The Emotional Journey of Creating Art

Where Do You Go When You Create?

There’s a moment that happens when I begin to work. My hand picks up a brush, charcoal meets paper, and somewhere in those first few marks, I disappear. Not literally, of course—I’m still there in my studio. But my mind? My mind journeys somewhere else entirely.

School for me, as for so many, had its real challenges.  But the two places I found solace were in the art classroom, and the dance studio.  Only in these 2 spaces did I feel transported to somewhere else, somewhere far more lovely.

It takes time for me to arrive in that place. I need a few hours at least, because getting lost in the work doesn’t happen instantly. Time slips away unnoticed, and when I finally surface—sometimes exhausted, sometimes frustrated, but always deeply satisfied when a piece begins to resolve itself—I realise I’ve been somewhere that has no name, no map, no coordinates. Just colour, form, and feeling.

I wonder if you know this place too?

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The Space We Enter

Creating art is not just a physical act. Yes, our hands move, our eyes observe, our bodies lean in and pull back. But what’s happening beneath all of that is something far more profound. We enter an emotional landscape, one that shifts with every piece we make.

When I asked some of my students to reflect on what they feel when they create, their words painted a picture of this inner world more beautifully than I ever could.

Cath describes it this way “I come away from class feeling refreshed, even on the most gloomy of days outside.  The fun of sitting and creating as part of a friendly group of people under the gentle encouraging guidance of Rebecca is an extremely positive way to spend a morning.” 

For Norma, the feeling goes even deeper “I feel alive. I have been given back something positive from my childhood/teenage years that was lost. Now I have time and energy to embrace and enjoy.  It feels good.”

Marian’s reflection resonated with me! “In a world where my head can be undiagnosed chaos, art, through the right medium and connection, can bring me reflection, calm and sometimes a deep focus. That can only be a good thing”

And then there’s Carolyn; “I find creating drawings and paintings to be one of the most rewarding things you can do. Immediately one’s spirits are lifted by the challenge ahead. The experience is very much about what you bring to the task yourself: if you’re in the mood for fun, fun will be had. If it’s serious contemplation you seek, the answers are all there, waiting to be found, in your palette.”.

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The Many Faces of Creating

What strikes me about these reflections is how varied they are, and yet how universal. Art-making holds space for all of it: joy and frustration, exhaustion and exhilaration, chaos and calm. It can be social and solitary, playful and profound, liberating and demanding—all at once, or at different moments.

When I’m working, I lose track of time, my mind wanders to another place while my hands continue their work. Sometimes I emerge frustrated, staring at a piece that refuses to cooperate, wondering why I even started. But then there are those moments—the ones you live for—when something clicks, when a piece just works, and all that struggle transforms into something deeply rewarding.

I often wish I had more time for this. The demands of life mean I can’t always afford those long, uninterrupted hours that the work seems to require. But perhaps that’s what makes it so precious—those stolen moments when we get lost in creation become all the more valuable.

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The Gift We Give Ourselves

Creating art is an act of generosity towards ourselves. It asks us to show up, to be present, to allow ourselves to feel whatever emotion arises—whether that’s delight, frustration, peace, or discovery. It invites us into a state of flow where the outside world recedes and something truer emerges.

Whether you’re sitting in a class alongside others, working quietly at your kitchen table, or standing at an easel in your studio, you’re participating in something ancient and essential. You’re giving yourself permission to journey inward, to explore, to make sense of the world through colour and line and texture.

And when you do, you might just find what Norma found—that sense of feeling alive. Or what Marian discovered—a moment of calm in the chaos. Or what Cath experiences each week—a refreshment of spirit, even on gloomy days.

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Ponder

So I ask you: where do you go when you create? What does art-making give you that nothing else can?

Perhaps you already know. Maybe you’re still discovering. You may have felt it before but life got busy and you let it slip away.

Whatever your answer, know that the emotional journey of creating art is one worth taking. It’s exhausting and exhilarating. Frustrating and deeply fulfilling. It demands hours you may not feel you have, and yet gives back something that can’t be measured in time.

It takes you somewhere else. Somewhere only you can go.

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Act

This week, carve out some time—even just an hour—to create something. Don’t worry about the outcome or whether it will be “good.” Instead, notice where your mind travels as you work. Notice what emotions arise. Notice if time slips away.

And when you’re finished, whether the piece is resolved or not, take a moment to thank yourself for making that journey. For showing up. For getting lost, even briefly, in the act of creation.

Because that’s where the magic lives—not in the finished piece, but in the feeling of being fully, completely, wonderfully alive in the making of it.