Creating Art in Isolation: What We Learn from Solitude

There’s a point where things get quiet and you don’t have anything pulling at you. No messages, no deadlines in the immediate sense, no one asking what you’re working on. Sometimes you choose it, sometimes it just happens. Either way, when it stretches out long enough, it starts to feel different than just having a free afternoon.

I’ve had a lot of work come out of those stretches. Not because I planned it that way, but because there was finally enough space to pay attention to what I was actually doing. That usually happens when my schedule shifts, or after something in life slows everything down whether I want it to or not. Teaching pauses, projects end, or I just get tired of being in constant response mode.

It’s not always comfortable. That’s the part I didn’t expect early on. I used to think time alone would automatically mean better work or clearer ideas. Sometimes it does, but sometimes it just feels off for a while. You sit down to work and nothing really lands. You move things around, start something, stop halfway through, reorganize supplies you weren’t planning to touch. It can feel like nothing is happening, but that’s usually the part that matters.

When there’s nothing else in the room with you, it’s easier to see how you actually work. I start noticing the habits I don’t question when I’m busy. The colors I default to, the materials I avoid, the points where I hesitate and pull back instead of pushing further. Without outside input, those patterns get harder to ignore.

I also make different decisions. Sometimes I go further than I normally would, sometimes I simplify things more than expected. It depends on the day, but it’s usually less filtered. There’s no one else to react to it in real time, so I don’t adjust as quickly. I stay with things a little longer.

That changes the pace of the work too. Everything slows down. Layers take as long as they take. The awkward middle doesn’t get skipped. You don’t have the usual checkpoints where someone else might weigh in or where you post something and get a response back. It’s just you and the piece, and that can feel long at first.

I’ve had to get used to that. There’s a point where I want to speed things up or get some kind of confirmation that I’m on the right track. That’s usually when I realize how much I rely on feedback to move forward. When it’s not there, I have to decide whether to keep going anyway. That’s been one of the more useful parts of working alone. Not in a big, dramatic way, but in the sense that I trust my decisions a little more because I’ve had to sit with them longer.

I don’t always have large blocks of time for this. Most of the time it’s smaller stretches where I make a point of turning everything else off and not planning to show anything that comes out of it. That alone changes how I approach the work. If it doesn’t have to go anywhere, I’m more willing to try things that don’t make sense yet.

I’ll keep a sketchbook or some loose pages nearby during those times, but it’s not something I’m trying to build into anything finished. It’s just a place to let things collect. Marks, colors, notes, things that don’t quite connect yet. Later on, I’ll go back through and notice what kept showing up. That’s usually where something starts to take shape.

I’ve also noticed that when I’m working like this, I talk to myself more. Not in a full conversation, but just saying things out loud as I’m deciding what to do next. It’s something I didn’t realize I did until I had more time alone in the studio. It actually helps. It moves things along faster than letting everything stay in my head.

At the same time, I can feel when I’ve been on my own too long. Things start to loop. I question everything more than I need to. That’s usually when I know it’s time to step back out a bit and reconnect with other people, even in a low-key way. A quick message, sharing something without overthinking it, just enough to get out of my own head.

I’ve found that going back and forth between those two states keeps things steady. Too much input and I lose focus. Too much isolation and I start to second guess everything. Having both in some kind of rhythm makes it easier to keep working without getting stuck in either place.

If you find yourself in a quieter stretch right now, it’s worth paying attention to what comes up. Not trying to force anything out of it, just noticing how you work when there’s nothing else competing for your attention. The patterns are usually already there. It’s just easier to see them when things slow down.

You don’t need to disappear for weeks to get something out of it. Even a few hours without interruption can show you more than you expect. It’s less about how long you have and more about what you remove from the space while you’re there.

Most of the time, I don’t walk out of those sessions with a finished piece. What I have is a better sense of where things are going and what’s getting in the way…that’s enough to keep moving.