We have all the supplies, but we're still not making anything

Your Art Supplies Are Not Mad at You

You bought the paints.
You bought the sketchbooks.
You bought the expensive, buttery brushes that you researched for weeks.

Maybe you even set up a little corner by the window, imagining yourself there—tea in hand, sunlight warming the table—finally making your art.

And then… nothing.

The paints stayed sealed.
The sketchbooks stayed stacked.
The "creative corner" became a place to toss unopened mail and shopping bags.

And every time you walk by, there’s this little twinge inside:
I wasted it.
I wasted the money.
I wasted the dream.

I know that feeling because I lived it.

A few years ago, after a season of big life changes such as retiring from a profession I loved as a school principal, I decided it was time to "take my art seriously."

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I signed up for courses.
I ordered the "right" supplies.
I cleared a table, just for me.

And then life laughed a little.

I received the news I had breast cancer.

My days filled with doctor appointments.
My days filled with other people's needs.

My creative energy drained faster than I could protect it.
And that beautiful stack of supplies?
It sat there, untouched—and quietly accusing.

Or at least, that's how it felt.

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The paints weren't judging me.
The sketchbooks weren't keeping score.
The creative corner didn't need me to "earn" the right to return.

I wasn't a failure. I wasn't flaky. I wasn't lazy.

I was a creative woman trying to carry too much—and art had gotten buried under the weight of everything else.

Sound familiar?

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Why It Happens (And Why It’s Not Your Fault)

We confuse buying with becoming.
Ordering supplies feels like taking action—and it is.
It’s hope, it’s intention, it’s a spark.

But real-life creativity needs more than just the right supplies.
It needs space. Breath. Permission.

We get ambushed by perfectionism.
The nicer the supplies, the higher the pressure.
What if I ruin it? What if it’s ugly? These supplies were expensive!

Better to leave the paper blank than to prove we're not "good enough," right?

(Except... that's a lie. A blank page isn't safety. It's just silence.)

We believe the lie that art is "extra."

Extra time. Extra money. Extra luxury we don’t "deserve" until everything else is done.

But creativity was never supposed to be the reward for finishing your to-do list.

It’s supposed to be part of your living, breathing life.

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Last Sunday, I finally pulled out a new sketchbook I'd bought months ago.

For months, it felt too nice to use.

I kept saving it for when I would "really know what I was doing."

You know what I drew on the first page?

A wobbly plastic water bottle.

Not from a tutorial. Not from a master plan. Just a water bottle I saw on the kitchen counter.

It’s not my best drawing.
It’s not even in my "favorite style."
But it broke the silence.

It turned my supplies back into friends instead of judges.

And when I closed that sketchbook after five minutes, I realized:
I felt lighter.

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Your unopened paints are not evidence that you failed.
Your blank sketchbook is not a sign that you’re not creative.
Your messy life is not a disqualification.

It’s just life.

And you can still begin.

No fancy ritual needed. No perfect mood required.

You can open the drawer, pull out the brush, and say: I'm here.

One mark. One messy page. One tiny moment of yes.

It’s all sacred.

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Tiny Invitations (Pick One, No Pressure)

• Open your sketchbook and scribble anything.

• Pick one paint color you love and smear it across a page.

• Write one word that feels good across a blank sheet.

• Leave the supplies out where you can see them and smile at them.

Small steps are not lesser steps.
They are the way.

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We Were Never "Behind"

We don’t owe anyone finished paintings.
We don’t have to “justify” the art supplies sitting quietly on your shelf.

We are already an artists.
Even if we haven’t touched a brush in months.
Even if we forgot where you put your favorite journal.
Even if we’re just thinking about opening that course you bought last year.

We are not behind.
We are still becoming.
We are still invited.

Your art is still yours—and it’s waiting for you with open arms.

(Let’s open it together.)

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If this resonated, I’d love to hear:
What art supply or creative dream is quietly waiting for you right now?

No judgment. Just celebration that you’re here, still carrying that spark.