A Reflection on the Art of Allowing
unexpected gifts
When I wrote last month, one of the quiet frustrations in my life was that my studio situation had been stalled all summer. I wanted my creative space to live somewhere other than my house. I craved more room and more distinction between my home life and my studio life. The two had started to blur in ways that felt limiting to other parts of my life. As I mentioned, I’m learning to appreciate and recognize that when the work seems to stall, no amount of pushing or planning will make the next thing appear, and oddly, just as you loosen your grip, something unexpected opens: a new opportunity, a new rhythm, a new space.
As it happens, the very day I wrote about new work breaking through, I was offered an opportunity to lease a studio I had only ever imagined—a 1,600 sf, wide open space that felt like a dream. It feels almost too expansive but in the best way. It’s astonishing how quickly things can shift when you stop trying to control the outcome—when you finally let go of how it should happen. The timing of this new space wasn’t something I could have planned. It arrived the very moment I loosened my grip—when I stopped forcing and started allowing. The shift didn’t feel like effort; it felt like alignment. Sometimes what you’ve been craving finds you only when you create enough openness to receive it.
While packing boxes and carrying them up and down the stairs (again!), I was thinking about expansion, control, and presence and about what happens when we step into something larger than what we’ve known, regardless of whether you are an artist or a lawyer or are retired.
presence beyond the edges
I am reminded of one of my favorite artists, Hyunmee Lee, whose work I deeply admire. Years ago, before the pandemic, I had a chance to stand before one of her iconic black and yellow paintings, and I felt myself grow small before it. It wasn’t unusually large (72”x72”) which is a scale that I paint myself. But the energy of that piece overtook me. It pulsed. It breathed. It was HUGE. It filled the canvas and the space in a way that made my own breath catch. That kind of presence—where the work hums beyond its edges—is something I’ve always wanted to create, and to feel, and to share with others. Perhaps you’ve felt that energy when you’ve stood in front of artwork you love or you created?
When I first stepped into my new studio last month, I felt a similar sensation. The ceilings rose impossibly high. The space was huge and open, alive with possibility. Normally, I feel in proportion to my surroundings, as an artist in dialogue with the canvas, but in this new studio, the scale of the room swallowed me. Its energy was larger than mine. I had to tell myself to keep breathing.
the gift of growth
And maybe that’s exactly what’s needed sometimes. To step into a space that feels slightly too big. To allow ourselves to grow into the expansiveness. To expand our own presence until we belong fully within it. Maybe only then can the work we create hold that same sense of magnitude for others. It matters not what kind of work it is that you do, it applies to everything and all types of “spaces”.
Now, when I unlock the door to my new studio, I still feel a little small in it. But I also feel the edges of possibility humming all around me. I know that in time, the space will change as I change. It will feel proportional. The walls will hold the sound of brushes, the rhythm of work, the ideas of Divine love that I feel so strongly, and the quiet pulse of presence.
Growth, I think, begins in that small moment of standing before what feels too big—and choosing to walk in anyway!
~
I’m so grateful to Cat Burke (@getcatfit on Instagram) who made my studio dream real and who, beyond just being my friend and trainer for the last 5 years or so, brings so much light, love and strength to everything and everyone she touches who enters her studio space. Divine gifts come through the best channels. 🙏
December brings lots of busy entertaining for multiple holidays for me and Sam the Studio Dog and probably you too? Plus, I have to figure out how to organize our schedule now that we have to “go TO work”. But I’m sure we’ll see you walking on the beach (or down the street near the studio!) before the new year, and I hope you, like us, will be feeling grateful for so many gifts you received, large or small, that made up this 2025.
XO, Chris
