From Emptiness to Expression: How My Studio Healed Me

It was a Friday evening, one that should have been simple and comforting. I had the whole night mapped out in my head just me, the couch, a marathon of mindless TV, and all my favorite snacks. My husband had plans with his friend, so I had made plans of my own, and for a while, everything seemed fine. But then, just as the sun began to dip below the horizon, something shifted.

By six o'clock, I felt it, the heavy cloud of unease creeping in, smothering what had been a perfectly normal day. Nothing about the evening felt appealing anymore. I stared blankly at the TV and realized I didn’t even care about what I’d planned to watch. The snacks that normally brought me comfort sat untouched. All I could feel was a sense of emptiness, a void that had appeared out of nowhere, swallowing up my excitement and leaving me numb.

It wasn’t just boredom. No, this was something deeper, more unsettling, a sadness that I couldn’t explain. I thought about going for a walk, something I normally loved, but even that felt pointless. It hit me hard, how just an hour before, I was perfectly fine, and now I couldn’t shake this heavy, inexplicable gloom.

The longer I sat there, the more unbearable it became. I couldn’t just sit with it, this void that had taken hold of me. So, without thinking, I stood up, grabbed my phone, and headed downstairs to my studio. I had no plan, no intention really, other than to escape whatever it was I was feeling.

But the moment I walked into that room, it was as if the air around me shifted. The sadness, the weight of that invisible burden, started to lift. It was subtle at first, like the softest exhale after holding your breath for too long. But then, as I looked around at the brushes, the canvases, and the half-finished paintings scattered across the room, I felt something I hadn’t in hours, peace.

And then joy.

It was as though the world outside ceased to exist. The restlessness, the loneliness, it all melted away. I was in my own space now, my sanctuary, where nothing could touch me. I didn’t think about anything other than what was right in front of me. For the first time that evening, I was fully present, fully alive.

Three hours passed in what felt like minutes. I read. I took photos of myself, capturing the quiet, intimate moment of being alone but not lonely. And I worked on a piece I’d started before but suddenly felt drawn to finish. There was no sadness left, no void to fill. Only the satisfaction of creating, of losing myself in the colors, the textures, the act of making something out of nothing.

I had to force myself to go to bed that night. I could’ve stayed in the studio for hours longer, completely absorbed in my own world. What I’d felt earlier, that crushing sense of emptiness, was gone, as if it had never existed at all.

It’s amazing, isn’t it? How art can do that, how it can take the worst of our emotions and transform them into something meaningful, something beautiful. Art is more than just a hobby or a pastime. For me, it’s a lifeline, a way to process the world and my place in it. When everything else feels too heavy, too much to bear, art reminds me that there’s still something within me that’s untouchable, something that no amount of sadness or loneliness can take away.

In that studio, I rediscovered myself. And isn’t that the power of art? It’s not just about creating, it’s about healing. It’s about finding the stillness within the chaos, the joy within the sorrow. It’s about coming home to yourself, again and again.

That night, art saved me from myself. And it’s a gift I’ll never take for granted.

Thanks for stopping by

Until next time

Xo

Cassie