Art as Ritual: Developing Daily Practices to Sustain Creativity

There’s something really comforting about starting the day in the same way. Even if it’s just a cup of coffee in the same mug, or the small stretch I do before I sit at my desk, I’ve noticed these little actions give me a kind of steady hum beneath the chaos. That hum keeps me tethered to my creative self, especially on the days when I’m tired or distracted or staring down a full inbox. Over time, I’ve come to see these repetitive gestures not as chores or habits, but as daily rituals. And honestly, those rituals have saved my creative practice more than once.

I used to resist the idea of routine. It felt too rigid, like something that would kill the spontaneity I thought creativity required. But the longer I’ve worked as an artist (and the longer I’ve taught other artists) I’ve realized that the routine is not the killer of creativity. It’s the container. It’s the thing that makes space for the real work to happen. Without it, everything stays in the maybe pile. And I don’t know about you, but I have enough of those piles already.

It took me a while to figure out what my daily rituals could actually look like. I don’t mean big, sweeping routines that take up half the day. I’m talking about small, manageable touch points. Things I can return to that signal: okay, it’s time now. Let’s get into it. For me, it started with a simple practice…just ten minutes of drawing before I check my email. I don’t share it. I don’t plan it. I just sit down and make a few marks. That’s it. But it shifts something. It lets me warm up before I have to face the world. On days when I skip it, I notice. I’m more scattered. I’m more likely to scroll. I feel disconnected from what I’m trying to build in the studio.

This is what I mean by ritual. Something simple. Something repeatable. Something that centers you in your own process. It could be tidying your space for five minutes before you work. It could be lighting a candle, or playing the same playlist. It could be a quick stretch or walking around the block. The point isn’t what it is. It’s that it belongs to you. That it’s yours.

What I’ve noticed is that when I return to the same small practices day after day, my brain starts to associate those actions with creativity. So even when I don’t feel inspired, I still show up. I’m not waiting for lightning. I’m creating the conditions that allow something to spark.

And here's the thing... those sparks don’t always come in the first few minutes. Some days I doodle and it’s total nonsense. Some days I clean my desk just to feel like I’m doing something. But because I keep showing up, those days start to stack up. And eventually, something sticks. A new idea comes through. A fresh direction makes itself known. But only because I kept returning to the table.

If you’re feeling creatively stuck or scattered, I’d ask you this: what could your daily practice look like if it was only for you? What’s something small you could do each day—not to produce something for others, but just to stay connected to yourself as an artist?

You don’t have to overthink it. You don’t need a perfect studio or a whole afternoon free. One thing I’ve learned is that a five-minute ritual, done consistently, has way more power than a once-in-a-blue-moon marathon session.

Some artists I know keep a tiny notebook by their bed and draw in it each night before sleep. Others use the first ten minutes of their morning for freewriting or loose watercolor. One of my friends has a mini space on her kitchen counter with a sketchbook, where she draws while her coffee brews. It doesn’t matter what form it takes. It just matters that it happens regularly.

What surprised me most was how these little practices started supporting my bigger projects. When I was working on a long-term series last year, I used to feel overwhelmed by the scope of it. So instead of tackling the whole thing in one go, I started using my morning sketch ritual as a way to explore parts of it. Sometimes I’d draw a detail or a texture I wanted to use. Sometimes I’d write out questions about the work. And slowly, those ten-minute bits started feeding into the bigger picture. I wasn’t just “warming up” anymore. I was chipping away at something, without even realizing it.

It also helped me get through the times when I wasn’t sure where things were going. I don’t know about you, but I hit those foggy patches where everything feels a little directionless. I start wondering if I’m wasting time, or if I should pivot to something else. In the past, I’d take a break... and that break would stretch into weeks. Sometimes months. But when I had a small daily practice in place, I kept moving, even if the movement was slow. Even if the output wasn’t anything I wanted to share. That motion (any motion!) kept the door open.

And that’s really the heart of it. Daily rituals keep the door open. To your ideas. To your intuition. To your materials. To your process. They remind you that you don’t have to do everything at once. You just have to come back to it. Again and again.

If you’re not sure where to start, here are a few things that have helped me:

Choose something small. Not something that takes an hour. Start with five or ten minutes. You want it to be doable on a bad day, not just the good ones.

Tie it to something you already do. Maybe it’s right after your coffee, or right before you go to bed. If it’s anchored to an existing part of your day, it’s easier to remember.

Keep it low-pressure. This isn’t about making masterpieces (as my mom always say to me: you can’t make a masterpiece every time). It’s about showing up. The point is to be present, not perfect.

Track your consistency if that helps you. Some artists like checklists or calendars. I personally just write the date in my sketchbook when I do it. It’s a little nudge to keep going.

Let it evolve. You don’t have to do the same exact thing every day. You can let it shift depending on what you need. The important thing is that you return to the space. The content can change.

Eventually, it becomes something you miss when you skip it. Not because of guilt... but because it’s grounding. You begin to crave that moment of connection with your creative self.

And maybe most importantly, these rituals can help you feel like an artist even when you’re not making “big” work. They remind you that you are in this. You are doing the thing. You are still showing up.

I know it can feel hard when you’re juggling other jobs or caretaking or just the general pace of life. Some days my ritual is less romantic and more like setting a timer and opening my sketchbook in between grading papers or finishing a Zoom call. But it’s something. And it keeps me tethered to my work in a way that matters.

If you’ve been feeling out of sync or disconnected, this could be the season to bring a ritual into your days. Nothing fancy. Just a return. A rhythm. A moment that says, I’m here. I’m doing the work. Even if it’s just for me.

So, what does that look like for you? What would five minutes a day feel like if it was devoted to your creative energy? What would change if you gave yourself that space again and again?

I’d love to hear what you come up with. Whether you already have a practice or you’re just starting one, there’s something powerful in naming it. In claiming it. In letting it shape your days. Because the truth is, long-term creative work doesn’t come from bursts of brilliance. It comes from these quiet, steady, daily moments. The ones that add up over time. The ones you build when no one else is watching. And that’s where the real magic livesn even if it’s just ten minutes and a pencil before your coffee.