Saturday, June 15, 2024 [11:05 AM]

I’m in the car driving home from the beach. Well, I’m not actually driving. Forest and I are passengers. And I’m sitting directly in my process.

I enjoyed this past week by the ocean. I spent most days drinking iced coffee, playing in the sand, biking (lots and lots of biking), and going on evening walks with my pup. I ate lots and lots of seafood. And got lots and lots of bug bites.

To my surprise, the most interesting part of my trip wasn’t the activities, though. It was the sense of strangeness I felt entering vacation with the permission to know not everything had to be inspiration or turn into some sort of art piece. I could just be there.

You see, I love the ocean — I spent a good part of last year creating monotypes about my affinity for the water and it was the subject of my first zine. I used to try and bottle it up and channel anything I could from it into art. Looking back, I think in a lot of ways I was growing, discovering myself and the art I wanted to create. I knew the ocean was my muse, and I practiced what that could mean often. Style is something I believe matures with you for a lifetime. And I think artist’s will see many iterations of their own style in the entirely of their life’s work.

This past week, I remember one day looking at the sky and observing the highlights and shadows on the clouds. I gently reminded myself, Lauren, you don’t have to turn this into a drawing. And that, to me, felt like such an exhale. Like the pressure valve was released.

It feels strange. To purposely let go. But it also feels right. Like I’m no longer forcing what doesn’t need to be.

I’m excited to get my film back from the trip. And see what I saw again. To maybe turn some of them into art, or maybe not. Not every part of my process has to turn into something tangible. It can simply just be.