Making Space

Beach Journal 21st May 2026

West Pier, Brighton. 10am. 17°C, sunny, light breeze. Low tide.

By Wednesday, the week is making space for something new. At the beach the sea is way out, revealing a sandy expanse and the sharp edges of the West Pier.

At low tide the feeling of space is extraordinary. The shore feels less like reaching the edge of the land and more like being offered something bigger. The wide sky and the shallow waves only add to the invitation.

The shingle is thin on the lower stretches. There are no gulls to be seen. To the west, a new lifeguard hut has been erected. It has a raised platform, and will surely be better than the shipping container shelter that boiled the team in summer. To the east, a group of language students with matching backpacks paddle in the freezing water, shrieking with laughter.

The recent cold snap has passed and within days the temperature is likely to be 10°C higher than it is today. Weather reports trip out the “record breaking temperatures” banners again but its almost normal these days. The seafront team issues advice about hydration and sunscreen. This beach is making space for summer and will be crowded with Bank Holiday visitors enjoying the sun this weekend.

For now the beach is mostly empty and I sit and watch small waves roll onto the sandy edges. Breathing deeply, I can smell the sea and salt and seaweed.

Milestones have been met in the last couple of weeks. I have been making space for change. Family stuff has shifted and settled into a new norm. Qi Gong has become a part of my routine again after years away. I have signed up for an online poetry class. On Tuesday, I closed my little art business after years of selling my work.

At this point it was not a hard decision, just facing the inevitable. I had mentally checked out back in 2024 after a particularly tough Artists Open House. Within weeks I found out that the venues I relied upon for selling were all closing. Online sales had fallen due to rising postage costs, customs changes and oh so many reasons. Social media felt like, well, you know what it feels like.

Then in September my father died and there was no energy to fight for it anymore. I was needed elsewhere.

Being a one person creative business is hard and jumping through ever-moving hoops is exhausting. At some point, it wasn’t even about sales and unpredictable income. I just couldn’t paint or draw or make anything. I was empty.

People said I’d go back to it when I was ready. Or that everyone got a creative block at some point. Or they’d say this is how to get sales these days and why wasn’t I on TikTok? (Do I really need to answer that?)

It’s taken me a while to admit that I’m not going back. I’m not going to pivot (again) or stage a comeback sale.

I sold my first artwork at an Artists Open House in 2013. I sold my last in 2024 to a family in Yorkshire who have many of my paintings on their wall.

Becoming an artist was a sort-of accidental-twist-of-fate and wonderful and a dream come true until it wasn’t. Maybe one day I’ll tell the story. It’s one of a humiliating breakdown, a YouTuber who gave me the courage to paint and many, many lucky breaks.

But it’s time to let it go and I have a pile of art supplies to sort out.

Update: Friday

Since drafting this beach journal, I pulled out the art supplies, intent on sorting and clearing and donating. But something happens when you take the pressure off, when it stops being a job. As creative people, we know this, that we have to make space to let go and play as well as show up with discipline and effort.

I’m supposed to be packing these things away

A sheet of paper became a wash of blues, then a bunch of loose sketches and patterns, then choosing colours and can I make a pamphlet from this? (I couldn’t, the paper is too heavy and folds against the grain but what if I could write in it?)

That’s what happened. A handful of colours and a sheet of paper and a chance to let go. I’m not going to lay out the paints again, at least not now, there are other creative threads that are asking to be pulled. But of course, (it’s a cliché for a reason), making space wasn’t just about starting something new.

I just needed room to choose.