smaller goals into my day, it seemed as though there was no momentum to be found for anything. I had no color palettes to work out, no texturing to apply, no atmosphere to create. This labor of love that I had spent so much time pouring into had vanished—as I knew it anyway. It was now happily running amok in the world. And I was left here. Wherever here is. Uh oh.

Rabbit Hole—a petite watercolor I painted last year comes to mind as I write this.

My husband found me, face down on our bed. Actually, he didn't so much find me as he poked his head out of the bathroom to see why I had chosen to micromanage his day from under our pillows instead of living my own. Clearly, I was avoiding something. Being a creative himself he understands the natural lows that follow a creative high. He kindly suggested that I reframe the void not as some hopeless black hole but as a place for exploration.

I appreciated the reminder. And truly, reframing seems like the best option. But, there's still that lingering doubt: what if I look into the unending expanse and nothing shows up? I mean, that's why people, including me, don't like to take breaks. Isn't it? It's so those what ifs don't start haunting the space and filling the void. If you simply pile drive into the next thing, you'll be too busy to notice, right? True, but you'll also be too busy to notice how burnt out you're getting.

Happy Place: the last piece I painted in this series.

This is how I like to engage with the creative void when I finally realize I'm in one. I like to treat it as both a space to rest and a space to notice. Let yourself be still for as long as it takes the next idea to show up. Now this doesn't mean you don't engage at all. For example, I have a handful of techniques I'd like to practice and tutorials and exercises I'd like to flesh out. I'll probably play with those. It doesn't need to have a narrative or a plan attached to it just genuine engagement and curiosity.

Speaking of curiosity, the void is also a great place to explore other people's creations. This doesn't need to even be in the same sphere that you work in. For example, I've found myself drawn to late 50s/early 60s films recently. Something about the visuals and framing has caught my eye. That might be a fun rabbit hole to go down. No pressure to make anything of it. I can just soak it in.

So, PSA, the next time you careen off that flow state straight into a creative void, don't panic. If met with acceptance, it can be a soft place to land after running a marathon. Let the void be that safe, low pressure space to look at things with curiosity and wonder while you recharge. When the next big inspiration is ready, it'll know where to find you.

How do you navigate your own creative voids? Share in the comments below!

Hello it’s me: notes from the creative void

Slow it down: a case for taking your creative time