This is the second of a three-part story I originally wrote to welcome new subscribers to my newsletter.

In these letters, I share how I lost touch with art, what brought me back, and the deeper meaning I’ve found through my creative journey. If you’d like to receive thoughtful reflections like this directly in your inbox—along with behind-the-scenes updates, early previews of my work, and special offers—you’re warmly invited to join my newsletter.

I write each message with care, hoping it inspires and supports your own artistic path.

You can also explore the other parts of this story here.

I hope you’re doing great.

In my last message, I told you how I fell in love with art—but that’s only one part of the story.

Great love isn’t always a smooth ride, and such was my artistic journey.  By the time I was 16, my early dream of growing up to become an artist had faded into a distant memory. In my early twenties, I made the decision to definitively abandon art—until something brought me back.

When you care deeply about something, time spent away from it doesn’t matter. 

We can only control what we choose to do now—and if you’ve ever drifted away from your art practice, I hope my story willinspire you to return to it.

Reading time: approximately 4–5 minutes

When All Passion Is Lost

I grew up between a small village in the French Alps and Lyon, the second largest city in France.

This is where my parents met—at an art school—and I always had this idea that I would study there too. More specifically, I dreamed of attending(an idealised version of) the school of Beaux-Arts.

Unfortunately at the time, life circumstances led me to drop out of school at 16, ending any chance of following a traditional path.

Today, I am glad that I didn’t study at the Beaux-Arts. I wouldn’t want any part of my life to be different—but I’m also grateful that time is behind me. I struggled with severe depression and crippling social anxiety for years.

If you have ever experienced something similar, you know how deeply it affects you. Amidst all of this, I lost the sense of joy, any passion or dream I ever had, along with my sense of identity.

But what can seem lost in the moment, we sometimes realise later never truly left us.

In my late teens and early twenties, through recovery, growing up, and my return to education, my art practice was chaotic—but alive.

Until something made it too painful to create.

I Said I Would Never Draw Again

Kahlil Gibran wrote:

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

Maybe the more we love something, the more we can resent it.

I had been creating in bursts for years, trying different styles and mediums: scribbly ballpoint art, abstract pieces, digital experiments, carefully rendered graphite drawings. Art gave me something to do with my hands, but it no longer brought fulfilment.

No matter what I tried, I felt unable to express what I truly wanted.

My favourite pieces—the ones that looked the most refined—were traced.

And while they appeared more skilful, they only reminded me of what I couldn’t do, and the gap between my taste and my ability became unbearable.

Graphite copies of two Bouguereau paintings, drawn in 2016.

I admired Bouguereau’s paintings, Mucha’s posters, William Morris’ patterns—works that felt alive with knowledge, precision, and beauty.  I was painfully aware that these artists had something I didn’t… and I didn’t know how to get it.

I realised I couldn’t achieve the kind of art I dreamed of without training—and I thought this training was either inaccessible, or inexistant.

The Beaux-Arts was no longer what I imagined it to be, and in any case, art school was out of reach. I didn’t speak English well enough to discover what online education was available, let alone benefit from it.

Examples of my artistic explorations between 2015 and 2017.

Because I’m passionate and tend to go all in, creating in this way—knowing what I lacked—hurt more than not creating at all.

So I stopped. I said I would never draw again—and I meant it.

Finding a New Meaning

There’s a quote I like, even if it’s a little cheesy:

Creativity is something you are, not something you do.
— Rick Rubin, The Creative Act.

As dramatic as my decision was, I didn’t stop being creative.

I studied literature, became obsessed with knitting, and eventually launched my own brand of accessories for knitters—designing each product myself. Being self-employed suited me, and it fulfilled my creative needs… until it didn’t.

Some of the designs I created for my brand.

In 2022, a personal loss started a chain of events that made me lose the ability to work, to knit, to find comfort—and forced me to question everything I was doing.

By the end of it, having my own business no longer felt meaningful, and I found myself searching for something to fill the void.

That’s when I returned to my first passion. I got back to art.

This time, I had access to the education I needed to express myself. I underestimated what it would take—but my mind was set. I would be an artist.

Your Creative Journey

Have you ever lost touch with your creativity?  Are there moments when art played a significant role in your life?

My next message will be the last of this series, and I want to end on a high note—by sharing the inner shift that helped methrough my lowest points, and that now lives at the heart of everything I create.

If you’re struggling to find your voice or to put yourself out there, I hope you’ll stick around.

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