I have been blogging for over five years now. I was first inspired to develop my online presence after reading about altered-book art in high school and stumbling into the world of art journaling and mixed media artists' blogs. My Peacetree also began as a way for me to escape from my own insecurities and depression.
For the first year or so I wrote exclusively about the joy and beauty of life, particularly of nature. I bought a fancy shmancy Nikon camera and began taking photos of my art. I gained a following of gentle, loving dreamers who felt safe in this somewhat magical, ethereal place, where everyone arrived in their spirit or essence and not in their tangible body. I resisted, for a very long time, sharing my photo or details about myself or my own life in detail, afraid of those I knew stumbling upon my inner life and afraid to be defined by what the mirror held. I desperately needed a place of secrecy and safety where I could explore my own vulnerabilities and fragile dreams and reach out to those kindred spirits I couldn't find in my waking life. I created and tended a secret garden, if you will.
The summer of 2010 was the most successful period for My Peacetree: I was insanely inspired, I painted daily, I wrote often, and I participated in art swaps and engaged in others' blogs and online conversations and on social media. In the first two years in this garden, my following grew hugely.
And then I went back to school, and things changed.
And I realized tonight, as I browsed Pinterest for articles on blogging, that I just don't enjoy posting about what I once did. I have felt obligated to stay true to an art/tender-soul approach, to that old version of myself that defined this blog for so long, and that the only reason I have been compelled to open my art journal has been so that I can photograph it, write about it, and share it here, because I feel like that's what's expected. I struggle to post, and when I do, I make a half-hearted attempt that ends up being a short, boring update on my life. I take little pride in what I write anymore. It was a bittersweet realization: my passions have shifted – and that's okay.
Guilt and obligation are no motivation. Pretending to be engaged is unfair to my readers and to myself, and to be truthful, I think it shows up in the quality of my writing here.
So I had an awakening: I will search for my new purpose, a passion that drives me to return with full joy and spirit, inspired to write endless material that is true to this
My Peacetree. A tree grows. It branches. It stretches and reaches for the sky, and in autumn its leaves die and fall to make room for new growth. Perhaps My Peacetree has been dormant for a while, hidden under snowdrifts. And perhaps it is time for the spring to come.
I am excited to have you with me on this new adventure.