Between Art and Rest — A Moment to Breathe

Between Art and Rest — A Moment to Breathe

The recent exhibit at Mills Pond Gallery was a truly meaningful experience for me.
Unlike previous shows, this one placed special emphasis on connecting each artwork with the artist’s statement. It was a powerful opportunity to reflect on how I, as an artist, communicate with the audience—not just through visual language, but through words as well.

It reminded me how much context and personal narrative can deepen one’s relationship with art.
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Today, I received some heartwarming news from the gallery director:
the exhibition has been extended for another week due to its popularity.
The following message particularly stayed with me:

​It was quite a wonderful learning experience for gallery visitors
who just loved not only seeing your art,
but also having an opportunity to read your statements about your connections with the subject of your work.
I truly think the experience has deepened their connection to art
and will forever change the way they view it!

Messages like this are profoundly encouraging to artists.
In moments when we question our direction or the meaning behind our work,
a sincere note like this becomes a quiet reminder that our efforts matter—that they reach people, sometimes more deeply than we realize.

Yet despite this encouragement,
I made the decision to skip the open call for the gallery’s upcoming exhibit--
a first for me, after faithfully participating every month without fail.
To be honest, it wasn’t so much a mistake as it was an intentional pause.
I had a painting prepared for the next show, themed “Flower Power,”

but instead of submitting it, I chose to step away.
Lately, I’ve been feeling the weight of having pushed myself too hard for too long.
After a recent medical checkup, my doctor expressed concern about my thyroid levels--
a small but sobering signal that my body was asking for rest.
And I was curious:
What happens when I stop running, even just for a moment?

What might emerge when I allow silence and stillness to return?

So I traveled.
I let go of deadlines and schedules, and embraced the unfamiliar feeling of doing nothing.
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It was uncomfortable at first—but then deeply freeing.
And I realized: this too is part of the work.
Taking care of myself, listening to my inner rhythms,
and honoring the stillness that often precedes real growth.
The painting I intended to submit is still with me—quiet, waiting.
Perhaps it will appear in another show.
Perhaps in a more fitting season.
But for now, I know I made the right choice.
Because rest is not failure.
It is an act of preservation, a redirection, a turning point.
And art—real, living art—often grows best from the soil of rest.