The art of doing nothing: The reality of being a starving artist
When creativity dies a quiet death
I don’t feel like making anything right now.
Not a drawing, not a product, not even a sketch in the margins of my notebook.
You can’t create when your soul is starving.
What happened? You might ask. The truth is, kidlit illustration, the field I’ve poured my heart into, isn’t providing much income for me. Most months, I make nothing from it. Zero. I’ve spent years building my craft, investing in my portfolio, working with an agent, showing up on social media, and still, the financial return is painfully inconsistent.
When I look at Instagram, I feel a sense of iccckkk and indifference. I mostly show up there when promoting my courses because I still feel very passionate about my teaching, and I love my students :) Truth be told, courses is my MAIN income source right now! Yup, the starving artist is REAL.
It’s a strange kind of heartbreak, loving something that doesn’t love you back in a sustainable way.
And when your creative identity is so tied to your income, it becomes hard to keep showing up with the same spark. That’s where I am right now: somewhere between disappointment and detachment. I think it’s important that artists talk about it more openly.
Right now, instead of drawing, I’m gardening. Finishing one last client assignment, but then heading back to my shovels and flower pots.
I’m planting seeds and watching my spring bulbs grow. It’s not productive in the way my career expects, but it’s deeply, dramatically important.
Why especially creatives need to do NOTHING
We creatives often forget that our fuel isn’t endless. Doing nothing is not lazy. It is a radical, often uncomfortable, act of preservation. We work with our brains, we need to let it rest!
What will help is something utterly non-productive. Something that feeds you, not your portfolio. A hobby with no outcome, no metrics.
For me, that’s gardening.
For you, it might be baking, hiking, dancing in your living room, or staring out the window and letting your mind wander without guilt.
Let me be the voice that gives you permission :)
You are allowed to pause. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to NOT make.
Your creative fire isn’t gone, it’s just buried under the weight of constant performance.
So if you’re where I am: exhausted, indifferent, quietly disconnected, please take this as your gentle invitation to step away. Do something tender. Something soul-feeding.
Your work will still be there when you return. But you will be different. Replenished. Re-rooted.
Take care of yourself guys, burnout is so sooo common among creative people <3
Wera
PS: If you like gardening too, I do it on my balcony, let’s connect over TikTok - it started to be quite therapeutic for me and I am actually learning a ton from other users! :D My account: @Planting.Calm
Hi! I’m Weronika Salach, a freelance illustrator specializing in children’s books, toy design and surface pattern design. Over 40,000 happy students have taken my digital illustration courses and watched my YouTube videos. Let’s connect :)
👉 Website
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👉 YouTube
👉 FB group for illustrators and FB group for pattern designers
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👉 Books on Amazon.com and Amazon.de
Thank you for sharing Weronika! I experienced one of the worst creative burn outs back in 2022…it lasted 8 months and I wasn’t able to make anything (I couldn’t even pick up my stylus). Back then, I also turned to gardening! And writing poetry. Then eventually slowly made my way back to illustration. That experience taught me the importance of resting and not quitting. We are much more resilient than we think we are, and you’re absolutely spot on when you say that doing nothing is an important part of the creative process! I also feel the same way about children’s publishing (and I’m sure many other artists do too!). It’s so tough to make it financially, and I agree we should be more transparent about it. Just wanted to say that I hear you! You’re not alone in this struggle 💛
"I'm a public servant by day, working for the Department of Labor. When I began my surface pattern journey in 2022, I already knew I’d need to keep my day job. Years ago, I was a professional dancer, and I went through exactly what you’re describing now—putting everything into my art and feeling crushed when it couldn’t sustain me financially. That experience led my husband and me to step away from dance entirely.
Now, with visual art, I’ve invested deeply, both emotionally and financially, but I’ve made a conscious choice not to rely on it for income. When I depended on dance to pay the bills, I grew to resent it—and I don’t want to go through that again. Even now, I remain emotionally distant from the dance world.
My goal with surface design was to see if I could make a little money through print-on-demand, and maybe someday license prints for fabric. But honestly, the return on that investment—both time and money—has been disappointing. With the state of the economy, I’m not hopeful that will change soon. Still, I’m grateful for the stability of my day job. I’ve lived through financial uncertainty before, and at 60, I prioritize steady over risky."