Title: Carving a Life I Wish to Live: Balancing Mental Health, Art, and a Dog-Walking Dream

In the quest to find purpose and meaning in life, we often find ourselves entangled in the pursuit of our passions. For many, art becomes not just a hobby but a lifeline, a way to express the inexpressible and navigate the tumultuous waters of mental health. But what happens when this lifeline starts to feel like a noose, when passion turns into pressure, and creativity becomes a curse? This is a journey I've been on, and I want to share how I'm rethinking my relationship with my art, my home, and my dreams.

The cliché "I've begun to take my art seriously" is something we've all heard or said at some point in our creative journeys. It signifies a commitment to nurturing our talents, dedicating more time to our craft, and strengthening the bond we share with our art. But what happens when taking it seriously begins to hurt us rather than heal us?

I found myself trapped in this cycle. I painted relentlessly, often feeling compelled to use canvas or wooden panels, believing that my art had to be a viable product. It became more about having something to show rather than creating because I had something to express. My living space morphed into an art gallery, every wall adorned with paintings of varying sizes. It was as if a creative fungus had invaded my sanctuary.

That's when I realised it was time for a radical change. My studio would move from its cluttered corner to the bedroom, allowing me to shut the door and separate my workspace from my living space. The bedroom, in turn, would make its way into the living room, complete with a carpet makeover and a partition, with my beloved orange curtains making a triumphant return. This shift was sparked by a dream - the dream of getting a dog.

Currently in a housing association, I'm waiting for confirmation on whether I can bring a furry friend into my life. The anticipation is both exciting and nerve-wracking. If I'm declined, it will only fuel my determination to embark on my next venture - a dog-walking business. This transition, I hope, will allow my art to breathe, to be sold organically, without the pressure of constantly creating.

I'm craving a life that doesn't confine me indoors, perpetually painting. I want to be outside, under the open sky, sketching and doodling without the obligation of making every stroke sellable (although, in some sense, all art is sellable). I long to paint when the urge strikes, while being outdoors, walking for miles with dogs, enhancing my CrossFit fitness, and immersing myself in the beauty of nature.

Sketchbooks will become my companions once more, and I'll find a way to archive them efficiently. Even then, they might fill up quickly. Maybe I'll consider digital art, but there's something magical about the tactile feel of paint that I can't let go of.

My approach to art is undergoing a transformation. I want it to nourish me instead of draining me, to inspire rather than burden me. I yearn for my art to be seen by the world, and perhaps, if circumstances allow, I can afford a venue to showcase it. It's a dream, but dreams have a way of turning into reality when we dare to chase them.

While I'm constantly connected through social media, maintaining this blog has proven to be a time-consuming endeavour, even with the assistance of chat GPT for my dyslexia. It's essential for me that my words reflect my essence, and asking an AI to write it based on the topic would fundamentally change its essence. So, I'll continue to spend time on writing the words first. I have a series of markets lined up this month, and after that, I'll keep creating but with a different perspective.

Breaking the habit of relentless creation will take time. I'll have to ease the pressure, let go of the constant need to upload, and silence the self-doubt that lingers after each post. I want to rediscover the joy of creating art for the sake of creation itself, not because someone suggests I should offer lessons or make it “professional." Saying my doodles mean I have no talent.

My space is small, overflowing with art. I'll tuck it away in what used to be the bedroom, and perhaps, I can even turn that into a viewable gallery space someday. The next step in this journey is finding a two-bedroom home near the woods with a garden, where I can welcome a dog into my life if the dog walking is a success. Time will tell if my health, impacted by ADHD and fatigue, will allow me to pursue this dream. Tricky to test the waters. This could be the sort I can manage, with four hours of walking a day.

Carving out the life I desire is a process that takes time, but I'm building it with hope on the horizon. Even as my friends settle into married life and buy houses, I'm forging my own unique path, redefining my relationship with art, and looking forward to the possibility of sharing my life with a faithful canine companion.