As I prepare for the next gallery opening, I’ve been reflecting on what’s seen from the outside versus what’s happening beneath the surface. Gallery openings are flashy, public, outward facing. There’s a real impulse to think those peaks are the main part worth noticing. But there’s so much richness happening underneath, so many other parts that support these career highs. This week, I want to share what feeds my creative energy. The real, unsexy, quiet work that makes everything else possible.

This is me at my first gallery opening with Bold back in January. Flashy, public, social, outward, a highlight moment. But between gallery openings, between these peaks, there’s all this work happening that doesn’t get noticed. I used to really chase the highs but now I bask in the inbetweens, I now know (for me) that’s where the real richness lives.

My creative process would be more streamlined and make more business sense if I used new materials. Upcycling textiles is a labor of love. It takes time, money, and effort that unless I speak and highlight  it, doesn't get noticed. But it’s not about what’s seen. It’s about what’s fueling the engine. For me, using upcycled textiles and honoring this core value is what fuels my creative process, even if I never mentioned that aspect to art collectors or viewers. It would still be important to me as the maker. Every week, quietly, slowly, I’m creating these textiles and incorporating them into my artwork.

Art can be emotive, my favprite art always is. It evokes emotions in the viewer, but it also gives you a glimpse into the artist’s state of being. This was one of the first volcanic studies I made, and when I look at it, I see the delight, the joy, the playfulness I was approaching my art with. But I also notice that I didn’t have quite the confidence yet that I established later on. It’s a smaller work, a smaller message, and I think that really reflects where I was in that moment. Enjoying the process, the lighting, the play, the fun, but also still building up my confidence and feeling comfortable with taking up space.

In the beginning, I was so shaky on showing imperfection. I really equated perfectionism with a high level of craftsmanship, and it took a lot of unlearning and relearning to realize that what makes my art special is the character behind it. The more I practice, the more I refine my skills, the more I purposefully try to incorporate these handmade, unique qualities. Now, with AI and tech and robotics being such a big part of our daily lives, I find myself (and the people who really connect with my art) craving this tactile, imperfect,a little wonky, wabi sabi, human element to the work.

This piece was so important in my making. Up to this point, I was really focused on the material, on making sure I captured an image that read as “volcano” right away. But this piece was my bold leap off a cliff without really knowing where I was going to land. It was brave. It was, as its name says, bold. It’s not so much the materials or even the image that led me, but rather the emotion it evokes. It’s a larger work, it takes up space, my confidence had grown. What I really appreciate when people connect with this piece is the emotions it brings up. Everyone who sees it feels something different. It lands in a way that’s powerful, impactful, emotive. It’s not tied to realism or a precious quality. Its not delicate but instead strong, resilient, raw, and it evokes a lot of feeling.

With age I really value important systems that allow me to feel settled enough for creativity to flow freely. As a younger artist, I could run on an empty tank. My creativity didn’t need as much support. I often ran myself into the ground, burn out was inevitable and creativity wasn’t as abundant so I jumped on the feeling when it came. But now, as I’m older and asking this creative pulse to show up more regularly, I’m trying to find systems that sustain it.

One of the big things I do for myself every week is meal prep. I create a bigger item for dinners, and for lunch, my husband and I make a spread to eat while Sweet Pea’s at school. We love this classic taco spread, but we also do summer rolls and big wraps. What’s fun about having it be separate ingredients bar style is we can tailor it to what we’re craving that day. It feels creative in the making. It’s not the same thing in six containers for six days, but ingredients we can mix and match. I feel nourished nutritionally and cared for , but I also get this playful, creative aspect of building the lunch I’m craving.

My best friend and I have been talking a lot lately about how taxing the world can feel. Trying to follow the news, hearing how people are dealing with really hard times. It’s a lot. It can be really hard on creatives and empaths. We can feel it so deeply. That feeling is important because it’s connecting, it propels action and change, it’s important to stay connected to our immediate communities and the world at large. But the downside can be that it leaves you feeling full of sorrow and a little hopeless. I think that’s where art can really come in, especially really lighthearted art.

Doing this type of project that feels playful and will end up as a hat for dopamine dressing. This is the balm for my heart. It’s the in between from receiving hard news, seeing the state of things, processing it, feeling the sorrow so deeply and then projects like this recharge me and get me to the next stage, which is action. How can I be involved? How can I make a change? I don’t think I would be able to move through all three stages without this filter that’s able to take in the sorrow, feel it profoundly, and then my art is a way of processing all of it. What comes out on the other end is full of hope and change and positive, impactful action.

It’s strawberry guava season here on the island, and they’re bountiful everywhere. Sweet Pea and I have been picking strawberry guavas for weeks now, leading up to her birthday. It’s such a sweet way for us to connect and do something with our hands that will benefit our family. Our guests were really into it too, so it was a fun thing to do altogether.

Our fruit bowl is brimming with papayas, breadfruit, standard guavas, strawberry guavas, citrus, with our cown jewel, our strawberry syrup/jam in the middle. We’re thinking of all types of creative ways to use this syrup. Right now we’ve been using it on pancakes, in mocktails and cocktails, in popsicles and smoothies, but we’d also love to use it in baked goods. Sweet Pea and I have been talking about ways to make our own candies. I’m not a sweet tooth person (chocolate and fruit is the extent of it for me) but I love the idea of creating homemade gummies for my candy duo, Sweet Pea and Bubba, who both really love them.

One of the most important ways I fill up my creative cup is through time with Sweet Pea, time with Bubba, and time in nature. When I’m feeling creatively stuck, when the flow has completely ended, past versions of me would push to stick with the art, to persevere, to feel that resistance. Now I’m noticing that taking a step away from the studio, spending time removed from the output, just hyper focusing on the inputs of love and family and nature, fills my cup completely. It helps me show up in all facets of life in a more abundant, sustained, and authentic way.

This week has me thinking a lot about what feeds the creative practice, the quiet underneath work. I’m curious: What do you do to fill up your cup? How do you make time for it? What’s been working for you lately? Is it something you prioritize in your life? Especially during these trying times. 

I’d genuinely love to hear. Hit reply and tell me. I read every response.

Love,

Coco