For much of this year, I’ve felt like I’ve been puddling along. Not unhappy exactly. Not depressed. Just a little lost. Directionless. Like I was waiting for something before I could truly move forward.
In March, I had an appointment with a specialist regarding some minor surgery. Since then, I’ve been waiting to hear back. Weeks turned into months. Without quite realising it, I’d put my life on hold and was living in limbo.
It’s funny how this happens. We tell ourselves that we’ll make plans or start the project after the procedure. We’ll be able to get on with life once we know what’s happening.
It was like I was holding my breath, waiting.
During this period of limbo, I found myself wandering down an unexpected rabbit hole. One evening I came across a video about paint pigments and their history. I was curious so I watched it and was fascinated. I watched the whole series!
Several weeks later, I watched a video of an artist making watercolour paint from earth pigments. Then I discovered an Australian artist who gathered rocks from the landscape, ground them into powder, and transformed them into paint and used them in her art.
Making paint from earth pigments felt like a natural extension of who I already am. After all, I’m the sort of person who makes coffee from dandelion roots and healing balm from calendula flowers. Why wouldn’t I want to turn rocks and clay into paint?
At around the same time, I had enrolled in a watercolour painting class to further develop my own skills as an artist.
The teacher was excellent, and very clear about her preferred palette. She strongly recommended using transparent, single-pigment colours from specific brands and provided a shopping list that would have cost me several hundred dollars.
Meanwhile, a little voice in my head was saying:
“But I like earthy, grungy, semi-opaque colours too.”
And another voice added:
“I already own a mountain of watercolours. I don’t want to spend another $300 on paint.”
Being naturally curious and a little bit nerdy, I began investigating. I looked up every paint on the recommended list and identified the actual pigment numbers inside them. Then I compared those pigments with the paints I already owned.
What followed was a glorious bout of artistic detective work.
I discovered that many paints with different names were actually made from exactly the same pigments. By understanding the pigments rather than the marketing names, I could substitute some of the paints on the teacher’s list with one’s I already owned.
In the end, I found only three colours that would genuinely add something new to my palette.
Problem solved.
But, I still couldn’t stop thinking about pigments and paint making. I’d already discovered several New Zealand suppliers of earth pigments, mineral pigments, oxides, and mica powders, as well as binders and other paint making tools and materials. Then I remembered that tucked away in cupboards and boxes I already had a surprising collection of materials that could be used: French clays, mica powders, ultramarine pigment samples, and all sorts of interesting substances gathered during previous creative adventures.
Suddenly I could see possibilities everywhere.
Before long, I had ordered a glass muller, watercolour binders, and a sample pack of 20 Earth and mineral pigments.
At this point I had to laugh at myself.
Only weeks earlier I’d been grumbling about the thought of buying more paint for my watercolour class. Now I was enthusiastically purchasing equipment and supplies so I could make an unlimited amount of paint.
Apparently my objection wasn’t really about buying more paint.
It was about freedom.
The idea of being restricted to a small, carefully curated palette felt confining.
The idea of making my own colours from raw pigments felt expansive.
Unlimited.
Creative.
Fun
Alive.
What I love about this project is that it’s made me feel like my old self again. The Helen that was spontaneous, that would follow her curiosity without question. The Helen that would go forth and do the thing, and when asked, “But what if it doesn’t work?” She would reply, “Then I’ll do something else!”
For months I’d been locked in inertia. Questioning and overthinking everything. This was not my normal.
Yet the thing that snapped me out of it wasn’t a grand life plan.
It wasn’t a five-year strategy.
It wasn’t a productivity system or a new planner.
It was curiosity, creativity, and a desire for freedom.
A simple thread of interest that I followed without knowing where it would lead (and I still don’t know where it will lead). I remember now, that I can trust myself, because this is how I’ve lived most of my life. Yes I’ve made mistakes along the way, but through these I’ve found what makes me happy, what brings me peace, and what makes me feel alive.
What I love is that life has a way of leading you, if you’re open to explore what’s being offered. But so often we think we know better, that THIS is how it should be! But remembering to trust life and trust myself again is actually quite liberating.
The part of me that loves learning, exploring, experimenting, and creating never went to sleep. While I had unconsciously put other parts of my life on hold, this part kept quietly moving forward, following one thread of curiosity after another.
The surgery will happen when it happens. My life doesn’t need to remain on hold waiting for this to happen. I can trust the divine timing of things.
For now, I have pigments to explore, paints to make, colours to swatch, and paintings to create.
And after months of feeling a bit lost, it feels so great to feel alive and excited about life again!