Rest as a Form of Exhibition – My Turning Point and the Pause from Routine

Rest as a Form of Exhibition – My Turning Point and the Pause from Routine

After years of showing work without pause, one artist embraces a moment of burnout—not as failure, but as a turning point. A heartfelt reflection on the power of rest, creative renewal, and rediscovering the joy of painting.

As a long-time member of the Mills Pond Gallery and the Smithtown Art Council,
I’ve participated in every monthly exhibition without missing a single one.

Month after month, I’ve poured myself into my work with discipline, sincerity, and love for the local art community.

Over time, I’ve been fortunate enough to build connections with art lovers who have followed and supported my creative journey.

For that, I am deeply grateful—every day I paint, I do so with these people in mind.
But this month, for the first time, I made the decision to skip an exhibition.
The theme was "Flower Power"—a subject I genuinely love.
I've painted flowers and nature many times before with joy.
But this time, something in me felt still, even silent.
This wasn’t a typical slump.

It was a burnout, born not from lack of ideas, but from running too hard for too long.

Yet, in the quiet of that fatigue, I realized something deeper:
I wasn’t just tired—I had reached a turning point.
One that asked me not just to rest, but to rethink everything about how I work.
So over the Memorial Day break, I put everything on hold.
I paused all schedules, obligations, and pressures,
and simply gave myself permission to stop.

I’ve come to believe this:

Rest is not the absence of creation. Rest is creation.
​
It is a silent form of work. A hidden exhibition.
A space in which new visions quietly take shape.
When I stopped, the noise faded and something essential returned.
I found myself reconnecting with the original joy of painting—not for deadlines, not for proof of effort,
but for the simple, honest pleasure of creating.
This year, I want to hold onto that joy.
To paint not for momentum, but for meaning.
To everyone who has supported me, collected my work, and followed my journey--
I often wonder how I can truly express my gratitude.
Sometimes, I say half-jokingly:
“One day, I’ll make everyone who owns my paintings rich.”
It’s a playful remark, but behind it lies a real wish--
a wish to give something back for the kindness, belief, and connection I’ve received.
Now, after this much-needed pause,
I feel ready to paint again—more freely, more fully.
This break was not a detour. It was a necessary piece of the process.
And I dare say:
This rest was, in its own quiet way, a form of exhibition.
If you understand that, then you already understand the heart of my art.