Last week, I was circling my studio like someone avoiding a difficult conversation. Everything felt stalled. Heavy. I kept asking myself why I was even making anything.

Not because nothing was working. But because the meaning had slipped its moorings.

Then I was reminded that my work isn’t meant to prove anything. It’s meant to be a place I can return to when I’m unsure, creatively drained, or quietly lost.

The moral, if there is one: When you feel stuck, it’s often not a lack of discipline. It’s a signal to listen more closely to why you began.