Art is in Everything, Everything is Art
“The line between art & life should be kept as fluid, and indistinct as possible”
I’ve always been the kind of person who needed a little color in the corner of a room. A single special spoon that feels good to stir with. A small trinket or plant to sit on a windowsill. I didn’t always call it art, but that’s what it was: the act of choosing, arranging, softening the edges of the day. I always thought myself a creative person, but I never considered myself a “true artist.” I thought if something didn’t hang on a wall or sell in a shop, it didn’t count as art. But I don’t believe that anymore. I’ve come to believe there can be magic in everything we do. It comes from putting our full attention, our entire heart into the task at hand.
There’s design in how I set the table, or serve a dish, even when it’s just for me. I act with reason in the way I fold laundry, pick out plants for the garden, or tuck a note in a customer’s package. There’s thoughtful consideration in how I talk to my dog when no one’s around, making breakfast in bed for my partner, tending to my bees with utmost care not to squish a single one. None of this has a price tag, but it holds something sacred. Something deeply mine.
For a long time, I measured the value of my creativity by whether it led to something “productive.” If it wasn’t part of a project or a post or a product, I’d ask myself if it was worth the time. But honestly? Some of the most important things I’ve ever made have been invisible to anyone but me. A slow, productive morning. A soft observational breath in nature. A quiet effort to make life feel a little more beautiful, a little more mine. It helps me feel good about myself—seeing something I made with care, with intention, with love.
I’ve come to believe that living artfully is its own kind of protest. It’s choosing presence over performance. Choosing to move through the world with awareness, softness, and intention—even when no one’s watching.
There’s so much pressure to monetize our creativity. To turn every hobby into a side hustle. But not everything has to scale. Not everything has to be shared or sold to matter. Some things are just meant to be lived. And I want to honor those things more.
Like the pants I repaired last winter—torn at the knee and too soft to give up. I stitched them back together slowly, without trying to make it perfect. I wear them when I need a little extra comfort in my day, and that counts. I never posted the bundle of felt flowers I made last spring, but I gave them to a friend who cried when she saw them. That counts, too. I spent 40 minutes rearranging my kitchen shelves the other day and left a tiny vase with clippings in the corner. That counts.
I know this may seem silly as this post comes at a time when I am opening myself to a new endeavor. I’ve finally garnered the courage to share my art with the world. Indeed, I sell my work on this website, but my hope is to bring light to something more than just the art I create. I want to be vulnerable and show you how bringing your art into the everyday will revolutionize the way you think and feel about yourself, and your world.
This is a concept I have come to live by but that doesn’t mean that everyday I am successful. Sometimes I’ll struggle for weeks to maintain this outlook. Chronic depression can rear its ugly head at any time. In fact that’s why I started this journey to build HarvestLoom. I wanted to hold myself accountable to my own expectations. I want to prove to myself that I can indeed find beauty everyday.
If you’ve followed me on Instagram since I opened my account you may remember my bio, something about “Documenting the beauty of life one photograph at a time…” This was so easy to do in my 20s, eager to succeed, unburdened by the ever-surmounting responsibilities we obtain as we age. All it took was one photograph of something special each day and I was radiant with pride at my portfolio of moments. Time drove on and I began struggling more and more to find these moments, let alone share them.
I felt as though I’d lost a core part of myself. The more depressed I told myself I was, the more depressed I felt, the worse I looked, the older and unhealthier my body and mind became. Digging myself out of that hole has taken several years. It started with creating little arts in my daily life.
I’ll share a few ways in which I took back my ability to find beauty in the little things:
Take a more leisurely walk with my dog; basking in all the sounds, sights, and smells of our local parks and neighborhoods.
Make a new and unique recipe, twice. Keep one, and if it’s good enough, give one as a gift. If not, eat it and call the loss a win (you never have to make it again!)
Buy a new plant and learn how to love it just right so it will not only stay alive, but thrive.
Keep my home, workspace, closet, and car tidy and organized so I could be prepared for absolutely anything my heart and hands desired.
These things helped get me back on track but I was needing something more. I could feel the tug of something deeply rooted aching to escape. I was determined to find a healthy way to release it, second-guessing my past practices. In came social media, and I found a new medium to bring me back to my creative center.
I found peace through weaving in 2020. I also started seeing a Psychologist and diving deeeep into what had been going on with me. Before I knew it, I was making things with my hands that I loved again. This isn’t to say I’m in love with every piece. Some are reflections of conflict, inner turmoil, self-loathing. But there’s beauty in them too, and I can’t begin to express the freedom that comes from making art out of those emotions. So I’ll continue to put myself and my heart into my artwork. It's bringing me back to a part of myself I’ve been scared of for a long time. The part that knows there’s beauty in everything.
If you’re seeking support, or want some of my thoughts on how and where to find beauty in your everyday life, contact me. I am definitely here to spread the message, and I’m glad to have you along.
