A Letter At The Turning Of The Year

Another year has come and gone, and it passed more quickly than I expected. Of all the years I have lived, this one felt like a blur. It was full, heavy, and somehow unfinished all at once.

The year behind us was complicated for many. It held excitement and fear in close proximity, alongside difficult conversations that were needed and long-delayed realizations. Across the world, people navigated uncertainty; socially, emotionally, physically, and politically. Many hopes were tested or quietly reshaped. Beneath it all, though, there was steady resilience. People continued on, even when tired.

Perhaps that is why the start of this new year feels unresolved, as though the previous one has not entirely released us. So much occurred, yet there were so many loose ends. Many of us are still finding our footing.

In moments like these, I find myself returning to what is within reach: our own worlds, the day to day, creative work, and the smaller spaces where care still matters. There is much beyond our control, and trying to carry all of it only leads to exhaustion. But within our own lives, our habits, our attention, our ways of making- we still have room to choose.

Last summer, an unexpected hospital visit interrupted my routine and forced a stillness I had been avoiding. In that pause, questions surfaced that had been waiting for some time: what I want from my work, how I move through my days, and whether the current pace I had adopted was actually sustainable.

The answer, as it turned out, required stepping back.

I took a long break from streaming. What once felt like a way to connect had slowly become a way to stay busy rather than present. I began to see how easily visibility can be mistaken for belonging, and how constant output can easily destroy rather than clarify one’s sense of self. The distance was uncomfortable, but it offered a clarity I had been missing. I was performing a life, not living a life.

This reflection naturally extended to my relationship with social media. While these platforms can be useful, I remain wary of treating connection as a means to an end. Acquaintances and professional circles have their place, but genuine connection grows from curiosity, respect, and care.. not strategically placed names added to yours. I was seeking friends and genuine connections, not someone I simply know to use or add to my list of ‘artists I know’. Growth measured only by reach or visibility has never felt meaningful to me.

I am, by both temperament and necessity, a slow-moving person. Living with epilepsy has made that reality clear over time. A quieter, steadier life is not a lack of ambition, but a form of attentiveness, and one many people within our society seek. Speed and constant stimulation do not suit everyone, and they do not suit me. This can feel at odds with the expectations placed on artists today, but it is a boundary I have learned to take seriously. This made me also finally, truly, step back. I barely go on social media and more often than not, forget it exists. My only struggle is long content YouTube videos.

For a while, this made me question whether I could still call myself an artist.

I no longer see it that way.

Art does not benefit from constant pressure. More does not automatically mean better or more attention, at least.. not genuinely and faster does not guarantee depth. Accepting this marked the beginning of a slower return to my creative practice, one guided less by obligation and more by interest and care.

Along the way, I found language for this shift through Taoist philosophy. Which is not entirely a belief system, but I approached it as a way of thinking about effort and alignment. The idea of Wu Wei or acting without forcing- helped me understand why pushing myself had felt so wrong for so long. It suggested that meaningful work often comes from paying attention rather than imposing control. Or that living a meaningful life is that which is simply experienced or lived in the moment, rather than forcing your ideals and will or even resisting things that are happening. 

At this time, I felt drawn back toward paint, particularly oils. I keep having a desire to go back to painting, and a desire.. A need.. To paint something. Although I am completing a degree in Illustration, I have found that painting offers a different kind of focus, one rooted in patience, thoughtfulness, and physical process. It allows me to work without constantly justifying intent as to why I'm making it or giving myself reasons to care about what I am creating, and to stay with an image longer than I otherwise might.

I try to hold this alongside practicality. Art will always be part of my life, even if it sometimes exists alongside quieter, steadier work. Balance matters. One foot in reality, one foot in dreams.

I will finish my degree. I will continue to draw. But I am also giving myself permission to explore! To bring paint more fully into my illustration work, to build worlds that genuinely interest me, and to move at a pace I can sustain.

I do not have grand expectations for the year ahead. Much of the inner work has already been done. Now, my aim is simply to live it: to create with care, to pay attention, and to let art remain a practice rather than a performance.

What comes next is not entirely clear, and I am comfortable with that. Discovery tends to arrive through doing, not planning.

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What I’m Exploring Now

• Oil and acrylic painting, with an emphasis on texture, atmosphere, and slower mark-making

• Blending traditional paint with illustrative storytelling

• Small-scale and miniature painting, particularly within tabletop and narrative worlds

• Personal themes of slowness, care, and quiet resilience

These explorations are not bound to outcomes or timelines. They are simply where my attention currently rests.. and I’m allowing that to be enough.

~ Wani