On Thursday afternoon I realised that a week had almost passed without me touching a paint brush. I've been working in my sketchbooks, but they are more like journals. I hadn't actually added any paint to a wood panel for weeks ... and I didn't think I could remember how to do it.

I sat in my studio and stared at the half-finished paintings that surrounded me. Who made these?

Surely it wasn't me. I didn't remember mixing those colours or making those marks. In fact, I couldn't remember how to mix a colour or make a mark. Where would I even start??

And how on earth did I think I was going to teach Find Your Joy in 5 weeks time, when I couldn't even paint?

I sent an email to a fellow artist. I told her "I need an intervention! I can't paint." And then I remembered... I've done this before. I've been here before. That panicked email was like opening a pressure valve. As soon as I said it out loud, the answer came as it always does.

"What would feel most fun?"

Of course, you absolute dolt!

Just do what you teach! 

This quick recovery is the benefit of experience. After a while, you have been through all the ups and downs of the creative cycle and you know it's all normal. But when I had less experience, this feeling would really frighten me. I'd genuinely believe it was all over for me - that I had somehow exhausted all my creativity and it would never be refilled.

If you ever feel like that, I'm, sharing this to reassure you. I want you to know that you are OK and it will come back, but I also want you to know that you can accelerate the process by understanding one thing: your feeling of being stuck is a message; it's telling you that you're ready for a shift. It's telling you that your art is ready to change. 

The problem is, the message is incomplete. You don't get to know what the results of the shift will be. And if you don't know the results, you might feel like there is no way to begin. After all, you wouldn't start a car journey without knowing your destination. But of course, art doesn't work like everything else - in art we often have no idea where we're going and this is especially true of shifts.

So we have to trust. We have to trust ourselves and we have to trust the process. 

For me this means thinking of what feels most fun and easy. It might be drawing with pencils or playing with charcoal. It might be painting people or faces. Or it might be making a series of loose studies made with anything I find to hand. The answer changes each time. It's never the same. 

This time, I decided to ditch most of my colours. Recently, I've noticed that I love my paintings best when they are primarily black, white and one other colour. And yet, when I'm not paying attention, I tend to subconsciously discount this preference - perhaps because I secretly think 'real art' is all about colour.

This is of course nonsense, as many, many artists can attest, but it has been a block for me on many occasions. I like colour and I'm good with colour, so why not use it? And yet, at the moment, I am happiest when I keep my palette extremely limited.

So, on Thursday, I laid out a palette of black, white and yellow ochre. I found a pack of acrylic paper and pinned up the pieces on my drawing wall. I pulled out a box of charcoal and pencils. And then I simply started to make marks.

I moved between 5 sheets of paper at a time and when my first 5 were full, I grabbed 5 more.

At first it was hard to begin - there's an inertia that comes from inaction. But then, slowly, I began to get absorbed in the task at hand. I made only the marks I enjoyed, with no judgment about whether I was doing it 'right' or whether I should be doing something different.

No "this isn't art" or "why don't you use more colours?" or "why do they all look so similar?"

No "it's not art if you don't build up layers" or "what are you going to do with these?"

In short, there was no thought about an end result, only an absorption in the process.

And you know what? It felt really good. What's more, I actually liked some of the pieces I made. Once again, following my joy led me to start making things - and once I was involved in making things, I didn't want to stop.

I wound up with 3 or 4 pieces I plan to frame to hang in my new studio/gallery space (more details about that coming soon!). Also, the act of making things gave me new ideas and things to try for next time.