What Happened?

It’s Saturday morning. My husband is off on an errand, all the cats are playing outside, and so, for a few blissful moments I have the house to myself.  The televisions are off. The radios are off. The only sound I hear is the pleasant, soothing sound of the “waterfall fountain” our cats love. It’s here near my desk, and it is very relaxing.

Lately I’ve been toying with the idea of making art again. I’m planning to do a few free online classes in the near future, and, of course, Sketchbook Revival 2023 will be coming up later in March. I’m interested. I’m also considering a “creative expression” experience — one that’s focused on art journaling, but which can be approached from other starting points, as well. I know that art journaling is not for me. I’ve tried it, explored it, loved it, hated it, and learned from it. I’m not going to go that way again. I am interested, though, in working with the ideas and prompts from the program.

Mostly, in recent weeks, I’ve been looking around my “studio” and wondering exactly what happened. A year ago was I coming here every day. I was drawing, painting, playing with pastels. I was learning and growing as an artist. I was connecting with ideas of “authenticity” — which led to an “honorable mention” ribbon from a regional art show. In looking back now, I’d say I was at a good point with my art. I was not only seeing improvement, but feeling it.  I was recognizing myself as an artist.

So, then, what happened? Why was it that only a few months later I walked away from art… and have yet to return? Now, of course, there is no single reason, and to think otherwise would be a mistake. It would also be unfair to my husband, for, you see, most of “what happened” to me and my art goes back to one simple fact. My husband retired.

I don’t want to “blame” him. That’s not the point here. I’m happy that he’s retired. Especially on cold, snowy mornings or foggy mornings or rainy days. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about him driving in to work and driving home again in the afternoons. The problem, I suppose, isn’t so much his retirement as it is my inability to adjust to it.

My entire life has been disrupted. I can’t keep up with him and the housework. My laundry schedule is a thing of the past. Our mealtimes are erratic, depending more on his hunger level than on my carefully-planned menus and cooking schedule.

And the noise! My husband and I are polar opposites here. I cherish peace and quiet. He needs a constant soundtrack. The television news goes on the moment he wakes up; it remains on all day. At night, the television is tuned to a “music” station — quieter, but not the true quiet I need. And that’s only the upstairs television. Yes, there’s another television downstairs — and downstairs is where my studio is. So while the television upstairs is on, my husband comes downstairs to sit by the fireplace and/or to work on his own projects, and on comes the television here. Along with the radio.

There’s another radio in our bedroom. He likes to turn it on, too. Plus there’s one in each of his garage workshops, and they are on, too. My husband, you see, likes turning things on but he never turns them off. I will sometimes resort to putting a television on “mute” — just so I can have a few moments of peace — but it annoys him if I turn anything off.

In case you’re wondering, yes, I’ve discussed this all with him, and while he “understands” at some level, that understanding doesn’t translate into practical action. It’s simply not in his nature to turn things off, and having constant noise around him doesn’t faze him in the least.

It destroys me. I can’t think, can’t concentrate, can’t enjoy the simple pleasures in life. I’ve compensated by turning away from most creative activities. I shut myself away in the bedroom, play mindless computer games, and I express what creativity I can summon through activities with my husband. I love sharing creative projects with him. We’ve done candle-making, worked on sewing projects, and, as I posted previously, we celebrated Chinese New Year with origami and lucky Chinese coins.

While I’m thrilled that my husband is sharing these projects with me, I also have to say that they’re challenging. Again, we’re polar opposites. I want to follow directions. He wants to do things his own way. Somehow we’re able to compromise enough to complete our projects, but as often as not I’m left without any real feeling of creative satisfaction.

So, all in all, what happened to my art was that I tried to work through the changes in our home. I tried to find ways to adapt to having a 24-hour-a-day-husband-at-home. And, quite simply, it overwhelmed me. I’ve spent the last 6 months once again trying to adapt, trying to find new ways to explore my creative interests while putting up with noise, constant conversation, and differing opinions. It was working for a while, but little by little, I’m feeling overwhelmed again.

Art should be fun. Being creative should always be rewarding and satisfying. Right now, it’s not. It’s frustrating, depressing, and exhausting.

I will talk to my husband again. I want to come back to art with more “art therapy” projects to deal with all the frustrations and find ways to work through the problems. And, again, I’m not blaming my husband. He is who he is, and I love him dearly. I’m not asking him to change who he is.

I’m just asking for a little more space, a little more peace and quiet, a little more time to be who I am. And I’m willing to do my part, to make slight adjustments to my routines, to be flexible when necessary. I’m overwhelmed all over again. I’m searching for answers, and looking for understanding. And right now, while my husband is off on his errands and the cats are outside, I’m going to lie down, close my eyes, and enjoy our quiet house.