Permission for privacy

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the difference between privacy and keeping secrets, or I suppose maintaining authentic boundaries versus hiding, especially when it comes to being an artist and running a small business where the brand contains a lot of who I am. My views around maintaining privacy have shifted, and strengthened, especially in the years since I left social media. The quick answer is that I’m all for it.

But first, a story about grief and social media.

In 2020, my grandfather passed away. He was 103, so it wasn’t totally unexpected, but of course I still wanted take some time to honor his memory and grieve privately in the middle of those lockdown days. I remember pausing my use of Instagram to give some time to myself for this process. It wasn’t long before I started hearing from online acquaintances, asking if things were okay, wanting to know what was going on since I hadn’t posted in a few days. It was very well intentioned, but something I wasn’t ready for. Something inside of me felt obliged to share what was going on publicly, if only to stop the few questions that still felt like too many from coming in. I posted on Instagram and sent out a newsletter announcing that I was taking a break for bereavement. I wasn’t yet ready to share, but I did it anyway.

Compare that to a very different loss, but one that hit me just as deeply, the death of my 22 year old cat earlier this year. This time, I was no longer using social media, and I had already written and scheduled several regular marketing newsletters prior to her passing. I wondered if I would feel disingenuous having those newsletters go out selling my products even while I was in the midst my grieving process.

The answer was no, absolutely not. I felt like I had given myself a gift of space and time to myself, to personally share my pet loss news with friends and family when I was ready, one person at a time. It felt right.

Instead of sharing the news publicly, I had the space and energy to pour the grief into creating art, a mini collection of cards for pet loss. I took time off and visited family. I had the privacy to help myself in the way that was best for me, in my own time and at my own pace.

And then once I was ready, I did share about the loss of my cat in my newsletter. But instead of being in the middle of it, it was now in the context of what I’d created from that space. I had the capacity to read responses of customers sharing their own stories of pet loss. And it felt like the right time—I’d given myself the time to heal and to honor my cat’s memory personally and through my art.

Now, these might be two examples of privacy that are a bit more deep and dark than when I’m usually employing my own permission slip not to share, but they’re two moments that I keep returning to whenever I feel that sense of comparison or obligation. I remember how it felt good to share when I was truly ready, and how it felt wrong to share out of a sense of obligation or some sort of misplaced desire for ‘authenticity’. Because, really, to be authentically myself is to hold some reserve, to think over things, to maintain space for quiet.

And I think the same goes for the creative process too. Sometimes I’ve found it enjoyable to share my process of painting and designing as I go through it, but lately I’ve been enjoying creating in privacy, keeping my work just for myself without any sense of obligation to pull out a camera and record. When I get stuck or need feedback, I can still turn to artist friends for critiques, but it helps to limit the voices and opinions to a trusted few. I get the sense that what I’m creating is going back more to a truer version of my creative style, less influenced by trends and more of what I actually want to be making. I’m not sure when or how I drifted away from this, but I’m glad I was able to uncover it again.

And I don’t think there’s one right way to create, either. Being a former art teacher, I fully see the value in constructive feedback as a way to help us grow and learn. But choosing whose voice to listen to, and not forgetting the importance of your own voice, can be crucial to the process.

When I used to be on Instagram, I never painted without first setting up my phone to record a timelapse or video. And being constantly aware of the shot of the camera in how I would place my hands or body to not hide the work as it was in progress took away from my natural way of working. But it felt like an obligation at the time—to make every part of the creative process into content, instead of enjoying at least some of it just for me. I can get into that beautiful state of flow much easier when a tiny part of my brain isn’t distracted by the focus on documenting the process, and instead remain fully in the process on its own.

All of this is to really say that this is my permission slip for you as well. You don’t have to share everything, you can keep your privacy authentically. You can do what you want, share what you want, and maintain privacy over any aspects of your life that you want to.

You’re not hiding if you want to keep what you’re creating or what’s going on in your life just for yourself. You’re giving yourself a gift of time and space. And you’re allowing yourself to listen for your own creative voice to reemerge if it’s gotten a bit lost over the years.

And if you do rediscover that voice, please do give it a chance to say what it wants to say through your hands, and through your art. Even if it’s quieter, or louder, or isn’t on trend, or doesn’t want to use the colors that are popular, or in whatever way isn’t what you’ve been making before, even so, maybe it’s a little bit more true to who you are and authentic to your own creativity. And that’s a true gift to discover.

Take care,